CHAPTER XI

THE END

Michael Angelo's little circle of devoted friends in Rome were very

anxious about him during the winter of 1563-64. Although almost fourscore

years and ten he would still walk abroad in all weathers, and took none of

the precautions usual for a man of his age. Tiberio Calcagni, writing on

February 14 to Lionardo, says in the letter published by Daelli:(182)

"Walking through Rome to-day I heard from many persons that Messer Michael

Angelo was ill, so I went at once to visit him, and although it was

raining I found him out of doors on foot. When I saw him I said that I did

not think it right and seemly for him to be going about in such weather.

'What do you want?' he answered; 'I am ill, and cannot find rest

anywhere!' The uncertainty of his speech, with the look and colour of his

face, made me extremely uneasy about his life. The end may not be just

now, but I fear greatly that it cannot be far off." The gray colour and

the uneasiness of an old man who has suffered a slight stroke are

evidently indicated here. During the next four days he lived in his

arm-chair. On the 15th, Diomede Leoni wrote to Lionardo, with a letter

enclosed, signed by Michael Angelo but written by Daniele da

Volterra.(183) After exhorting Lionardo to come to Rome, but to run no

risks by travelling too fast, he adds, "as you may be certain Messer

Tomaso dei Cavalieri, Messer Daniele, and I will not fail during your

absence in every possible service in your place. Besides, Antonio, the old

and faithful servant of the master, will give a good account of himself

under any circumstances. ... If the illness of the master be dangerous,

which God forbid, you could not be in time to find him alive, even if you

could make more haste than is possible. But to give you a little account

of the state of Messere up to this hour, which is the third of the

night,(184) I inform you that just now I left him quite composed and fully

conscious, but oppressed with continual drowsiness. In order to shake it

off, between twenty-two and twenty-three,(185) this very day he tried to

mount his horse and go for a ride, as he was wont to do every evening in

good weather, but the coolness of the season and the weakness of his head

and legs prevented him, so he went back to his seat a little way from the

fire. He greatly prefers this chair to his bed. We all pray God to

preserve him unto us still for some years and that He may bring you here

in safety, to whom I earnestly commend myself."

Two days later, on the 17th, Tiberio Calcagni wrote:(186) "This is only to

beg you to hasten your coming as much as possible, even though the weather

be bad. For your Messer Michael Angelo is going to leave us indeed, and he

would have this one satisfaction the more."

Michael Angelo died a little before five o'clock on the afternoon of

February 18, 1564. His physicians, Federigo Donati and Gherardo

Fidelissimi, were with him at the last. Giorgio Vasari tells us "he made

his will in three words, committing his soul into the hands of God, his

body to the earth, and his goods to his nearest relatives, telling them

when their hour came to remember the Passion of Jesus Christ."

The Florentine envoy sent a despatch to inform the Duke of the event, and

he tells him the arrangements made as to the inventory of property and the

disposal for safe-keeping of seven or eight thousand crowns found in a

sealed box, opened in the presence of Messer Tomaso dei Cavalieri and

Maestro Daniele da Volterra. The people of the house are to be examined

whether anything has been carried away from it. This is not supposed to

have been the case. "As far as drawings are concerned they say that he

burned what he had by him before he died. What there is shall be handed

over to his nephew when he comes, and this your Excellency can inform

him." The list of works of art found in the house is very small. They

were:

A blocked-out statue of Saint Peter.

An unfinished Christ with another figure.

A statuette of Christ with the Cross, like the Risen Christ in Santa Maria

Sopra Minerva; and

Ten original drawings, one, a Pieta, belonged to Tommaso dei Cavalieri.

A little design for the facade of a palace.

A design for a window in the Church of Saint Peters.

An old plan of the Church of Saint Peter's, said to be after the model of

San Gallo, on several pieces of paper glued together.

A drawing of three small figures.

Architectural drawings for a window and other details.

A large cartoon for a Pieta, with nine figures, unfinished.

Another large cartoon, with three large figures and two putti.

Another large cartoon, with one large figure only.

Another large cartoon, with the figures of our Lord Jesus Christ and the

glorious Virgin Mary, His mother.

Another, the Epiphany.

This last drawing was presented to the notary who drew up the will, and is

supposed to be the cartoon now in the British Museum; all the others went

to Lionardo Buonarroti. Lionardo arrived three days after the death. The

body was deposited upon a catafalque in the Church of the Santissimi

Apostoli, where the funeral was celebrated by all the artists and

Florentines in Rome. In fulfilment of the wish of Michael Angelo, repeated

two days before his death, Lionardo made arrangements for the removal of

his uncle's remains to Florence. But the Romans, who regarded him as a

fellow citizen, resented this, and Lionardo was obliged to send the body

away disguised as a bale of merchandise, addressed to the custom-house at

Florence. Vasari wrote, on March 10, duly informing him that the

packing-case had arrived, and had been left under seals until Lionardo's

arrival at the custom-house. Notwithstanding this letter from Vasari, it

appears that the body was removed, on March 11, to the oratory of the

Assunta, beneath the Church of San Pietro Maggiore. Next day the painters,

sculptors, and architects of the newly-founded Academy, of which Michael

Angelo had been elected Principal after the Duke, met at the church,

intending to bring the body secretly to Santa Croce. They had with them

only an embroidered pall of velvet and a crucifix to place upon the bier.

At night the elder men lighted torches and the younger strove with one

another to bear the coffin. Meantime the curious Florentines found out

that something was going forward, and a great concourse assembled as the

news spread that Michael Angelo was being carried to Santa Croce, and huge

crowds followed the humble procession, lighted by the flaring torches such

as the Misericordia carry to this day. The vast church of Santa Croce was

so crowded that the pall-bearers had difficulty in reaching the sacristy

with their burden. When they at last got there, Don Vincenzo Borghini,

Lieutenant of the Academy, "thinking he would do what was pleasing to

many, and also, as he afterwards confessed, desiring to behold in death

one whom he had never seen in life, or, at any rate, at such an age that

he did not remember it, ordered the coffin to be opened. When this was

done, whereas he and all of us present expected to find the corpse already

corrupted and defaced, inasmuch as Michael Angelo had been dead

twenty-five days and twenty-two in his coffin, lo! we beheld him instead

perfect in all his parts and without any evil odour; indeed, we might have

believed that he was resting in a sweet and very tranquil slumber. Not

only were the features of his face exactly the same as when he was in life

(except that the colour was a little like that of death), none of his

limbs were injured or repulsive; the head and cheeks to the touch felt as

though he had passed away only a few hours before. When the eagerness of

the multitude who crowded round had calmed down a little, the coffin was

deposited in the church, behind the altar of the Cavalcanti."

Those who would read of the gorgeous catafalque of stucco, woodwork, and

painting erected in the Church of San Lorenzo by the Academy, may do so in

the pages of Vasari, and in the book called "Esequie del Divino Michel

Angelo Buonarroti, celebrate in Firenze dall' Academia, &c., Firenze, i

Giunti, 1564," and Varchi's "Orazione Funerali," published by the same

house at the same date. The great artist is dead: let us leave him to his

rest in Santa Croce, the Westminster Abbey of his city and the church of

his ward.

Vasari received from Lionardo Buonarroti the commission to design the tomb

for Santa Croce. He did his best to get the Pieta now in the Duomo to

serve as the principal part of the monument, asserting that it had been

intended by Michael Angelo for his monument. "Besides, there is an old man

in the group who represents the sculptor." This plan did not succeed, and

the ugly monument now in existence was designed instead. The Duke supplied

the marbles, and the figures were carved by Giovanni dall' Opera, Lorenzi

and Valerio Cioli. The bust portrait in bronze was modelled by Battista

Lorenzi. It was erected in 1570, and bears the inscription:

MICHAELI ANGELO BONAROTIO

E VETVSTA SIMONIORVM FAMILIA

SCVLPTORI. PICTORI. ET ARCHITECTO

FAMA OMNIBVS NOTISSIMO.

LEONARDVS PATRVO AMANTIS. ET DE SE OPTIME MERITO

TRANSLATIS ROMA EIVS OSSIBVS. ATQVE IN HOC TEMPLO MAIOR

SVOR SEPVLCRO CONDITIS. COHORTANTE SERENISS. COSMO MED.

MAGNO HETRVRIAE DVCE. P. C.

ANN. SAL. CIC. IC. LXX

VIXIT ANN. LXXXVIII. M. XI. D. XV.

The Romans also erected a monument in the church where they had hoped to

keep the bones of the artist who did more for their Immortal City than any

man who ever lived. Over this monument is the following epitaph:

MICHAEL ANGELUS

BONARROTIUS

SCULPTOR PICTOR ARCHITECTUS

MAXIMA ARTIFICUM FREQUENTIA

IN HAC BASILICA SS. XII APOST. F.M.C.

XI CAL. MART. A. MDLXIV ELATUS EST

CLAM INDE FLORENTIAM TRANSLATUS

ET IN TEMPLO S. CRUCIS EORUMD. F.

V. ID. MART. EJUSD. A. CONDITUS

TANTO NOMINI

NULLUM PAR ELOGIUM

Michael Angelo formed no school, his love of excellence would not permit

him to leave any inferior work behind him, as Raphael did in certain

portions of the Stanze and Loggia of the Vatican. Michael Angelo's

disposition was not so genial nor were his manners so universally pleasing

as those of the gentle Raphael, so he was unable to keep a body of workmen

together in good temper; the result is, we have no Sala of Constantine, or

Palazzo del Te, to remind us of the passing of the master of a school. At

the same time, to his few assistants and workmen Michael Angelo was as

kind as father to son, when once he became accustomed to them about him.

He gave help to various other artists, and it may be noted that all those

he influenced became men devoted to high finish and the utmost perfection

possible. Decadence in Italian art began long before his death; but the

imitators of Michael Angelo are by far the best and most interesting

figures of that unfortunate period. They, at least, have great intentions,

and strive to attain a style of dignity and distinction, and do not grudge

any labour that may help them to their ideals. Vasari tells us of some of

these men and their works: "He loved his workmen and was on friendly terms

with them. Among them were Jacopo Sansovino, Il Pontormo, Daniele da

Volterra, and Giorgio Vasari Aretino, to whom he showed infinite

kindness...." He goes on to say that "he was unfortunate in those who

lived with him, since he chanced upon natures unfit to follow him. For

Pietro Urbano, of Pistoja, his pupil, was a man of talent, but would never

work hard. Antonio Mini had the will but not the brain, and hard wax takes

a bad impression. Ascanio della Ripa Transone (Condivi) worked very hard,

but nothing came of it either in work or in designs." Jacopo l'Indaco and

Mineghella were boon companions of the master. A stone-cutter Domenico

Fancelli nicknamed Topolino, Pilote the goldsmith, Giuliano Bugiardini the

painter, were of this company. The melancholy Michael Angelo is said to

have burst his sides with laughing at Mineghella's stupidity. The very

proper Vasari describes the latter as "a mean and stupid painter of

Valdarno, but a very amusing person; and Michael Angelo, who could with

difficulty be made to work for kings, would leave everything to make

simple drawings for this fellow, San Rocco, San Antonio, or San Francesco,

to be coloured for one of the man's many peasant patrons; among others

Michael Angelo made him a very beautiful model of a Christ on the Cross,

made a mould from it, and Mineghella cast it in _papier-mache_ and went

about selling it all over the country-side." It may be that the familiar

and often-repeated Crucifix in common use is an adaptation or copy, far

removed from this original; it has something of the style of Michael

Angelo's later work, the figure is most beautifully disposed.

Sebastiano del Piombo lightened the old man's labour by his genial humour

and jovial companionship; Sebastiano followed his teaching with great

industry and skill, as all his later works show; such as the Scourging of

Christ, in San Pietro in Montorio, and the Raising of Lazarus, in our own

National Gallery: drawings by the hand of Michael Angelo still exist for

the principal figures in both these pictures. There is a Pieta by

Sebastiano, at Viterbo, evidently following the lines of one of Michael

Angelo's religious drawings; it is so beautiful in the expression of its

colour and the high finish of the nude, that we cannot but think that

Michael Angelo's exacting eyes were peering over the shoulder of

Sebastiano when he painted it.

Per ritornar la donde venne fora,

L' immortal forma al tuo carcer terreno

Venne com' angel di pieta si pieno

Che sana ogn' intelletto, e'l mondo onora.

Questo sol m' arde, eqesto m' innamora;

Non pur di fora il tuo volto sereno:

Ch' amor non gia di cosa che vien meno

Tien ferma speme, in cu' virtu dimora.

Ne altro avvien di cose altere e nuove

In cui si preme la natura; e'l cielo

E ch' a lor parto largo s' apparecchia.

Ne Dio, suo grazia, mi si mostra altrove,

Piu che 'n alcun leggiadro e mortal velo;

E quel sol amo, perche 'n quel si specchia.

APPENDIX

THREE DIALOGUES ON PAINTING COMPOSED

BY FRANCISCO D'OLLANDA, A PORTUGUESE

MINIATURE PAINTER WHO WAS IN ROME

IN THE YEAR 1538. TRANSLATED

FROM THE PORTUGUESE, WITH

THE HELP OF MR. A.J. CLIFT,

BY CHARLES HOLROYD. THE

MANUSCRIPT WAS PUBLISHED

FOR THE FIRST

TIME IN THE RENASCENCA

PORTUGUEZA

NO. VII.

