artist, and never would stoop either to flatter a patron or to
conciliate a rival. Julius II., though now seventy-four, was as
impatient of contradiction as fiery in temper, as full of magnificent
and ambitious projects as if he had been in the prime of life; in his
service was the famous architect, Bramante, who beheld with jealousy
and alarm the increasing fame of Michael Angelo, and his influence
with the pontiff, and set himself by indirect means to lessen both. He
insinuated to Julius that it was ominous to erect his own mausoleum
during his lifetime, and the pope gradually fell off in his attentions
to Michael Angelo, and neglected to supply him with the necessary
funds for carrying on the work. On one occasion, Michael Angelo,
finding it difficult to obtain access to the pope, sent a message to
him to this effect, "that henceforth, if his Holiness desired to see
him, he should send to seek him elsewhere;" and the same night,
leaving orders with his servants to dispose of his property, he
departed for Florence. The pope despatched five couriers after him
with threats, persuasions, promises--but in vain. He wrote to the
Gonfaloniere Soderini, then at the head of the government of Florence,
commanding him, on pain of his extreme displeasure, to send Michael
Angelo back to him; but the inflexible artist absolutely refused;
three months were spent in vain negotiations. Soderini, at length,
fearing the pope's anger, prevailed on Michael Angelo to return, and
sent with him his relation, Cardinal Soderini, to make up the quarrel
between the high contending powers.
On his return to Rome, Michael Angelo wished to have resumed his work
on the mausoleum; but the pope had resolved on the completion of the
Sistine Chapel; he commanded Michael Angelo to undertake the
decoration of the vaulted ceiling; and the artist was obliged, though
reluctantly, to obey. At this time the frescos which Raphael and his
pupils were painting in the chambers of the Vatican had excited the
admiration of all Rome. Michael Angelo, who had never exercised
himself in the mechanical part of the art of fresco, invited from
Florence several painters of eminence, to execute his designs under
his own superintendence; but they could not reach the grandeur of his
conceptions, which became enfeebled under their hands, and one
morning, in a mood of impatience, he destroyed all that they had done,
closed the doors of the chapel against them, and would not thenceforth
admit them to his presence. He then shut himself up, and proceeded
with incredible perseverance and energy to accomplish his task alone;
he even prepared his colors with his own hands. He began with the end
toward the door, and in the two compartments first painted (though
not first in the series), the "Deluge," and the "Vineyard of Noah;" he
made the figures too numerous and too small to produce their full
effect from below, a fault which he corrected in those executed
subsequently. When almost half the work was completed, the pope
insisted on viewing what was done, and the astonishment and admiration
it excited rendered him more and more eager to have the whole
completed at once. The progress, however, was not rapid enough to suit
the impatient temper of the pontiff. On one occasion he demanded of
the artist _when_ he meant to finish it; to which Michael Angelo
replied calmly, "When I can." "When thou canst!" exclaimed the fiery
old pope, "thou hast a mind that I should have thee thrown from the
scaffold!" At length, on the day of All Saints, 1512, the ceiling was
uncovered to public view. Michael Angelo had employed on the painting
only, without reckoning the time spent in preparing the cartoons,
twenty-two months, and he received in payment three thousand crowns.
The collection of engravings after Michael Angelo in the British
Museum is very imperfect, but it contains some fine old prints from
the Prophets which should be studied by those who wish to understand
the true merit of this great master, of whom Sir Joshua Reynolds said
that, "to kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his
perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for an ambitious
man!"
When the Sistine Chapel was completed Michael Angelo was in his
thirty-ninth year; fifty years of a glorious though troubled career
were still before him.
Pope Julius II. died in 1513, and was succeeded by Leo X., the son of
Lorenzo the Magnificent. As a Florentine and his father's son, we
might naturally have expected that he would have gloried in
patronizing and employing Michael Angelo; but such was not the case.