PORTO,

1896

FIRST DIALOGUE

My intention in going to Italy was not to seek for advantage or honour,

but to study. I was sent there by my King, and I had no other interest in

view (such as having intercourse with the Pope or with the Cardinals of

the Court; and this God knows and Rome knows, if I had wished to dwell

there per-adventure I did not lack opportunities, both for myself and by

the favour of the principal persons in the Pope's household), but all

ideas of this kind were so subdued in me, that I did not even allow them

to enter into my imagination; others I had, more noble and more to my

taste, which had much more power over me than covetousness or expectation

of benefits such as many people have who go to Rome. What alone was always

present to me was how I, with my art, might serve the king our Lord, who

had sent me there, communing always with myself how I could steal and

convey away to Portugal the excellencies and beauties of Italy to please

the King and the Infantas and the most serene Infante D. Luiz. I used to

say to myself: What fortresses or foreign cities have I not yet in my

book? What immortal buildings and what noble statues does this city still

possess which I have not already stolen from it and carried away without

carts or ships on thin paper? What painting, stucco, or grotesque has been

discovered amongst these grottoes and antiquities of Rome, Puzol, and

Baias, of which the most rare is not to be found in my sketch-books? Thus

I beheld nothing either antique or modern in painting, sculpture or

architecture of which I did not make some record of its best part, it

appearing to me that these were the greatest benefits that I could carry

away with me, more honourable and profitable to the service of my King and

to my own taste. I do not think I have made a mistake (although some

people tell me I have), for as these things alone were my care, my dispute

and demand, no great Cardinal Fernes had to help me, nor had I a greater

Dattario to obtain, in order to go one day to see D. Julio de Macedonia, a

most famous illuminator, and another day Master Michael Angelo, now Baccio

the noble sculptor; then Master Perino, or Bastiaeo Veneziano, and

sometimes Valerio de Vicenca, or Jacopo Mellequino, architect, and

Lactancio Tolomei, the acquaintance and friendship of these men I valued

much more than others of more parade and pretension (as if there could be

greater in the world, and so Rome values them); because from them, and

from their works in my art, I obtained some fruit and knowledge. I amused

myself in discussing with them many rare and noble works both of ancient

and modern times. Master Michael especially I esteemed so much that if I

met him either in the palace of the Pope or in the street, we could not

part until the stars sent us to rest. D. Pedro Mascarenhas, the

Ambassador, is my witness what a great thing this was and how difficult;

and, too, of the tales M. Angelo, when coming out of vespers one day, told

about me and about a book of mine in which I had drawn some things in Rome

and Italy, to Cardinal Santtiquatro and to him. Now my habit was to go

round the solemn temple of the Pantheon and note all its columns and

proportions; the Mausoleum of Adrian and that of Augustus, the Coliseum,

the Thermae of Antoninus and those of Diocletian, the Arch of Titus and

that of Severus, the Capitol, the theatre of Marcellus and all the other

notable things in that city, the names of which have already escaped me.

At times, too, I was not turned out of the magnificent chambers of the

Pope, I only went there because they were painted by the noble hand of

Raphael of Urbino. I loved more those antique men of stone sculptured on

the arches and columns of the old buildings, than those more inconstant

which everywhere weary one with talking, I learned more from them and from

their grave silence.

Now amongst the days which I thus passed in that Court there was a Sunday

on which I went to see Messer Lactancio Tolomei, as others did; it was he,

with the assistance of Messer Blosio, the Pope's secretary, who gave me

the friendship of Michael Angelo. And this M. Lactancio was a very

important personage, both on account of nobility of mind and of blood (he

being a nephew of the Cardinal of Siena), as well as through his knowledge

of Latin, Greek and Hebrew letters, and for the authority of his years.

But finding in his house a message that he was at Monte Cavallo, in the

church of St. Silvester, with the Lady Marchioness of Pescara, listening

to a lecture from the Epistles of St. Paul, I went to Monte Cavallo and to

St. Silvester. Now Senhora Vittoria Colonna, Marchioness of Pescara, and

sister of Senhor Ascanio Colonna, is one of the most illustrious and

famous ladies in Italy and in all Europe, which is the world, chaste yet

beautiful, a Latin scholar, well-informed and with all the other parts of

virtue and fairness to be praised in woman. She, after the death of her

great husband, took to a private and simple life, contenting herself with

the fact that she had already lived in her estate, and loving henceforward

only Jesu Christ and good deeds, doing good to poor women and bearing the

fruits of a true Catholic. For my friendship with this lady also I was

indebted to M. Lactancio, who was the most intimate friend that she had.

Having commanded me to sit down, the lecture and its praises over, the

Marchioness looking at me and at M. Lactancio, if I remember rightly,

said:

"Francisco d'Ollanda will be better pleased to hear M. Angelo talk about

painting, than Brother Ambrosio expound this lesson."

Then I, almost angry, answered her:

Why, madam, does it appear to your Excellency that I can attend to nothing

but painting? Truly I shall always be pleased to hear M. Angelo, but when

the Epistles of St. Paul are read, I prefer to hear Brother Ambrosio."

"Do not be angry, M. Francisco," M. Lactancio then said, "for the

Marchioness does not think that the man who is a painter will not be

everything. We esteem painting higher in Italy. But perchance she said

that to you in order to give you, beyond what you already have, the

further pleasure of hearing Michael."

I then replied:

"Her Excellency will be doing no more than she is in the habit of doing,

giving always greater favours than one dares to ask."

The Marchioness, knowing my mind, called one of her servants, and said,

smiling:

"To those who know how to express thanks one must study how to give,

especially as I get as much in the giving as Francisco d'Ollanda does in

receiving. Foao, go to the house of M. Angelo and tell him that I and M.

Lactancio are here in this quiet chapel, and that the church is closed and

very pleasant, if he cares to come and lose a little of the day with us,

so that we may gain it with him. And do not tell him that Francisco

d'Ollanda, the Spaniard, is here."

As I was whispering something about the discretion of the Marchioness in

everything, in the ear of Lactancio, she desired to know what it was

about.

"He was telling me," said Lactancio, "how well your Excellency knows how

to preserve decorum in everything, even in a message. M. Michael is

already more his friend than mine, for he tells me that when they meet,

Michael Angelo does all he can to shun his company, seeing that when they

once come together they never can part."

"I know that, for I know Master Michael Angelo," she returned; "but I do

not know in what manner we shall treat him so that we may lead him on to

talk of painting."

Brother Ambrosio of Siena (one of the appointed preachers to the Pope),

who had not yet gone, said: "I do not believe that if Michael knows the

Spaniard to be a painter, he will talk about painting at all, therefore

let him hide himself that he may hear him."

"It is perhaps not so easy to hide this Portuguese," I replied with

emphasis to the Friar, "from the eyes of Master Michael Angelo; he will

know me better hidden than your reverence does here where I am, even if

you put on spectacles; and you will see that, being here, he will see me

very plainly if he comes."

Then the Marchioness and Lactancio laughed, but not I nor yet the Friar,

who however heard the Marchioness say that he would find me to be

something more than a painter.

After remaining but a short time silent, we heard a knocking at the door,

and all began to fear that Michael would not come, as the messenger had

returned so quickly. But Michael, who resides at the foot of Monte

Cavallo, happened by good luck to be walking towards St. Silvester, on his

way to the Thermae by the Esquiline road with his Orbino, philosophising

by the way; being informed of the message, he could not run away from us,

nor did he fail to be the person knocking at the door. The Marchioness

rose to receive him, and remained standing awhile before causing him to

take a seat between her and M. Lactancio. I sat a little way off, but the

Marchioness, remaining awhile without speaking, not wishing to delay her

practice of honouring those who conversed with her, and the place where

she was, commenced, with an art that I could not describe, to say many

things very well expressed, and with thoughts most graciously stated,

without ever touching on painting, in order to ensure the great painter to

us; and I saw her as one wishing to reduce a well armed city by discretion

and guile; and we saw the painter, too, standing watchful and vigilant, as

if he were besieged, placing sentries in one place and ordering bridges to

be raised in another, making mines and defending all the walls and towers;

but finally the Marchioness had to conquer, nor do I know who could defend

himself against her.

She said: "It is known that whoever comes into conflict with M. Angelo in

his own speciality, which is discretion, cannot but be vanquished. It is

necessary, M. Lactancio, that we should talk with him about actions or

briefs or painting to put him to silence and to obtain any advantage over

him."

"Nay," I then said, "I know of no better way of wearying M. Angelo than by

informing him that I am here, as he has not seen me hitherto. But I

already know that the way not to see a person is to have him before one's

eyes."

You should then have seen Michael turn himself towards me with

astonishment, and say:

"Forgive me, M. Francisco, for not having seen you for had I not the

Marchioness before my eyes, but as God has sent you here, assist and help

me as a comrade."

"For that reason only will I forgive you; but it seems to me that the

Marchioness causes with one light contrary effects, as the sun does, which

with the same rays melts and hardens, because you were blinded by seeing

her and I both hear and see you, because I see her; and also because I

know how much a wise person will occupy himself with her Excellency, and

how little time she leaves for others; and therefore at times I do not

take the advice of some friars."

Here the Marchioness laughed again.

Then Friar Ambrosio rose and took leave of the Marchioness and of us,

remaining thenceforward a great friend of mine, and he went away.

And now the Marchioness began to speak thus:

"His Holiness has done me the favour of allowing me to build a nunnery for

ladies here at the foot of Monte Cavallo, by the broken portico, where it

is said that Nero saw Rome burning, so that the wicked footprints of such

a man may be trodden out by others more honest of holy women. I do not

know, M. Angelo, what shape and proportions to give to the house, where

the door should be placed, and whether some of the old work may be adapted

to the new?"

"Yes, madam," said Michael, "the broken portico might be used as a

campanile."

And this was so pleasant, and Michael said it so seriously and in such a

manner that M. Lactancio could not help calling attention to it; and the

great painter added these words:

"I quite think your Excellency may build the nunnery; and when we leave

here, with your permission, we may very well go and look at the site, so

as to give you some drawing for it."

"I did not dare to ask you for so much," she said, "but I already knew

that in everything you follow the doctrine of the Lord: _deposuit

potentes, exaltavit humiles_; and in that also you are excellent, for you

acknowledge yourself at last as discreetly generous and not as an ignorant

prodigal. And therefore in Rome those who know you esteem you even more

than your works; and those who do not know you esteem only the least of

you, which are the works of your hands. And certainly I do not give any

less praise to your knowledge of how to retire within yourself and fly

from our useless conversations, and to your wisdom in not painting for all

the princes who ask you to do so, but confining yourself to the painting

of a single work during all your life as you have done,"

"Madam," said Michael, "perchance you attribute to me more than I deserve;

but in doing so you remind me that I wish to make a complaint against many

persons, on my own behalf and on behalf of painters of my temperament, and

also on behalf of M. Francisco here.

"There are many persons who maintain a thousand lies, and one is that

eminent painters are eccentric and that their conversation is intolerable

and harsh, they are only human all the while, and thus fools and

unreasonable persons consider them fantastic and fanciful, allowing them

with much difficulty the conditions necessary to a painter. It is quite

true that such conditions are only necessary where there is a real

painter, which is in very few places, as in Italy, where there is the

perfection of all things; but foolish, idle persons are unreasonable in

expecting so many compliments from a busy man: few mortals fulfil their

duty well, one who does will not accuse another who is fulfilling his;

painters are not in any way unsociable through pride, but either because

they find few pursuits equal to painting, or in order not to corrupt

themselves with the useless conversation of idle people, and debase the

intellect from the lofty imaginations in which they are always absorbed.

And I affirm to your Excellency that even his Holiness annoys and wearies

me when at times he talks to me and asks me somewhat roughly why do I not

come to see him, for I believe that I serve him better in not going when

he asks me, little needing me, when I wish to work for him in my house;

and I tell him that, as M. Angelo, I serve him more thus than by standing

before him all day, as others do,"

"Oh, happy M. Angelo," said I at this stage, "my prince is not a Pope, can

he forgive me such a sin?"

"Such sins, M. Francisco, are just those which kings pardon," said he, and

added: "Sometimes, I may tell you, my important duties have given me so

much licence that when, as I am talking to the Pope, I put this old felt

hat non-chalantly on my head, and talk to him very frankly, but even for

that he does not kill me; on the contrary, he has given me a

livelihood.(187) And as I say, I have paid him more compliments in his

service than unnecessary ones to his person. If perchance a man were so

blind as to invent such an unprofitable exchange, as it is for a man to

separate himself and content himself with himself whilst he loses his

friends and makes enemies of all, would it not be very wrong if they bore

him ill-will for that? But whoever has such a complexion both because the

force of his duty demands it, and because of his having been born with a

dislike of ceremony and dissimulation, it seems very foolish not to allow

him to live. And if such a man is so moderate that he does not want

anything of you, what do you want with him? And why should you wish to use

him in those vanities for which his quietness is not fitted? Do you not

know that there are sciences that require the whole man without ever

leaving him free for your idle trivialities? When he has as little to do

as you have, let him be killed if he does not observe your rules of

etiquette and compliment even better than you. You only seek his company

and praise him in order to obtain honour through him for yourselves, nor

do you really mind what sort of man he is, so long as a pope or an emperor

converse with him. And I dare affirm that he cannot be a great man who

tries to satisfy idle persons rather than the men of his own craft, nor

can one who is in nowise singular and reserved or whatever you may be

pleased to call it, be better than the ordinary and vulgar talents which

are to be found without a lantern in the market-places of the world...."

Here Michael ceased speaking, and a little while afterwards the

Marchioness said:

"If those friends of whom you are speaking had the discretion of the

friends of old, the evil would be smaller; when Arcesilaus went one day to

see Apelles, who was ill and in need, this good friend raised his artist's

head so as to arrange the pillow and put underneath a sum of money for his

cure, which sum, having been found by the old woman attending him, who was

frightened at the amount, Apelles, smiling, said: 'This money was stolen

from Arcesilaus; do not be astonished.'"

Then Lactancio added, in this manner, his opinion: "Skilful artists would

not exchange places with any other kind of men however great they may be,

so satisfied are they with some special joyousness which they get from

their art; but I would counsel them to exchange at least with the happy

ones, if it seemed to me that they wished to do so, and were it not that

they consider themselves the most happy of mortals. The mind which is

capable of the very highest painting knows where the lives and pleasures

of the pre-sumptuous lead them and what they are, and how they die

nameless and without knowledge of the things which in the world are most

worthy of being known and esteemed, and how we cannot even remember that

such a man was born however much money he may have kept in his coffers.

And thus he understands that good work and the good name of immortal

virtue is the felicity of this life and all or almost all that is to be

desired; and therefore he esteems himself more because he is on the road

to attain that glory than one who does not know this and never even knew

how to desire it. Many are content with much less power than that of

imitating a work of God as in painting; and if one never attained to the

distinction of governing a great province, it is but human to be satisfied

with things which are more difficult and more uncertain than governing a

country which stretched from the Columns of Hercules to the Indian River

Ganges. Such an one never killed an enemy more difficult to conquer than

is the conforming the work to the desire or idea of the great painter, and

the one was never so satisfied drinking out of a golden cup as the other

drinking out of an earthen pot. Nor was the Emperor Maximilian wrong in

saying that he could indeed make a duke or a count, but as for an

excellent painter God alone could make him when He so pleased, for which

reason he abstained from putting to death a painter who deserved to die."

"What do you advise me to do, Master Lactancio," the Marchioness then

said; "shall I put a question to M. Angelo about painting, as he now, in

order to prove to me that great men are justified in their ways and not

eccentric, may take measures like those he is accustomed to take?"

And Lactancio: "For your Excellency, Madam, M. Michael cannot help

constraining himself and giving out here that which it is well that he

keeps close elsewhere."

M. Angelo said: "I beg of your Excellency to tell me what I can give to

her and it shall be given."

And she, smiling: "I very much wish to know, as we are dealing with this

subject, what you think of the painting of Flanders and whom it will

satisfy, because it appears to me more devout than the Italian style."

"The painting of Flanders, Madam," answered the artist slowly, "will

generally satisfy any devout person more than the painting of Italy, which

will never cause him to drop a single tear, but that of Flanders will

cause him to shed many; this is not owing to the vigour and goodness of

that painting, but to the goodness of such devout person; women will like

it, especially very old ones, or very young ones. It will please likewise

friars and nuns, and also some noble persons who have no ear for true

harmony. They paint in Flanders, only to deceive the external eye, things

that gladden you and of which you cannot speak ill, and saints and

prophets. Their painting is of stuffs, bricks and mortar, the grass of the

fields, the shadows of trees, and bridges and rivers, which they call

landscapes, and little figures here and there; and all this, although it

may appear good to some eyes, is in truth done without reasonableness or

art, without symmetry or proportion, without care in selecting or

rejecting, and finally without any substance or verve, and in spite of all

this, painting in some other parts is worse than it is in Flanders.

Neither do I speak so badly of Flemish painting because it is all bad, but

because it tries to do so many things at once (each of which alone would

suffice for a great work) so that it does not do anything really well.

"Only works which are done in Italy can be called true painting, and

therefore we call good painting Italian, for if it were done so well in

another country, we should give it the name of that country or province.

As for the good painting of this country, there is nothing more noble or

devout, for with wise persons nothing causes devotion to be remembered, or

to arise, more than the difficulty of the perfection which unites itself

with and joins God; because good painting is nothing else but a copy of

the perfections of God and a reminder of His painting. Finally, good

painting is a music and a melody which intellect only can appreciate, and

with great difficulty. This painting is so rare that few are capable of

doing or attaining to it. And I further say (which whoever notes it will

consider important) that of all the climates or countries lighted by the

sun and the moon, in no other can one paint well but in the kingdom of

Italy; and it is a thing which is nearly impossible to do well except

here, even though there were more talented men in the other provinces, if

there could be such, and this for reasons which we will give you. Take a

great man from another kingdom, and tell him to paint whatever he likes

and can do best, and let him do it; and take a bad Italian apprentice and

order him to make a drawing, or to paint whatever you like, and let him do

it; you will find, if you understand it well, that the drawing of that

apprentice, as regards art, has more substance than that of the other

master, and what he attempted to do is worth more than everything that the

other ever did. Order a great master, who is not an Italian, even though

it be Alberto,(188) a man delicate in his manner, in order to deceive me,

or Francisco d'Ollanda there, to counterfeit a work which shall be like an

Italian work, and if it cannot be a very good one let it be an ordinary or

a bad painting, and I assure you that it will be immediately recognised

that the work was not done in Italy, nor by the hand of an Italian. I

likewise affirm that no nation or people (I except one or two Spaniards)

can perfectly satisfy or imitate the Italian manner of painting (which is

the old Greek manner) without his being immediately recognised as a

foreigner, whatever efforts he may make, and however hard he may work to

do so. And if by some great miracle such a foreigner should succeed in

painting well, then, although he may not have done it in order to imitate

Italian work, it will be said that he painted like an Italian. Thus it is

that all painting done in Italy is not called Italian painting, but all

that is good and direct is, for in this country works of illustrious

painting are done in a more masterly and more serious manner than in any

other place. We call good painting _Italian_, which painting, even though

it be done in Flanders or in Spain (which approaches us most) if it be

good, will be Italian painting, for this most noble science does not

belong to any country, _as it came from heaven_; but even from ancient

times it remained in our Italy more than in any other kingdom in the

world, and I think that it will end in it."

So he spoke. Seeing that Michael was now silent, I urged him on in this

manner. "So, Master Michael Angelo, you assert that out of all the nations

of the world it is only Italians who can paint? (Ollanda continues.)

"But what wonder in that? You must know that in Italy painting is done

well for many reasons, and outside Italy painting is done badly for many

reasons. Firstly, the nature of the Italians is studious in the extreme,

and the talented already bring with them, when they are born, power of

work, taste and love of that to which they are inclined, and of that which

demands their genius; and if any one determines to make a profession, and

to pursue some art or liberal science, he does not content himself with

what is sufficient for him to become rich thereby, and one of the number

of the craftsmen, but in order to be unique and distinguished he watches

and works continuously, and keeps before his eyes the great hope of being

a paragon of perfection (I speak where I know I am believed) and not a

mere mediocrity in that art or science. This is because Italy does not

esteem mediocrity, deeming it an exceedingly poor thing; and speaks only

of those, and even praises them to the skies, who, like _eagles_, surpass

all others, and penetrating the clouds approach the light of the sun.

Then, again, you are born in a province (is not this an advantage?) which

is the mother and protectress of all sciences and disciplines, amongst so

many relics of your ancestors, which do not exist anywhere else, that

already as children you find before your eyes in the streets a great part

of whatever your inclination or genius may be inclined to; and from youth

upwards you are accustomed to see those things which old men never saw in

other kingdoms. Then, growing up, although you may have been rude and

rough, by nature you are already so accustomed to have your eyes full of

the forms of the many old things of renown, that you cannot fail to

imitate them; and to all this are joined (as I say) distinguished talent

and indefatigable study and taste. You have remarkable masters to imitate,

and their works, and as regards new works the cities are full of the

curious things and novelties which are discovered and found every day. And

if all these things do not suffice, although I should consider them quite

sufficient for the perfection of any science, at least this is quite

enough; namely, that we, Portuguese, although some of us may be born with

nice talent and minds--as many are born--have a contempt for and consider it

fine to take little account of the arts, and we almost feel it a disgrace

to know much about them, wherefore we always leave them imperfect and

unfinished. You Italians alone, (I cannot even say Germans or Frenchmen),

give the greatest honour, the greatest nobility and the power to be more,

to a man who is a splendid painter or splendid in some faculty; and of all

your noblemen, captains, wise men, satirists, cardinals and Popes, that

man only who may attain the reputation of being perfect and rare in his

profession is ever exalted or thought much of by you. And as great princes

are not esteemed nor have any name in Italy, so it is a painter alone that

they call the _divine_--Michael Angelo, as you will find in letters which

Aretino, satirist of all Christian gentlemen, wrote you. Now, the payments

and prices that in Italy are given for paintings also appear to me to have

a great deal to do with the fact that painting cannot be done anywhere but

here, because frequently for a head or face from nature one thousand

'cruzados' are paid, and many other works are paid for as you, gentlemen,

know better than I, very differently from the way they are paid for in

other kingdoms, seeing that mine is among the magnificent and wide. Now,

your Excellency, please to judge whether these be hindrances or helps."

"It seems to me," answered the Marchioness, "that before these hindrances

you must place talent and knowledge, which are not transalpine but belong

to the good Italian; however, everywhere virtue is the same, good is the

same, and evil is the same, although they may have a different

civilisation from ours."

"If that," I answered, "were heard in my country, well, Madam, they would

be astonished both at your Excellency praising me and in that manner, and

by your making that difference between Italians and other men whom you

call 'transalpine,' or from beyond the mountains:

'Non adeo obtusa gestamos pectora Poeni,

Nec tam auersus equos, Lysia, sol iungit ab urbe.'

"We have, Madam, in Portugal, good and ancient cities, and principally my

birthplace, Lisbon; we have good manners, and good courtiers and valiant

cavaliers and courageous princes, both in war and in peace, and above all

we have a very powerful and splendid king, who with great calmness tempers

and governs us, and commands very distant provinces of barbarians, whom he

has converted to the Faith; and he is feared by the whole East and by the

whole of Mauritania and is a patron of the Fine Arts, so much so that,

through making a mistake as to my talent, which in my youth promised some

fruit, he sent me to see Italy and its civilisation, and Master Michael

Angelo, whom I see here. It is quite true that we have not such buildings

and pictures as you have, but they are already being made, and little by

little they are losing that barbarian superfluity that the Goths and Moors

sowed throughout Spain. I also hope that, on arriving in Portugal after

leaving here, I may assist either in the elegance of building or in the

nobility of painting, so that we may be able to compete with you. Our

science is almost entirely lost, and without honour or renown in those

kingdoms, and not through the fault of others, but through the fault of

the place and disusage, to such extent that very few esteem it or

understand it unless it be our most serene king, by supporting all virtue

and patronising it; and likewise the most serene infante D. Luiz, his

brother, a very valorous and wise prince, who has a very nice knowledge

and discretion in every liberal art. All the others neither understand nor

esteem painting."

"They do well," said M. Angelo.

But Master Lactancio Tolomei, who had not spoken for some time, proceeded

in this manner:

"We Italians have this very great advantage over all other nations in this

great world, in the knowledge and honour of all the illustrious and most

worthy arts and sciences. But I would have you to know, M. Francisco

d'Ollanda, that whoever does not understand and esteem the most noble art

of painting does so because of his own defects and not because of the art,

which is very noble and clear; and because he is a barbarian and without

judgment, and has no honourable part in being a man. And this is proved by

the example of the most powerful old and modern emperors and kings, and of

the philosophers and wise persons who attained everything, and who so

greatly esteemed and appreciated the knowledge of painting, and spoke of

it with such high praises and examples, and in making use of it and paying

for it so liberally and magnificently and, finally, by the great honour

that the Mother Church does it, with the holy Pontiffs, cardinals, and

great princes and prelates. And so you will find in all the past

centuries, all the past valorous peoples and nations held this art in so

much honour, that they admired nothing more nor considered anything as a

greater wonder. And then we see Alexander the Great, Demetrius, and

Ptolomy, famous kings, together with many other princes, who readily boast

of understanding it; and amongst the Caesars, Augustus the divine Caesar,

Octavian Augustus, M. Agrippa, Claudius, and Caligula and Nero, in this

alone virtuous, likewise Vespasian and Titus, as was shown in the famous

retable of the Temple of Peace, which he built after having vanquished the

Jews and their Jerusalem. What shall I say of the great Emperor Trajan?

What of Helius Adrianus, who with his own hand painted singularly well, as

the Greek Dion writes in his life, and Spartianus? Then the divine Marcus

Aurelius Antoninus, Julius Capitolinus, says how he learned to paint,

Diognetus being his teacher; and even AElius Lampridius relates that the

Emperor Severus Alexander, who was an exceedingly powerful prince, himself

painted his genealogy to show that he descended from the lineage of the

Metelos. Of the great Pompey, Plutarch says that in the city of Mitylene

he drew with a style the plan and shape of the theatre, in order to have

it afterwards built in Rome, which he did.

"And although, owing to its great effects and beauties, noble painting

merits all veneration without seeking praise from other virtues, beside

those proper to it, I still wished to show here, before one who knows it,

by what sort of men it was esteemed. And if by chance, at any time or in

any place, there should be found any one who, because of being highly

placed and great, refuses to esteem this art, let him know that others

still greater appreciated it greatly. Who can compare himself with

Alexander the Greek? Who will exceed the prowess of Caesar the Roman? Who

is of greater glory than Pompey? Who more a prince than Trajan? For these

Alexanders and Caesars not only dearly loved the divine painting, and paid

great prices for it, but with their own hands they occupied themselves

with it and touched it. Or who, out of bravery and presumption, will

despise it and be not rather very humble and very unworthy before

painting, before her severe and grave face?"

Thus it seemed that Lactancio was finishing, when the Marchioness

proceeded, saying:

"Or who will be the virtuous and serene man (if he despises it for its

sanctity) who will not show great reverence and adore the spiritual

contemplation and devotion of holy painting? I think that time would

sooner be lacking than material for the praises of this virtue. It

produces joy in the melancholy, it brings both the contented and the angry

man to the knowledge of human misery; it moves the obstinate to

compunction, the mundane to penitence, the contemplative to contemplation,

and the fearful to shame. It shows us death and what we are, more gently

than in any other way; the torments and dangers of hell; so far as is

possible, it represents to us the glory and peace of the blessed, and the

incomprehensible image of our Lord God. It represents to us the modesty of

His saints, the constancy of the martyrs, the purity of the virgins, the

beauty of the angels, and the love and ardour with which the seraphim

burn, better than in any other way, and lifts up our spirit and plunges

our mind into the depths beyond the stars, to imagine the empirean that

there exists. What shall I say of how it brings before us the worthies who

passed away so long ago, and whose bones even are not now upon this earth,

to enable us to imitate them in their bright deeds? Or how it shows us

their councils and battles by examples and delightful histories? Their

great deeds, their piety and their manners? To captains it shows the

manoeuvres of the old armies, the cohorts and their disposition, their

discipline and their military order. It animates and creates daring, by

emulation and an honest envy of the famous ones, as Scipio the African

confessed.

"It leaves a memorial of the present times for those who come after.

Painting shows us the garb of the pilgrim or of antiquity, the variety of

foreign peoples and nations, buildings, animals, and monsters, which in

writing it would be prolix to hear about, and even then it would be but

badly understood. And not only these things does this noble art, but it

places before our eyes the image of any great man who should be seen and

known because of his deeds, and likewise the beauty of a woman who is

separated from us by many leagues, a thing on which Pliny reflects much.

To one who dies it gives many years of life, his own face remaining behind

painted, and his wife is consoled, seeing daily before her the image of

her deceased husband, and the sons who were left little children rejoice

when men to know the presence and the aspect of their dear father, and

fear to shame him."

As the Marchioness, almost weeping, made a pause here, M. Lactancio, in

order to draw her out of her sorrowful imagination and memories, said:

"Besides all these things, which are great, what is there that more

ennobles or makes other things more beautiful than painting, whether on

arms, in temples, in palaces, or fortresses, or anywhere else where beauty

and order may have a place? And so great minds assert that there is

nothing a man can find to fight against his mortality or against the

flight of time but painting only. Nor did Pithagoras depart from this view

when he said that only in three things were men similar to the immortal

God: in science, in painting, and in music."

Here Master Michael said:

"I am sure that if in your Portugal, M. Francisco, they were to see the

beauty of the painting that is in some houses in Italy, they could not be

so uncultured as not to esteem it greatly, and wish to attain to it; but

it is not surprising that they do not know or appreciate what they have

never seen and what they do not possess." Here M. Angelo rose, showing

that it was already time for him to retire and go; and likewise the

Marchioness rose; I asked her as a favour to invite all that distinguished

company for the following day in that same place, and that M. Angelo

should not fail to appear. She did so, and he promised that he would come.

And the Marchioness going with the rest, M. Lactancio left with Michael,

and I and Diogo Zapata, a Spaniard, went with the Marchioness from the

monastery of St. Silvester at Monte Cavallo to the other monastery where

there is the head of St. John the Baptist, and where the Marchioness

resides, and we left her with the mothers and nuns, and I went to my

residence.

SECOND DIALOGUE

All that night I thought of the past day, and was preparing myself for the

one to come; but it frequently happens that our arrangements prove

uncertain and vain, and very contrary to what we expect, as I then learnt.

On the following day M. Lactancio sent me word that we could not meet as

we had arranged, owing to certain business matters which had cropped up

both for the Lady Marchioness and likewise for Michael Angelo himself, but

he asked me to be at St. Silvester's in eight days' time, as that day had

been agreed upon.

I found those eight days long, but finally, when Sunday came, the time

appeared to me to have been but short, for I should have liked to have

been better armed with knowledge for such a noble company. When I arrived

at St. Silvester the lesson from the Epistles which Friar Ambrose read was

finished and he was gone, and they were beginning to complain of my being

late and about me.

After they had pardoned me, I having confessed to being a laggard, and

after the Marchioness had bantered me a little, and I Messer Angelo in my

turn, I obtained permission to proceed with the former conversation about

painting; I commenced saying:

"I think, Senhor Michael Angelo, that last Sunday, when we were about to

part, you told me that if in the kingdom of Portugal, which you here call

Spain, they were to see the noble pictures of Italy, they would esteem

them greatly, for which reason I beg as a favour (for I have come here for

nothing else) that you will not disdain to inform me what famous works in

painting there are in Italy, so that I may know how many I have already

seen, and how many I still have to see."

"You ask me a question which would take long to answer, M. Francisco,"

said M. Angelo, "wide and difficult to put together, for we know that

there is no prince or private person or nobleman in Italy, or any one of

any pretension, however little curious he may be about painting (to say

nothing of those excellent ones who adore it), who does not take steps to

have some relic of divine painting, or who at least, in so far as he can,

does not order many works to be executed. So that a good portion of the

beauty of our art is spread over many noble cities, castles,

country-seats, palaces and temples, and other private and public

buildings; but as I have not seen them all in an orderly manner, I can

only speak of some which are the principal ones.

"In Siena there is some singular painting in the Municipal Chamber and in

other places; in Florence, my native place, in the Palaces of the Medici,

there is a grotesque by Giovanni da Udine, and so throughout Tuscany. In

Urbino, the Palace of the Duke, who was himself half a painter, has a

great deal of praiseworthy work, and also in his country-seat called

'Imperial,' near Pesaro, erected by his wife, there is some very

magnificent painting. So, too, the Palace of the Duke of Mantua, where

Andrea painted the Triumph of Caius Caesar, is noble; but more so still is

the work of the Stable, painted by Julius, a pupil of Raphael, who now

flourishes in Mantua. In Ferrara we have the painting of Dosso in the

Palace of Castello, and in Padua they also praise the loggia of M. Luis,

and the Fortress of Lenhago. Now in Venice there are admirable works by

Chevalier Titian, a valiant man in painting and in drawing from nature, in

the Library of St. Mark, some in the House of the Germans, and others in

churches and in other good hands; and the whole of that city is a good

painting.

"So in Pisa, in Lucca, in Bologna, in Piacenza, in Parma, where there is

the Parmesano,(189) in Milan, and in Naples. So in Genoa there is the

house of Prince Doria, painted by Master Perino, with great judgment,

especially the Storm of the Vessels of AEneas, in oils, and the ferocity of

Neptune and his sea-horses; and likewise in another room there is a

fresco, Jupiter fighting against the giants in Phlegra, overthrowing them

with thunderbolts; and nearly the whole city is painted inside and out.

And in many other castles and cities of Italy, such as Orvieto, Esi,(190)

Ascoli, and Como, there are pictures nobly painted, and all of great

price, for I only speak of such; and if we were to speak of the private

paintings and pictures that every one holds dearer than life, it would be

to speak of the innumerable, and there are to be found in Italy some

cities which are nearly all painted with tolerable painting, inside and

out."

It seemed that Michael was coming to a conclusion, when the Lady

Marchioness, looking at me, said:

"Do you not remark, M. Francisco, that M. Michael abstained from speaking

of Rome, the mother of painting, so as not to talk of his own works? Now

what he would not do, let us not fail to do for the purpose of ensnaring

him the more, for when one deals with famous paintings, no other has such

value as the fount from which they are derived and proceed. And this work

is in the head and fount of the Church, I mean in St. Peter's in Rome; a

great vault, in fresco, with its circuit and curvatures of arches, and a

facade, in which M. Angelo divinely made us understand and divided into

histories how God first created the world, with many images of Sibyls and

figures of exceedingly great artistic beauty and artifice. And what is

singular is, that doing nothing more than this work, which as yet he has

not completed, and having commenced it when a youth, there is therein

comprised the work of twenty painters united in that vault alone. Raphael

of Urbino painted in this city a second work of such art that it would

have been the first if the other had not existed. It is a hall and two

chambers and a loggia in fresco, in the palaces of the said St. Peter, a

magnificent thing of many elegant stories of a very decorous description.

And the story of Apollo playing his harp amongst the nine muses in the

Parnasus is singular. In the house(191) of Augustimguis (Chigi) Raphael

has painted very preciously a poetry, the story of Psyche, and very

gracefully he surrounded Galatea by mermen in the middle of the waves and

by cupids in the air. The picture in S. Pietro in Montorio of the

Transfiguration of our Lord,(192) in oils, is very good, and another in

Aracoeli, and in the Temple of Peace, in fresco.(193) The picture in S.

Pietro in Montorio by the hand of Bastiaeo Veneziano(194) is famous; he did

it in competition with Raphael. There are many facades of palaces in this

city, in white and black,(195) by Baltesar(196) di Siena, architect, and

by Marturino and by Polidoro, a man who in that manner of working

magnificently enriched Rome. Further, there are here many palaces of

Cardinals and other men painted in grotesque and in stucco and with many

other varieties of art, for the city is more painted than any other in the

whole world, apart from the private pictures that every one holds dearer

than life itself. But of the things outside the city, the Vigna, begun by

Pope Clement VII., at the foot of Monte Mario, is most worth seeing; it is

ornamented by the fine painting and sculpture of Raphael and Julius, where

the giant lies sleeping, whose feet the satyrs are measuring with

shepherds' crooks. You now see whether these are works which would lead us

to be silent about our city."

And she was already ceasing to speak, when I remembered me, and said:

"No doubt your Excellency also forgot the famous tomb or chapel of the

Medici in San Lorenzo, at Florence, painted in marble by M. Angelo, with

such a generous number of statues in full relief that it can certainly

compete with any of the great works of antiquity; where the goddess or

image of Night, sleeping above the nocturnal bird, and the melancholy

Death in Life pleased me the most, although there are there many noble

sculptures around the Dawn. But I cannot omit the mention of a painting

which I saw, even though it was outside Italy, in France or Provence, in

the City of Avignon, in a Franciscan monastery: it is that of a dead woman

who had been very beautiful, she was called the Beautiful Anna; a king of

France who liked painting and who painted (if I am not mistaken) called

Reynel, came to Avignon and inquired whether the Beautiful Anna was there

because he greatly desired to see her to paint her from life, and having

been told that she had died shortly before, the king caused her to be

disinterred to see whether still in her bones there were some traces of

her beauty. He found her clothed, in the old style, as if she were alive,

with her golden hair dressed on her head, but all the gay beauty of the

face, which alone was uncovered, had changed into a skull; notwithstanding

this, the painter king considered it so beautiful that he painted her from

nature, surrounding his work with verses which mourn and are still

mourning for her. Which work I saw in that place and I thought it very

worthy."

All were pleased with my picture, and M. Angelo added that in Narbonne I

would have also seen the picture St. Sebastian in the Cathedral, and he

said:

"In France there is some good painting, and the King of France has many

palaces and pleasure houses with innumerable paintings, both in

Fontainebleau, where the king kept together two hundred painters, well

paid, for a certain time; and in Madrid, the pleasure house which he

built, where he voluntarily imprisons himself at times, in memory of

Madrid in Spain where he was a prisoner."

"I think," said M. Lactancio, "that I heard a while ago Francisco

d'Ollanda name amongst paintings the tomb that you, Senhor Michael,

sculptured in marble; but I do not understand how sculpture can be called

painting."

Then I began to laugh heartily, and begging permission of the Master,

said:

"To save Senhor Michael trouble I will reply to Senhor Lactancio

concerning this doubt of his, which has followed me here from my own

country.

"As you will find that all the employments which have most art and

reasonableness and grace are those which most nearly approach the drawing

or painting, so those which most nearly approach it proceed from it and

are a part or member of it, such as sculpture or statuary, which is

nothing else but painting itself, although it may well appear to some to

be a separate art; it is, however, condemned to serve painting, its

mistress.

"And this I will give as a sufficient proof (as your Excellencies well

know), that in the books we find Phidias and Praxiteles called painters,

whilst it is certain that they were sculptors in marble, seeing that the

statues from their hands in stone are here near us, on this hill, the

horses which they made, which King Teridade sent to Nero as a present, for

which reason in recent times this place is called Monte Cavallo. And

should this not be enough, I will add how Donatello (who, with the

permission of Master Michael, was one of the first modern ones who in

sculpture merited fame and name in Italy) never said anything else to his

pupils, when teaching them, but draw, telling them in a single word of

doctrine: 'Pupils, I give you the whole art of sculpture when I tell

you--_draw!_' And so Pomponio Gaurico, sculptor, also affirms in the book

he wrote 'De Re Statuaria.' But why do I seek examples and proofs afar,

when perchance they are near me? And so as not to speak of myself, I say

the great draughtsman, M. Angelo, who is here, also sculptures in marble,

which is not his art, and better even (if one may say it) than he paints

with the brush on a panel, and he himself has told me sometimes that he

finds the sculpture of stone less difficult than the using of colours, and

that he deems it to be a very much greater thing to make a masterly stroke

with the brush than with the chisel. And even a famous draughtsman, if he

so desires, will by himself sculpture and carve in hard marble, in bronze

and in silver, exceedingly large statues in full relief (which is a great

thing), without ever having taken a chisel in his hand; and this is owing

to the great virtue and power of drawing. It does not, therefore, follow

that a sculptor will know how to paint or how to hold a brush, nor will he

know how to paint and make a stroke like a master, as I learnt a few days

ago on going to see Baccio Blandino,(197) the sculptor, whom I found

trying to paint in oils and unable to do so. The draughtsman will be a

master in building palaces or temples, and will carve statues and will

paint pictures; for the said Master Michael and Raphael and Baltesar di

Siena,(198) famous painters, taught architecture and sculpture, and

Baltesar di Siena, after briefly studying that art, equalled Bramante, a

most eminent architect, who passed all his life in its discipline, and yet

he used to say that it gave him an advantage, for he appreciated the

invention, fancy and freedom of drawing. I am speaking of true painters."

"But I say, Senhor Lactancio," said Michael, assisting M. Francisco, "that

the painter of whom he speaks not only will be instructed in liberal arts

and other sciences such as architecture and sculpture, which are his own

province, but also in all other manual crafts which are practised

throughout the world; should he wish, he will do them with more art than

the actual masters of them. However that may be, I sometimes set myself

thinking and imagining that I find amongst men but one single art or

science, and that is drawing or painting, all others being members

proceeding therefrom; for if you carefully consider all that is being done

in this life you will find that each person is, without knowing it,

painting this world, creating and producing new forms and figures here, in

dress and the various garbs, in building and occupying spaces with painted

buildings and houses, in cultivating the fields and ploughing the land

into pictures and sketches, in navigating the seas with sails, in fighting

and dividing the spoil, and finally in the 'firmamentos' and burials and

in all other operations, movements and actions. I leave out all the

handicrafts and arts, of which painting is the principal fount, of which

some are rivers which spring from it, such as sculpture and architecture;

some are brooks, such as mechanical trades; and some are stagnant ponds,

which do not flow (such as useless handicrafts like cutting out with

scissors and such like), formed from the waters of the flood when drawing

overflowed its banks in old time and inundated everything under its

dominion and empire, as one sees in the works of the Romans, all done in

the manner of painting. In all their painted buildings and fabrics, in all

works in gold, silver, or in metals, in all their vases and ornaments, and

even in the elegance of their coins, and in their dress and armour, in

their triumphs as well as in all their other operations and works, one

easily recognises how, in the time when they held sway over all the earth,

my lady painting was the universal sovereign and mistress of all their

deeds and trades and sciences, extending herself even to writing, and

composing or writing histories. So that whosoever well considers and

understands human works, will find without doubt that they are all either

painting itself or some part of painting; and although the painter be

capable of inventing what has not as yet been found, and of doing all the

handicrafts of the others with much more grace and elegance than their own

professors, yet no one but he can be a true painter or draughtsman."

"I am satisfied," answered Lactancio, "and understand better the great

power of painting, which, as you stated, is seen in all things of the

ancients and even in writing and composing. And perhaps notwithstanding

your great imagination you will not have been as much struck as I have

been with the conformity which letters have with painting (for you will

certainly hold letters to be a part of painting); nor by how these two

sciences are such legitimate sisters that, if one be separated from the

other, neither is perfect, although it seems that these present times keep

them in some way separated. But yet every learned and consummate man will

find that in all his works he is always exercising to a great extent the

office of a good painter, painting and colouring some intention of his

with much care and devotion. Now in opening the old books, the famous ones

are few which are not like painting; and it is certain that those which

are the heaviest and most confused are so for no other reason but because

the writers are not good draughtsmen and are not very skilful in drawing

and dividing up their work; and the most facile and terse are those of the

best draughtsman. And even Quintilian in the perfection of his _Rhetoric_

lays it down that not only in the division of the words his orator should

draw, but that with his own hand he should know how to sketch and draw;

and hence it is, Senhor M. Angelo, that you may at times call a great man

of letters or a great preacher a good painter; and a great draughtsman you

may call a man of letters, and whosoever most penetrates into real

antiquity will find that painting and sculpture were both called painting,

and that in the time of Demosthenes they called _writing_ 'antigraphia,'

which means _drawing_, and it was a word common to both these sciences,

and that the writings of Agatharco can be called the painting of

Agatharco. And I think that the Egyptians also--all of them who had to

write or express anything--were accustomed to know how to paint, and even

their hieroglyphic signs were painted animals and birds, as is shown by

some obelisks in this city which came from Egypt. But if I speak of

poetry, it seems to me that it will not be very difficult for me to show

how true a sister she is to painting. But so that Senhor Francisco may

know how much necessity he has for poetry, and how much he may gain from

the best of it, I will show him here how much care the poets take

(although this is matter for a young man rather than for me) of their

profession and intelligence, and how much they praise and celebrate their

art as being free from penalties and blots; and it does not seem that the

poets worked for anything except to teach the beauties of painting, and

what ought to be avoided or done in it, with all their suavity and music

of verses, and with so many just and fluent words that I do not know how I

can repay them. Now one of the things in which they put the most study and

work (I speak of the famous poets) is in painting well or in imitating a

good painting; and this is due to the accuracy which, with the greatest

promptness and care, they desire to express and attain. And the one who

can attain this is the one who is the most excellent and clear. I remember

that the prince of them, Virgil, threw himself down to sleep at the foot

of a beech-tree, and how he has painted in words the forms of two vases

that Alcimedon had made in a cavern covered with a wild vine, with some

goats chewing willows, and some blue hills smoking in the distance; then

he remains resting on one hand the whole day, to study how many winds and

clouds he will put into the Tempest of AEolus, and how he will paint the

Port of Carthage in a bay, with an island standing apart, and with how

many rocks and woods he will surround it. Afterwards he paints Troy

burning; then some feasts in Sicily, and beyond near Cumas the gate of

hell with a thousand monsters, and chimeras, and many souls passing

Acheron; then the Elysian Fields, the host of the Blest, the pains and

torments of the Impious, and afterwards the Arms of Vulcan, a fine piece

of work; shortly afterwards a painted Amazon, and the ferocity of capless

Turnus. He paints the routs in battle, the many dead, the fates of noble

men, the many spoils and trophies. Read the whole of Virgil and you will

not find in it anything but the handicraft of a Michael Angelo. Lucan

employs a hundred pages in painting an enchantress and the breaking up of

a fine battle. Ovid is nothing else but a 'retavolo' (copyist). Statius

paints the house of sleep and the walls of great Thebes. The poet

Lucretius likewise paints, and Tibullus and Catullus and Propertius. One

paints a fountain, and a wood close by, with Pan, the shepherd, playing a

flute amongst the ewes. Another paints a shrine with nymphs around

dancing. Another draws the drunken Bacchus, surrounded by wild women, with

old Silenus, half falling from an ass, who would have fallen were he not

held up by a satyr who carries a leathern bottle. Even the satirical poet

paints the picture of the labyrinth. Now what do the lyric poets do, or

the wits of Martial, or the tragic or comic ones? What do they do but

paint reasonably? And what I say I do not invent, for each one of them

himself confesses that he paints: they called painting dumb poetry."

At this point I said: "Senhor Lactancio, in calling painting _dumb_ poetry

it seems to me that the poets did not know how to paint well, because, if

they understood how much more painting declares and speaks than poetry,

her sister, they would not say it was dumb, and I will maintain rather

that poetry is the more dumb."

The Marchioness said: "How will you prove, Spaniard, what you say? how

will you prove that painting is not dumb and that poetry is? Let us hear,

for in no more worthy discourse could this day be spent, hearing what you

maintain on that subject; afterwards it may be possible to bring this

company together again, in another place."

"How can your Excellency wish," I answered, "that I should dare to do so

at once, and how should I be able to interest this company with my little

knowledge, especially as I am a pupil of the lady who is dumb and has no

tongue? Particularly, too, as it is already late, if the light through

these windows does not deceive me; how can you order me to praise my

innamorata before her own husband and in such an honourable court of those

who know her worth? If there were some powerful adversaries here I might

attempt it, although in this I am wrong, for it would be much easier to

vanquish enemies than to please these friends. But if your Excellency

desires so much to see me put to silence I will speak, not as an enemy of

poetry, for I am much indebted to her, and I owe her much in the virtue of

my profession, and in the perfection which I so much desire, but to defend

the other lady, who is still more mine, for whose sake only I rejoice to

live, and for whom I confess I have a voice and speak, she being dumb,

solely because I one day saw her move her eyes; and as she teaches one to

speak by her eyes, what would she do if she were to move her wise lips?

Good poets (as Senhor Lactancio said) do not do more with words than even

mediocre painters do with their works, for the former recount what the

latter express and declare. They with fastidious meanings do not always

engage one's ears, whilst the latter satisfy one's eyes, as with some

beautiful spectacle they hold all men prisoners and entranced; and the

passage over which good poets most trouble themselves, and which they hold

as the greatest finesse, is to show you in words (perchance too many and

too long), as if painting a storm on the sea, or the burning of a city,

which storm, if they were able, they would rather paint, for when you

finish the work of reading, you have already forgotten the commencement,

and you have only present the short verse on which your eyes were last

fixed; and the one who shows you this best is the best poet.

"Now, how much more does painting say which shows you that storm

altogether with the thunder, lightning, waves, vessels, and reefs, and you

see: _omniaque viris ostentant praesentem mortem_, and in the same place:

_ex-templo Aeneas tendens ad sidera palmas_ and _tres Eurus abreptas in

saxa latentia torquet emissamque hyemem sensit Neptunus et imis_, and

likewise it shows very present and visibly all the burning of the city, in

every part, represented and seen as if it were really true; on one side

those who run through the streets and squares, on the other those who jump

from the walls and towers; here the temples half demolished and the

reflection of the flames in the rivers, and the surrounded shores

illuminated; how Pantheus as he runs away limping with his idols, leading

his grandchild by the hand; how the Trojan horse gives birth in the centre

of a great square to armed men; how Neptune, very wrath, throws down the

walls; how Pyrrhus beheads Priam; AEneas with his father on his shoulders,

and Ascanius and Creusa who follow him in the darkness of night, full of

fear; and all this so present and so connected and natural that very often

you are moved to think that you are not safe before it, and you are glad

to know they are only colours and that they cannot inspire or do harm. It

does not show you this spread out in words, whilst you remember only the

part which is before your eyes having already forgotten the past and not

knowing the future, and which verses only the ears of a grammarian can

understand with difficulty, but one's eyes visibly enjoy that spectacle as

being true, and one's ears seem to hear the actual cries and clamour of

the painted figures; it seems as if you smell the smoke, you fly from the

flames, you fear the fall of the buildings; you are ready to give a hand

to those who are falling, you defend those who are fighting against

numbers; you run away with those who run away and stand firm with the

courageous. Not only the learned are satisfied, but also the simple, the

countryman, the old woman; not only these, but also the Sarmatian

stranger, the Indian, and the Persian (who never understood the verses of

Virgil, or Homer, which are dumb to them), delight themselves with and

understand that work with great pleasure and quickness; the barbarian

ceases to be barbarian, and understands, by virtue of the eloquent

painting, that which no poetry or numbered feet could teach him. And the

law of painting says: _in ipsa legunt qui literas nesciunt_, and further

on says: _pro lectione pictura est_. When Cebes, a Theban, wished to write

an opinion of his for a law of human life, he simulated and painted it on

a 'panel,' as he thought that he would express it better thus, and that it

would be more noble and more easily understood by all men; he then desired

more to know how to paint, in order to speak, than how to write. But even,

if after all this, poetry still affirms that a Venus painted at the feet

of a Jupiter does not speak, nor Turnus painted, showing his valour before

King Latinus, even this reason cannot render learned painting dumb so that

she does not speak, and show in all things that she is in this also the

first, or perhaps the companion, of my lady poetry. For the great painter

will paint Venus weeping at the feet of Jupiter, with all the following

advantages, which the poet will not have: the first one is that he paints

heaven where it is supposed to be, and the person, dress, and action or

movement of Jupiter and his eagle with the thunderbolt; and he will paint

fully the luxurious beauty of Venus, and her robe of gauzy raiment with

all her graceful movements, so elegant and light and with such skill that,

although she may not speak with her mouth, yet it appears from her eyes,

hands, and mouth that she is really speaking (nor do you hear the soft and

sweet speech of Venus, when a croaking school-master reads the words and

sayings of Venus). She appears to be uttering all those pious sayings and

complaints which Virgil Maro writes concerning her. And also the great

painter will make even King Latinus more copious in his work and the

Councillors of the Laurentes more defined, clearer, some with perturbed

face, and others more collected and quiet, different in appearance and

physiognomy and age, different in movements, which the poet cannot do

without too much prolixity and confusion. And even then he will not do it;

and the painter will do it so that it may be seen with greater pleasure

and move the spectator more, and likewise he will place before your eyes

the brave image of Turnus, boastful and furious with the coward Drances,

that it seems as if you fear him yourself and that he is saying: _Larga

quidem semper, Drance, tibi copia fandi_. Therefore I with my small

talent, as a pupil of a mistress without a tongue, still deem the power of

painting to be greater than that of poetry in making greater effects and

in having more force and vehemence whether to move mind and soul to joy

and laughter, or to sorrow and tears, with more effective eloquence. But

let the muse Calliope be the judge in this matter, for I will be content

with her judgment."

And having said that I ceased. The Marchioness honoured me in bantering

terms thus:

"You, Senhor Francisco, have done so well for your innamorata, painting,

that, if Master Michael does not show just as great a sign of love for

her, we may perhaps get her to divorce him and go with you to Portugal."

And, smiling, Michael said: "He knows, Madam, that I have already done so,

and that I have already released her entirely to him; for as I do not

possess such powers as such great love demands, he has said what he has

said, as of one who belongs to him."

"I confess," said I, "Madam, that he has released her to me, but she does

not wish to go with me, so that she still remains at home with him;

neither would I, although she is so worthy, like to see her come to my

country, for there are but few there who know how to esteem her, and my

most serene king, unless it were in his unoccupied moments, would not

favour her, especially if there happened to be any unrest through war, in

which she is of no use; and so she would become angry and perhaps in a fit

of temper she would one day throw herself into the ocean, which is hard

by, and cause me to sing many times the verse:

Audieras: et fama fuit; sed opera tantum

nostra valent, Lycida, tela inter maria, quantum

chaonias dicunt aquila veniente columbas.

But if she were of use in time of war, I would desire her to come at

once."

"I quite understand," said the Marchioness, "but as now the day is far

spent, let your question be for next Sunday." And as she said this she

rose, and all of us with her, and we went away.

THIRD DIALOGUE

Not only were we unable to meet together on the following Sunday with the

Marchioness and M. Angelo, but even on the next one, eight days later, we

were almost prevented, and indeed did not wish to meet, because at that

time was being celebrated in the city of Rome the feast of the twelve

triumphal cars in the Camp Nagao(199) in the ancient manner. Starting from

the Capitol with such magnificence and ancient pomp that it seemed as if

one were back in the old times of the Emperors and the triumphs of the

Romans. This feast was celebrated on the occasion of the marriage(200) of

Senhor Ottavio,(201) son of Pedro Luiz, and grand-nephew of our Lord Pope

Paul III., to Senhora Margarida,(202) adopted daughter of the Emperor. She

had been a short time previously the wife of Alessandro de Medici, Duke of

Florence, who was killed through treason in Florence. And now, she being a

widow and very young and beautiful, his Holiness and his Majesty married

her to Senhor Ottavio, a very young and estimable man, consequently the

city and the Court feasted them as much as could be at night with

serenades and banquets, and the whole of Rome ablaze with lights and

illuminations, especially the Castle of St. Angelo, and every day feasts

and great expenditure. Such as the feast of Monte Trestacho, with its

twenty bulls attached to twenty carts, killed as a public spectacle in the

square of St. Peter's; and the race which was run between buffaloes and

horses along the entire Via di Nostra Signora Transpontina to the square

of the said palace. And also those festivals which I have mentioned of the

twelve triumphal cars, gilded and ornamented with many fine figures and

very noble devices; there were Romans and the heads of the districts of

Rome, dressed in the old style, with all the pomp and pride that could be

desired; one hundred sons of citizens on horseback, so brave and so

bizarre in their gallantry of painted antiquity, that in comparison with

them the velvet mantles and plumes and the infinity of novelties and

costumes in which Italy exceeds every other province of Europe, appeared

very ordinary. But when I had seen this noble phalanx and company

descending from the Capitol with many infantry, and had viewed all the

bravery of the cars and the ediles, dressed in the old fashion, and had

seen Senhor Giulio Cesarino pass with the standard of the city of Rome, on

a horse with trappings covered with a white coat of arms and black

brocade, I at once turned my horse towards Monte Cavallo, and thus went

riding along the Thermae road pondering over many things of the olden

times, in which I then felt myself to be more than in the present.

Then I ordered my servant to go without fail to St. Silvester and learn

whether perchance the Marchioness or Senhor M. Angelo happened to be

there. The servant was not long in returning, telling me that Senhor M.

Angelo and Senhor Lactancio and Brother Ambrose were all together in the

friar's cell, which was itself in St. Silvester, but that no mention

whatever had been made of the Marchioness. I went on towards St.

Silvester, but the truth is that I intended to pass before it and to

return to the city, when I saw coming a certain Capata, a great servitor

of the Marchioness, and a very honourable person and my friend. I being on

horseback and he on foot, I was obliged to dismount; and he having told me

that he had been sent by the Marchioness, we went into St. Silvester. As

we were entering Senhores, M. Angelo and M. Lactancio were coming out by

way of the garden or court, in order to take their siesta under the trees

by the running water.

"Oh! welcome," said Senhor Lactancio, "both of you; you could not arrive

at a better moment; you have been very wise to fly from the confusion in

the city and take shelter in this quiet haven."

"That is all very well," we said, "but this flattery does not console us,

nor is it sufficient to compensate us for the loss of the absent one."

"He said that for the Marchioness," said Senhor Michael, "and you are so

far right, that if you had not come this instant I might have gone."

Conversing thus we sat down on a stone bench in the garden at the foot of

some laurels, on which there was room for all of us, and we were very

comfortable, leaning back against the green ivy which covered the wall,

and from there we could see a good part of the city, very graceful and

full of ancient majesty.

"Let us not lose everything," said Senhor Capata, after making excuses for

the Marchioness; "let us get some profit out of such a goodly assembly as

we have here; please continue the same noble discussion which you held a

few days ago, on the most noble art of painting, seeing that the

Marchioness very reluctantly commissioned me to that end, for she herself

would have liked to be present. But you must know that she sent me here to

report to her everything stored in my memory, to relate to her everything

treated of, without losing a single point. And therefore we are bound,

gentlemen, I to hear and to be silent about what I do not understand, and

you to give me something to remember and report."

"Senhor Michael," I answered, "must fulfil the wishes of the Marchioness

when she heard me in the last discussion, and practically promised to show

me whether painting would be entirely useless in time of war, for I

remember that her Excellency named last Sunday, in which we did not meet,

for that purpose."

Here M. Angelo laughed, and added:

"So you, M. Francisco, expect the Marchioness to have as much power when

absent as when present. Well, as you have so much faith in her, I do not

wish you to lose it through me."

All said that it would be well, and then M. Angelo began to say:

"And what is there more profitable in the business and undertaking of war,

or what is of more use in the operations of sieges and assaults than

painting? Do you not know that when Pope Clement and the Spaniards

besieged Florence, it was only by the work and virtue of the painter M.

Angelo that the besieged were defended a good while, not to say, the city

released, and the captains and soldiers outside were for a good while

astonished and oppressed and killed through the defences and strongholds

which I made on the tower, lining them in one night on the outside with

bags of wool and other materials, emptying them of earth and filling them

with fine powder, with which I burnt a little the blood of the

Castillians, whom I sent through the air torn in pieces? So that I

consider great painting as not only profitable in war, but exceedingly

necessary; for the engines and instruments of war and for catapults, rams,

mantlets, testudines, and iron-shod towers and bridges, and (as this bad

and iron time does not make any use of these arms now, but rejects them)

mortars; for the shaping of the mortars, battering-rams, strengthened

cannons, and arquebuses, and especially for the shape and proportions of

all fortresses and rocks, bastions, strongholds, fences, mines,

countermines, trenches, loop-holes, casemates; for the entrenchments for

horsemen, ravelins, gabions, battlements, for the invention of bridges and

ladders, for the emplacement of camps, for the order of the lines,

measurement of the squadrons, for the difference and design of arms, for

the designs of the banners and standards, for the devices on the shields

and helmets, and also for new coats of arms, crests and medals which are

given on the field to those who show great prowess, for the painting of

trappings (I mean, the giving of instruction to other lesser painters as

to how they ought to be painted, and seeing that the excellent painters

can paint the trappings of the horses and the shields and even the tents

for valorous princes); for the manner of dividing and selecting

everything; for the description and assortment of the colours and

liveries, which but few can determine. Moreover, drawing is of exceedingly

great use in war to show in sketches the position of distant places and

the shape of the mountains and the harbours, as well as that of the ranges

of mountains and of the bays and seaports, for the shape of the cities and

fortresses, high and low, the walls and the gates and their position, to

show the roads and the rivers, the beaches and the lagoons and marshes

which have to be avoided or passed; for the course and spaces of the

deserts and sandy pits of the bad roads and of the woods and forests; all

this done in any other way is badly understood, but by drawing and

sketching all is very clear and intelligible; all of these are great

things in warlike undertakings, and the drawings of the painter greatly

aid and assist the intentions and plans of the captain. What better thing

can any brave cavalier do than show before the eyes of the raw and

inexperienced soldiers the shape of the city that they have to attack

before they approach it, what river, what mountains and what towns have to

be passed on the morrow? And the Italians, at least, say that, if the

Emperor when he entered Provence had first ordered the course of the river

Rodano to be drawn, he would not have sustained such great losses, nor

retired his army in disorder, nor would he have been painted afterwards in

Rome as a crab, which crawls sideways, with the words borne by the columns

of Hercules, _Plus ultra_, for, wishing to go forward, he went back. And I

well believe that Alexander the Great in his great undertakings frequently

made use of the skill of Apelles, even if he himself did not know how to

draw. And in the works and commentaries, written by the monarch Julius

Caesar, we may see how much he availed himself of drawing, through some

capable man whom he had in his army. And I even think that the said Caesar

was extremely intelligent in painting, that the great Captain Pompey drew

very well and with style, he being vanquished by Caesar, as Caesar was a

better draughtsman. And I assert that a modern captain who commands a

great army and who is not capable and intelligent in painting and cannot

draw, cannot do any great feats or deeds of arms; and that he who

understands and esteems it will do deeds of renown which will be long

remembered, and will know his ways and how he stands, and how and where he

will break through, and how he will order his retreat, and he will know

how to make his victory appear much greater. For painting in war is not

only advantageous but very necessary. What country warmed by the sun is

more bellicose and better armed than our Italy, or where are there more

continuous wars and greater routs and sieges? and in what country warmed

by the sun is painting more esteemed and celebrated than in Italy?"

M. Angelo was already reposing when Joao Capata said:

"It indeed seems to me, Master Michael, that in arming excellently

Francisco d'Ollanda's lady you disarmed the Emperor Charles, not

remembering that we here are more Colonna than Orsino. I do not wish to

revenge myself for that except by asking you, since you have shown the

worth of painting in war, to now say what it can do in peace, because it

appears to me that you have said so many profitable things of it in the

time of arms that I doubt whether you will find as many in the time of the

toga."

He laughed and answered:

"Your Excellency will please not to count me as an Orsino. You will

remember how I at once became one of those columns that the crab was going

to seek;" and afterwards he added:

"If it was a trouble for me to show the advantage of this our art in time

of war, I hope it will not be so to show its worth in the time of the toga

and of peace; then princes are in the habit of availing themselves with

pleasure and cost of things of very little importance and almost of no

value at all; and we see that some men are so clever in idle things that

by works of no nobility or profit, and without any learning or substance,

they are able to acquire a name, honour, profit and substance for

themselves and loss to whomsoever may give them their profit. We see that

in the domains and states which are governed by a senate and republic they

make much use of painting in public places, in the cathedrals, in the

temples, in halls of justice, in courts, porticos, basilicas and palaces,

in libraries, and generally for public ornament; and every noble citizen

has privately in his palaces or chapels, country seats or 'vignas,' a good

portion of painting. But as it is not lawful in such a country for any one

to make more show than his neighbour, by giving commissions to painters so

as to make themselves out rich and well-to-do, with how much more reason

ought this profitable art and science to be made use of in the obedient

and peaceful kingdoms where God permits one man to incur all these

magnificent expenses and carry out all the sumptuous works that his taste

and honour may desire and demand, particularly as it is such a generous

art that one person can do alone and without any adviser what many men

together cannot do? And a prince would be doing a great wrong to

himself--to say nothing of the fine arts--if, when he obtains quietness and

saintly peace, he does not undertake great enterprises in painting both

for the ornamentation and glory of his estate and for his private

contentment and the recreation of his mind. And then in times of peace

there are so many things in which painting may be of use, that it seems to

me that peace is obtained with so much labour of arms, for nothing else

but in order to do her work, and carry out enterprises with the quiet

which she merits and demands, after the great services she has rendered in

war. For what name will remain alive in consequence of a great victory or

a great feat of arms, if afterwards, when quiet comes, it be not kept in

perpetual memory (a thing so important and necessary amongst men), by

virtue of painting and architecture, in arches, triumphs and tombs, and in

many other ways. And Augustus Caesar departed not from my saying when,

during the universal peace in all lands, he closed the doors of the Temple

of Janus, because in closing those doors of iron he opened the doors of

gold of the treasures of the Empire, in order to spend more largely in

peace than he had done even in war; and perhaps amongst such ambitious and

magnificent works as those with which he ornamented Mount Palatine and the

Forum, he paid as much for a figure in painting as he would have paid to a

regiment of soldiers in a month. So that the peace of great princes should

be desired in order that they may give their country great works in

painting for the ornamentation of their estate and their glory, and

receive from them spiritual and special contentments and beautiful things

to behold."

"I do not know, Senhor Michael," said I, "how you will prove to me that

Augustus paid as much for a painted figure as he would pay to a regiment

of soldiers for a month; if you were to say that in Spain it would be more

difficult to believe you, than if you said that there were such bad

painters in Italy that they painted the Emperor with the legs of a crab

and with the label, _Plus ultra_!"

Senhor Michael laughed once more, without the Marchioness, and afterwards

said:

"I well know that in Spain people do not pay so well for painting as in

Italy, and therefore you will be surprised at the great sums paid for it,

as you are only accustomed to small sums; and I have been well informed of

this by a Portuguese servant that I had, and therefore painters live and

exist here, and not in the Spains. Of the Spaniards, the finest nobility

in the whole world, you will find some who applaud and praise and like

painting to a certain extent, but on pressing them further, they have no

mind to order even a small work, nor to pay for it; and, what I consider

baser still they are astonished when they are told that there are persons

in Italy who give good prices for paintings; indeed, in my judgment they

do not act in this like such noble people as they say they are, even

though it were for nothing else but not to undervalue that which they have

no experience of and cannot do; it recoils on their own head, however,

they demean themselves and disgrace the nobility of which they boast; and

not indeed that virtue, which will always be esteemed so long as there are

men here in Italy and in this city. And for this reason a painter ought

not to desire to be away from this land in which we are; and you, M.

Francisco d'Ollanda, if you hope to be appreciated through the art of

painting in Spain or in Portugal, I tell you at once that you are living

in a vain and false hope, and that in my judgment you ought rather to live

in France or in Italy, where talent is recognised and great painting is

much esteemed, because you will find here private persons and gentlemen,

even those who at present do not take much pleasure in painting, as for

instance Andrea Doria, who nevertheless had his palace painted

magnificently, and magnificently paid Master Perino his painter; and like

Cardinal Fernes, who does not know what painting is, but who made a very

nice allowance to the said Master Perino, merely to call him his painter,

giving him twenty 'cruzados' per month and rations for him and for a horse

and servant, besides paying him very well for his works. See what Cardinal

Della Valla or Cardinal de Cesis did. Likewise Pope Paul, who, although

not very musical nor interested in painting, yet treats me well, and at

least better than I ask; and then there is Urbino, my servant, to whom he

gives solely for grinding my colour ten 'cruzados' a month besides rations

in the palace. I say nothing of his vain favours and kindnesses, of which

I sometimes feel ashamed. Now, what shall I say of the diverting Sebastian

Veneziano? to whom (although he did not come at a favourable time) the

Pope gave the Leaden Seal, with the honour and profit which appertain to

that office, without the lazy painter having painted more than two things

in Rome, which will not astonish Senhor Francisco much. So that in this

our country, even those who do not esteem painting greatly, pay for it

much better than those who are greatly delighted with it in Spain or

Portugal; and therefore I advise you as a son that you ought not to depart

from Italy, because I fear that if you do you will repent it."

"I thank, you, Senhor Michael Angelo, for your advice," I said to him,

"but still I am serving the King of Portugal, and in Portugal I was born

and hope to die, and not in Italy. But as you make such a difference in

the value of painting in Italy and in Spain, do me the favour of teaching

me how painting ought to be valued, because I am in this matter so

scandalised that I do not trust myself to value any work."

"What do you call valuing?" he replied. "Do you wish the painting which we

are discussing to be paid for according to a valuation, or do you think

that any one knows how to value it? for I consider that work to be worth a

great price which has been done by the hand of a very capable man, even

though in a short time; if it were done in a very long time who will know

how to value it? And I hold that to be of very little value which has been

painted in many years by a person who does not know how to paint, although

he be called a painter; for works ought not to be esteemed because of the

amount of time employed and lost in the labour, but because of the merit

of the knowledge and of the hand which did them; for if it were not so,

they would not pay more to a lawyer for an hour's examination of an

important case, than to a weaver for as much cloth as he may weave during

the course of his whole life, or to a navvy who is bathed in sweat the

whole day by his work. By such variation nature is beautiful, and that

valuation is very foolish which is made by one who does not understand the

good or the bad in the work: some paintings worth little are valued

highly, and others, which are worth more, do not even pay for the care

with which they are done or for the discomfort that the painter himself

experiences when he knows that such persons have to value his work, or for

the exceeding disgust he feels asking for payment from an unappreciative

treasurer.

"It does not seem to me that the ancient painters were content with your

Spanish payments and valuations; and I certainly think they were not, for

we find that some were so magnificently liberal that, knowing that there

was not sufficient money in the country to pay for their works, they

presented them liberally for nothing, having spent on such work, labour of

their mind, time and money. Such were Zeuxis, Heracleotes and Polygnotus

Thasius and others. And there were others of a more impatient nature who

used to waste and break up the works that they had done with so much

trouble and study, on seeing that they were not paid for as they deserved;

like the painter who was commanded by Caesar to paint a picture, and having

asked a sum of money for it that Caesar would not give, perhaps in order to

effect his intention the better, the painter took the picture and was

about to break it up, his wife and children around him bemoaning such

great loss; but Caesar then delighted him, in a manner proper to a Caesar,

giving him double the sum which he had previously asked, telling him that

he was a fool if he expected to vanquish Caesar."

"Now, Senhor Michael," said Joao Capata, a Spaniard, "one thing I cannot

understand in the art of painting: it is customary at times to paint, as

one sees in many places in this city, a thousand monsters and animals,

some of them with faces of women and with legs and with tails of fishes,

and others with arms like tigers' legs, and others with men's faces; in

short, painting that which most delights the painter and which was never

seen in the world."

"I am pleased," said Michael, "to tell you why it is usual to paint that

which was never seen in the world, and how right such licence is, and how

true it is, for some who do not understand him are accustomed to say that

Horace, a lyric poet, wrote this verse in abuse of painters:

Pictoribus adque poetis

Quidlibet audendi semper fuit acqua potestas.

Scimus et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim.

This verse does not in any way insult painters, but rather praises and

honours them; for it says that poets and painters have power to dare, I

mean to dare to do whatever they may approve of; and this good insight and

this power they have always had, for whenever a great painter (which very

seldom happens) does a work which appears to be false and lying, that

falsity is very true, and if he were to put more truth into it it would be

a lie, as he will never do a thing which cannot be in itself, nor make a

man's hand with ten fingers, nor paint on a horse the ears of a bull or

the hump of a camel, nor will he paint the foot of an elephant with the

same feeling as for that of a horse, nor in the arm or face of a child

will he put the senses of an old man, nor an ear nor an eye out of its

place by as much as the thickness of a finger, nor is he even permitted to

place a hidden vein in an arm anywhere he likes; for such things as these

are very false. But should he, in order better to retain the decorum of

the place and time, alter some of the limbs (as in grotesque work, which

without that would indeed be without grace and therefore false) or a part

of one thing into another species such as to change a griffin or a deer

from the middle downwards into a dolphin, or from thence upwards into any

figure he may wish, putting wings instead of arms, putting off arms if

wings suit it better, that limb which he changes, whether of a lion, horse

or bird, will be quite perfect of the species to which it belongs; and

this although it may appear false can only be called well imagined and

monstrous. The reason is it is better decoration when, in painting, some

monstrosity is introduced for variety and a relaxation of the senses and

to attract the attention of mortal eyes, which at times desire to see that

which they have never yet seen, nor does it appear to them that it can be

more unreasonable (although very admirable) than the usual figures of men

or animals. And so it is that insatiable human desire took licence and

neglected at times buildings with columns and windows and doors for others

imitated in false grotesque, the columns of which are made of children

springing from the leaves of flowers, with the architraves and summit of

branches of myrtle and gates of canes and other things, which appear to be

very impossible and out of reason, and yet all this is very grand if done

by one who understands it."

He ended, and I said:

"Does it not seem to you, Senhor, that this feigned work is much more

suitable for ornament in its proper place (such as a country seat or a

pleasure house) rather than, for instance, a procession of friars, which

is a very natural thing, or a King David doing penance, is it not a great

insult to drag him from his oratory? And does not the god Pan playing on

the pipes, or a woman with the tail of a fish and wings (which is seldom

seen), appear to you to be a more suitable painting for a garden or for a

fountain? And it is a much greater falsity to put an imagination in a

place where the real is demanded, and this reasoning explains all the

things which some call 'impossibilities' in painting. Still the obstinate

will say: 'How can a woman with a beautiful face have the tail of a fish

and the legs of the swift deer or panther, with wings on her back like an

angel?' To such one may however reply that if such nonconformity is in

just proportion in all its parts it is quite in harmony and is very

natural; and that much praise is due to the painter who painted a thing

which was never seen and is so impossible, with such wit and judgment that

it seems to be alive and possible, so that men wish that such things did

exist in the world, and say that they could pluck feathers from those

wings and that it is moving hands and eyes. And so one who paints (as a

book said) a hare which, in order to be distinguished from the dog

following it, required a label indicating it, such a person, painting a

thing so little deceitful, may be said to paint a great falsehood, more

difficult to find amongst the perfect works of nature than a beautiful

woman with the tail of a fish and wings."

They agreed with what I said, even Joao Capata himself, who was not well

instructed in the beauties of painting. And Master Michael, seeing that

his conversation was not badly employed on us, said:

"Now what a high thing is decorum in painting! and how little the painters

who are no painters try to observe it! and what attention the great man

pays to this!"

"And are there painters who are not painters?" asked Joao Capata."

"In many places," answered the painter, "but as the majority of people are

without sense and always love that which they ought to abhor, and blame

that which deserves most praise, it is not very surprising that they are

so constantly mistaken about painting, an art worthy only of great

understandings, because without any discretion or reason, and without

making any difference, they call a painter both the person who has nothing

more than the oils and brushes of painting and the illustrious painter who

is not born in the course of many years (which I consider to be a very

great thing); and as there are some who are called painters and are not

painters, so there is also painting which is not painting, for they did

it. And what is marvellous is that a bad painter neither can nor knows how

to imagine, nor does he even desire to do good painting, his work mostly

differs but little from his imagination, which is generally somewhat

worse; for if he knew how to imagine well or in a masterly manner in his

fantasy, he could not have a hand so corrupt as not to show some part or

indication of his good will. But no one has ever known how to aspire well

in this science, except the mind which understands what good work is, and

what he can make of it. It is a serious thing, this distance and

difference which exist between the high and the low understanding in

painting."

At this point M. Lactancio, who had not spoken for some time, said:

"I cannot suffer at all one indiscretion of bad painters, the images which

they paint without consideration or devotion in the churches. And I should

like to direct our discussion to this end, being sure that the

carelessness with which some paint the holy images cannot be good. Work

which a very incapable painter or man dares to do, without any fear, so

ignorantly that instead of moving mortals to devotion and tears, he

sometimes provokes them to laughter."

"This sort of painting is a great undertaking," proceeded M. Angelo; "in

order to imitate to some extent the venerable image of our Lord it is not

sufficient merely to be a great master in painting and very wise, but I

think that it is necessary for the painter to be very good in his mode of

life, or even, if such were possible, a saint, so that the Holy Spirit may

inspire his intellect. And we read that Alexander the Great put a heavy

penalty upon any painter other than Apelles who should paint him, for he

considered that man alone able to paint his appearance with that severity

and liberal mind which could not be seen without being praised by the

Greeks and feared and adored by the barbarians. And therefore if a poor

man of this earth so commanded by edict concerning his image, how much

more reason have the ecclesiastical or secular princes to take care to

order that no one shall paint the benignity and meekness of our Redeemer

or the purity of Our Lady and the Saints but the most illustrious painters

to be found in their domains and provinces? And this would be a very

famous and much praised work in any lord. And even in the Old Testament

God the Father wished that those who only had to ornament and paint the

_arca foederis_ should be masters not merely excellent and great, but also

touched by His grace and wisdom, God saying to Moses that He would imbue

them with the knowledge and intelligence of His Spirit so that they might

invent and do everything that He could invent and do. And therefore if God

the Father willed that the ark of His Covenant should be well ornamented

and painted, how much more study and consideration must He wish applied to

the imitation of His Serene Face and that of His Son our Lord, and of the

composure, chastity and beauty of the glorious Virgin Mary, who was

painted by St. Luke the Evangelist, the work is in the Sancto Sanctorum,

and the head of our Saviour which is in San Giovanni in Laterano, as we

all know, and especially Messer Francisco. Frequently the images badly

painted distract and cause devotion to be lost, at least in those who

possess little; and, on the contrary, those that are divinely painted

provoke and lead even those who are little devout and but little inclined

to worship to contemplation and tears, and by their grave aspect imbue

them with reverence and fear."

M. Lactancio then said, having turned towards me:

"Why did M. Angelo say of the picture of the Saviour, 'as we all know and

especially Messer Francisco'?"

I answered: "Because, Senhor, he has already met me two or three times on

the road to San Giovanni Laterano, going to obtain His grace for my

salvation."

And I thereupon wished to cease speaking, but he desiring me to continue,

I recommenced thus:

"Senhor, the Most Serene Queen of Portugal, being desirous of seeing the

precious face of Our Saviour, ordered our ambassador to have it drawn from

the original, but I, not trusting this to anybody, wished, with the desire

that I have to serve her, to dare to undertake this enterprise myself, for

it is very fine as regards execution and no less as regards accuracy. And

thus I have sent it to her, done under such difficulties as Your

Excellencies can suspect."

"You cannot be a friend of the Lady Marchioness," said Joao Capata," for

you did not show her a thing which is so much to her liking; but tell me,

Messer Francisco, did you do it with that severe simplicity which the old

painting has and with that fear in those divine eyes which in the original

seem to belong to the very Saviour?"

"I did it that way," I said to him, "and in it I desired to put all the

truth, neither to increase nor diminish anything of that grave severity.

But I fear that this, which was my greatest work, will be the one the

least known."

"No it will not," answered M. Lactancio Tolomei, "as in that they will

trust to your knowledge, and it will be an image which will lead them to

build a noble temple for it. I am astonished at your being able to

reproduce and send it, for neither the Popes nor the Brothers of San

Giovanni Laterano ever allowed the King of France or other devout

princesses to do so."

Then M. Angelo said:

"It is astonishing how M. Francisco worked, and how he robbed Rome of this

precious relic, and how he painted it in oils, although in all his life he

had never been a painter in oils, and only made pictures hitherto easily

contained on a small parchment."

"How can it be," said M. Lactancio, "that one who never painted in oils is

capable of doing it, and that one who has always done little things can

also do big ones?"

And as I did not reply, Michael Angelo answered him:

"Do not be surprised, sir, and as regards this I wish now to state my

views about the noble art of painting. Let every man who is here

understand this well: design, which by another name is called drawing, and

consists of it, is the fount and body of painting and sculpture and

architecture and of every other kind of painting, and the root of all

sciences. Let whoever may have attained to so much as to have the power of

drawing know that he holds a great treasure; he will be able to make

figures higher than any tower, either in colours or carved from the block,

and he will not be able to find a wall or enclosure which does not appear

circumscribed and small to his brave imagination. And he will be able to

paint in fresco in the manner of old Italy, with all the mixtures and

varieties of colour usually employed in it. He will be able to paint in

oils very suavely with more knowledge, daring and patience than painters.

And, finally, on a small piece of parchment he will be most perfect and

great, as in all other manners of painting. Because great, very great is

the power of design and drawing. Senhor Francisco d'Ollanda can paint, if

he wishes, everything that he knows how to draw."

"I will not ask again about another doubt," said M. Lactancio, "because I

dare not."

"Please to dare, Your Excellency," said Michael Angelo, "for as we have

already sacrificed the day to painting, let us likewise offer up the night

which is setting in."

He then said: "I wish finally to know what this painting that is so fine

and rare must possess or what it is? Whether there must be tourneys

painted, or battles, or kings and emperors covered with brocade, or

well-dressed damsels, or landscapes and fields and towns? Or whether

perchance it must be some angel or some saint painted and the actual form

of this world? Or what must it be? Whether it must be done with gold or

with silver, whether with very fine tints or with very brilliant ones?"

"Painting," M. Angelo began, "is not such a great work as any of those

which you have mentioned, sir, only the painting which I so much vaunt and

praise will be the imitation of some single thing amongst those which

immortal God made with great care and knowledge and which He invented and

painted, like to a Master: and so downwards, whether animals or birds,

dispensing perfection according as each thing merits it. And in my

judgment that is the excellent and divine painting which is most like and

best imitates any work of immortal God, whether a human figure, or a wild

and strange animal, or a simple and easy fish, or a bird of the air or any

other creature. And this neither with gold nor silver nor with very fine

tints, but drawn only with a pen or a pencil, or with a brush in black and

white. To imitate perfectly each of these things in its species seems to

me to be nothing else but to desire to imitate the work of immortal God.

And yet that thing will be the most noble and perfect in the works of

painting which in itself reproduced the thing which is most noble and of

the greatest delicacy and knowledge. And what barbarous judge is there

that cannot understand that the foot of a man is more noble than his shoe?

His skin than that of the sheep from which his clothes are made? And who

from this will proceed to find the merit and degree in everything? But I

do not mean that, because a cat or a wolf is vile, the man who paints them

skilfully has not as much merit as one who paints a horse, or the body of

a lion, as even (as I have said above) in the simple shape of a fish there

is the same perfection and proportion as in the form of man, and I may say

the same of all the world itself with all its cities. But all must be

ranked according to the work and study which one demands more than

another, and this should be taught to some ignorant persons who have said

that some painters painted faces well but that they could not paint

anything else. Others have said that in Flanders they painted clothes and

trees extremely well, and some have maintained that in Italy they paint

the nude and symmetry or proportions better. And of others they say other

things. But my opinion is that he who knows how to draw well and merely

does a foot or a hand or a neck, can paint everything created in the

world; and yet there are painters who paint everything there is in the

world so imperfectly and so much without worth that it would be better not

to do it at all. One recognises the knowledge of a great man in the fear

with which he does a thing the more he understands it. And on the

contrary, the ignorance of others in the foolhardy daring with which they

fill pictures with what they know nothing about. There may be an excellent

master who has never painted more than a single figure, and without

painting anything more deserves more renown and honour than those who have

painted a thousand pictures: he knows better how to do what he has not

done than the others know what they do.

"And not only is this as I tell you, but there is another wonder which

seems greater, namely, that if a capable man merely makes a simple

outline, like a person about to begin something, he will at once be known

by it--if Apelles, as Apelles; if an ignorant painter, as an ignorant

painter. And there is no necessity for more, neither more time, nor more

experience, nor examination, for eyes which understand it and for those

who know that by a single straight line Apelles was distinguished from

Protogenes, immortal Greek painters."

And Michael Angelo having stopped, I proceeded:

"It is also a great thing that a great master, although he may wish and

work hard to do so, cannot so change or injure his hand as to paint

something appearing to have been done by an apprentice, for whoever

carefully examines such a thing, will find in it some sign by which he

will know that it was done by the hand of a skilful person. And on the

contrary, one who knows little, although he may endeavour to do the

smallest thing so that it may appear to have been done by a great man,

will have his trouble in vain, because immediately, when placed beside the

work of a great man, it will be recognised as having been done by a

prentice hand. But I should like now to know something more from Senhor

Michael Angelo, to see whether he agrees with my opinion, and that is that

he should tell me whether it is better to paint a work quickly or slowly?"

And he answered:

"I will tell you: to do anything quickly and swiftly is very profitable

and good, and it is a gift received from the immortal God to do in a few

hours what another is painting during many days; for if it were not so

Pausias of Sicyon would not work so hard in order to paint in one day the

perfection of a child in a picture. If he who paints quickly does not on

that account paint worse than one who paints slowly, he deserves therefore

much greater praise. But should he through the hurry of his hand pass the

limits which it is not right to pass in art, he ought rather to paint more

slowly and studiously; for an excellent and skilful man is not entitled to

allow his taste to err through his haste when thereby some part is

forgotten or neglected of the great object perfection, which is what must

be always sought; hence it is not a vice to work a little slowly or even

to be very slow, nor to spend much time and care on works, if this be done

for more perfection; only the want of knowledge is a defect.

"And I wish to tell you, Francisco d'Ollanda, of an exceedingly great

beauty in this science of ours, of which perhaps you are aware, and which

I think you consider the highest, namely, that what one has most to work

and struggle for in painting is to do the work with a great amount of

labour and study in such a way that it may afterwards appear, however much

it was laboured, to have been done almost quickly and almost without any

labour, and very easily, although it was not. And this is a very excellent

beauty, at times some things are done with little work in the way I have

said, but very seldom: most are done by dint of hard work and appear to

have been done very quickly.

"But Plutarch says in his book _De Liberis educandis_, that a poor painter

showed Apelles what he was doing, telling him: 'This painting has just

this moment been done by my hand,' Apelles answered: 'Even if you had not

said so I should have known that it was by your hand and that it was done

quickly, and I am surprised that you do not do many of them every day.'

"However I should prefer (if one had either to err or be correct) to err

or be correct quickly rather than slowly, and that my painter should

rather paint diligently and a little less well than one who is very slow,

painting better, but not much better.

"But now I wish to know this of you, M. Francisco, to see whether you

agree with my opinion, namely, that you should tell me if there are many

different ways of painting almost of equal goodness; which of them will

you consider the worst, or which of them are bad?"

"That is still a greater question," I replied, "Senhor Michael, than the

one I put to you; but just as Mother Nature has produced in one place men

and animals, and in another place men and animals, all made according to

one art and proportion, and yet very different to each other, so it is,

almost miraculously, with the hands of painters, as you will find many

great men each of whom paints in his own manner and style men and women

and animals, their styles greatly differing, and yet they all of them

retain the same proportions and principles; and yet all these different

styles may be good and worthy of being praised in their differences. For

in Rome Polidoro, a painter, had a very different style to that of

Balthazar, of Siena; M. Perino different from that of Julius, of Mantua;

Martorino did not resemble Parmesano; Cavalliere Tiziano in Venice was

softer than Leonardo da Vinci; the sprightliness of Raphael of Urbino and

his softness does not resemble the work of Bastiao Veneziano; your work

does not resemble any other; nor is my small talent similar to any other.

And although the famous ones whom I have mentioned have the light and

shade, the design and the colours different from each other, they are none

the less all great and famous men, and each distinguished by his

difference and style, and their works very worthy of being valued at

almost the same price, because each of them worked to imitate Nature and

perfection in the manner that he considered to be the most proper, and his

own, and in accordance with his idea and intention."

And this said, we rose and went away as it was already night.

THE WORKS OF MICHAEL ANGELO

The Rape of Deianira, or the Battle of the Centaurs, a bas-relief, 1490.

Casa Buonarroti, Florence.

The Angel of the Shrine of Saint Dominic, a marble statuette, 1494.

San Domenico, Bologna.

The Bacchus, a marble statue, 1497.

National Museum, Florence.

The Madonna della Pieta, a marble group, 1499.

St. Peter's, Rome.

The David, a colossal marble statue, 1504.

Accademia della Belle Arti, Florence.

St. Matthew, an unfinished heroic marble statue.

The Court of the Accademia delle Belle Arti, Florence.

The Madonna and Child, marble statue, 1506.

St. Bavon, Bruges.

The Madonna and Child, a tondo, marble bas-relief, unfinished.

National Museum, Florence.

The Madonna and Child, a tondo, marble bas-relief, unfinished.

The Diploma Gallery of the Royal Academy, London.

The Holy Family, a tondo, painted on wood.

No. 1139, The Uffizi, Florence.

The Moses, a heroic marble statue.

San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome.

The Vault of the Sistine Chapel, ceiling frescoes, 1512.

Vatican, Rome.

The Madonna and Infant Christ, St. John the Baptist and Angels, an

unfinished painting on wood by Bugiardini, the Cartoon alone by Michael

Angelo.

No. 809, The National Gallery, London.

The Risen Christ, a marble statue, 1521.

Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, Rome.

The Tombs of Lorenzo dei Medici, Duke of Urbino and Giuliano, Duc de

Nemours, heroic marble statues, the figures of Day and Evening and the

architecture left unfinished by the master in 1534.

New Sacristy, San Lorenzo, Florence.

The Madonna and Child, heroic marble statue.

New Sacristy, San Lorenzo, Florence.

Four Slaves, unfinished heroic marble statues.

The Grotto of the Boboli Gardens, Florence.

The Apollo, an unfinished marble statue.

The National Museum, Florence.

The Leda, a painting, damaged and restored as to the head, arms, and

shoulder, 1529.

Offices of the National Gallery, London.

The Slaves, two heroic marble statues.

Room of Renaissance Sculpture, the Louvre, Paris.

The Brutus, an unfinished marble bust.

The National Museum, Florence.

The Day of Judgment, fresco, 1541.

The Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Rome.

The Entombment of our Lord, an unfinished painting on wood, the figures of

our Lord and the men very much repainted, the three women and the

background by the master.

No. 790, the National Gallery, London.

The Martyrdom of St. Peter, a fresco, 1549.

Cappella Paolina, Vatican, Rome.

The Conversion of St. Paul, a fresco, 1549.

Cappella Paolina, Vatican, Rome.

The Pieta of Santa Maria del Fiore, a marble group.

The Duomo, Florence.

A LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL BOOKS CONSULTED BY THE AUTHOR

BERENSON, BERNHARD.

The Florentine Painters of the Renaissance. London and New York, 1896.

BLACK, CHARLES CHRISTOPHER.

Michael Angelo Buonarroti, Sculptor, Painter and Architect. London, 1875.

CELLINI, BENVENUTO.

Vita di, Scritta da lui Medesimo. Firenze, 1885.

CLEMENT, CHARLES.

Michelangelo. London, 1880.

CONDIVI, ASCANIO.

Vita di Michelangelo Buonarroti, Scritta da A.C. suo discepolo. Pisa,

1746. First edition Roma, 1553.

GOTTI, AURELIO.

Vita di Michelangelo Buonarroti. Firenze, 1875.

HASENCLEVER, SOPHIE.

Saumtliche Gedichte Michelangelo's. Leipzic, 1875.

HOLLANDA, FRANCESCO DE.

Quatro Diologos da Pintura Antigua, La Renascenca Portugueza. Porto, 1896.

MILANESI, GAETANO; and LE DOCTEUR A LE PILEUR.

Les Correspondants de Michel-Ange, i Sebastiano del Piombo. Librairie de

l'Art. Paris, 1890.

MILANESI, GAETANO.

Le Lettre di Michelangelo Buonarroti, publicate coi Ricordi ed i Contratti

Artistici. Firenze, 1875.

SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON.

The Life of Michelangelo Buonarroti. London, 1893.

The Sonnets of Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Tomaso Campanella. London,

1878.

VASARI, GIORGIO.

Le Vite de' pin eccellenti Pittori, Scultori et Architetti. Bologna, 1647.

And first edition, Firenze, 1550. Second edition, Firenze, 1558.

WILSON, CHARLES HEATH.

Life and Works of Michelangelo Buonarroti. London, 1881.

ERRATUM

Page 27, note 1, line 2, _for_ 1831, _read_ 1873

INDEX

Abel, 44

Academy: Florence, 117, 260

Accursio: a messenger from Julius II., 51

Active Life; The Tomb of Julius II., 68, 225, 226, 227

Adam: Sistine Chapel, 13, note; 43, 163, 165, 171-175

Adonis, 129, 229

Adrian IV.: Pope 54, 190

Aginense: Cardinal, 51, 52, 146

Agnolo: Herald of Florence, 135

Agnolo: _see_ Doni

Agostino: _see_ Duccio

Agostino: San, the Isaiah of Raphael at, 177

Agnolo di Donnino: assistant, 151

Alberigo: Marchese, 52

Alberto: _see_ Duerer

Albertina: Vienna, 193

Albertini: his statement, 164

Albizzi: Anton Francesco degli, portrait by Sebastiano, 197

Alcibiades, 87

Aldobrandini: sword-hilt designed for, 136

Aldovrandi: Gian Francesco, his kindness to the master, 18

Aldovrandi: Ulisse, sees a statue of Apollo, 108

Alessandro da Carnossa, 3, note

Alessandro de' Medici:

Duke, his ill-will to the master, 59, 60, 62;

flight, 201; 250, 305

Alexander the Great, 285, 286, 309, 320

Alexander VI.: Pope, 29

Alfonso: Duke of Ferrara, 60, 61, 204

Alva: Duke of, 265

Aman, 45

Amanati: _see_ Bartolomeo

Ambrosio: Brother, 272-274; 289, 306

Anatomy:

studies at Santo Spirito, 16;

of animals as well as man, 75;

dissection and a treatise upon it, 81

Ancestors of Christ: Sistine Chapel, 166, 169, 177

Andrea del Sarto, 103, note;

studies the Cartoon, 127, 224

Angel: for the Shrine of San Domenico, 19, 104

Angelico: Fra, 219

Angeli: S.M. degli, 251

Anna: the Beautiful, 293

Antonio: a servant, successor to Urbino, 236, 258

Antonio: Maria da Legnia, 145

Antonio:

San, copy, 7, 97;

Cartoon for Mineghella, 264

Antonio: _see_ Mini

Apelles, 278, 309; 320, 325, 326

Apollo: in the Bargello, 204, 228

Arcadelt: Giacomo, sets the master's madrigals to music, 207

Aretino, 222, 283

Arezzo: fortifications at, 202

Arno, 193;

and _see_ Cartoon

Arrigo Fiamingo: fresco, Sistine Chapel, 167

Ascanio: _see_ Condivi

Assumption: by Daniele, with a portrait of the master, 253

Assunta: oratory of, 260

Athletes: Sistine Chapel, 13, note; 164, 167, 168, 173-178, 211

Athens, 156

Attalante, 146

Avignon, 293

Bacchus: carved in Rome, 24, 107, 108

Baccio d'Agnolo, 116

Baglioni: the traitor, 203

Baldassare: _see_ Peruzzi

Baldassari: del Milanese, buys the god of Love, 21

Bandinelli: Baccio, studies the Cartoon, 126;

Hercules and Cacus, 204, 270, 295

Bandini: Francesco, 236, 246

Baptistry: Florence, 255

Bargello:

Florence, mask of a faun, 11;

Tondo, 121, 129;

Apollo, 205, 228;

Brutus, 249

Bartolomei: Messer, 231

Bartolomeo: Amanati, letter to, 238

Bartolommea: widow of Buonarroto, 201

Bas-relief: Florentine love of, 121

Bassano, 174

Bathers: _see_ Cartoon

Battista Benti: carves details in the Tomb of Julius II., 226

Battista del Cinque: carpenter, 197

Batista Lorenzi, 253, 262

Beatrice: of Mantua, 3

Beaumont: Sir George, presents a tondo to the Royal Academy, 121

Belvedere: works ordered by Julius III., 78

Beinbo, 76

Bene: Benedetto, copies the Leda, 204

Bentivogli:

law, 18;

return to Bologna, 40, 141

Benvenuto: _see_ Cellini

Bernardo Cencio: Canon of St. Peter's, 180, 181

Bernardo da Bibbiena, 146

Bernardo della Ciecha, 116

Berlin, 106

Bertoldo: the master of Michael Angelo in Sculpture, 99, 100, 102

Berugetta: Alonso, 126