There was something in the stern, unbending character, and retired and
abstemious habits of Michael Angelo, repulsive to the temper of Leo,
who preferred the graceful and amiable Raphael, then in the prime of
his life and genius; hence arose the memorable rivalry between Michael
Angelo and Raphael, which on the part of the latter was merely
generous emulation, while it must be confessed that something like
scorn mingled with the feelings of Michael Angelo. The pontificate of
Leo X., an interval of ten years, was the least productive period of
his life. In the year 1519, when the Signoria of Florence was
negotiating with Ravenna for the restoration of the remains of Dante,
he petitioned the pope that he might be allowed to execute, at his own
labor and expense, a monument to the "Divine Poet." He was sent to
Florence to superintend the building of the church of San Lorenzo and
the completion of Santa Croce; but he differed with the pope on the
choice of the marble, quarrelled with the officials, and scarcely
anything was accomplished. Clement VII., another Medici, was elected
pope in 1523. He had conceived the idea of consecrating a chapel in
the church of San Lorenzo, to receive the tombs of his ancestors and
relations, and which should be adorned with all the splendor of art.
Michael Angelo planned and built the chapel, and for its interior
decoration designed and executed six of his greatest works in
sculpture.
While Michael Angelo was engaged in these works his progress was
interrupted by events which threw all Italy into commotion. Rome was
taken and sacked by the Constable de Bourbon in 1527. The Medici were
once more expelled from Florence; and Michael Angelo, in the midst of
these strange vicissitudes, was employed by the republic to fortify
his native city against his former patrons. Great as an engineer, as
in every other department of art and science, he defended Florence for
nine months. At length the city was given up by treachery, and,
fearing the vengeance of the conquerors, Michael Angelo fled and
concealed himself; but Clement VII. was too sensible of his merit to
allow him to remain long in disgrace and exile. He was pardoned, and
continued ever afterward in high favor with the pope, who employed him
on the sculptures in the chapel of San Lorenzo during the remainder of
his pontificate.
In the year 1531 he had completed the statues of "Night and Morning,"
and Clement, who heard of his incessant labors, sent him a brief
commanding him, _on pain of excommunication_, to take care of his
health, and not to accept of any other work but that which his
Holiness had assigned him.
Clement VII. was succeeded by Pope Paul III., of the Farnese family,
in 1534. This pope, though nearly seventy when he was elected, was as
anxious to immortalize his name by great undertakings as any of his
predecessors had been. His first wish was to complete the decoration
of the interior of the Sistine Chapel, left unfinished by Julius II.
and Leo X. He summoned Michael Angelo, who endeavored to excuse
himself, pleading other engagements; but the pope would listen to no
excuses which interfered with his sovereign power to dissolve all
other obligations; and thus the artist found himself, after an
interval of twenty years, most reluctantly forced to abandon sculpture
for painting; and, as Vasari expresses it, he consented to serve Pope
Paul only because he _could_ not do otherwise.
The same Pope Paul III. had in the meantime constructed a beautiful
chapel, which was called after his name the chapel _Paolina_, and
dedicated to St. Peter and St Paul. Michael Angelo was called upon to
design the decorations. He painted on one side the "Conversion of St.
Paul," and on the other the "Crucifixion of St. Peter," which were
completed in 1549. But these fine paintings--of which existing old
engravings give a better idea than the blackened and faded remains of
the original frescos--were from the first ill-disposed as to the
locality, and badly lighted, and at present they excite little
interest compared with the more famous works in the Sistine.
With the frescos in the Pauline Chapel ends Michael Angelo's career as
a painter. He had been appointed chief architect of St. Peter's, in
1547, by Paul III. He was then in his seventy-second year, and during
the remainder of his life, a period of sixteen years, we find him
wholly devoted to architecture. His vast and daring genius finding
ample scope in the completion of St. Peter's, he has left behind him
in his capacity of architect yet greater marvels than he has achieved
as painter and sculptor. Who that has seen the cupola of St. Peter's
soaring into the skies, but will think almost with awe of the
universal and majestic intellect of the man who reared it?
It appears, from the evidence of contemporary writers, that in the
last years of his life the acknowledged worth and genius of Michael
Angelo, his widespread fame, and his unblemished integrity, combined
with his venerable age and the haughtiness and reserve of his
deportment to invest him with a sort of princely dignity. It is
recorded that, when he waited on Pope Julius III., to receive his
commands, the pontiff rose on his approach, seated him, in spite of
his excuses, on his right hand, and while a crowd of cardinals,
prelates, and ambassadors, were standing round at humble distance,
carried on the conference as equal with equal. When the Grand Duke
Cosmo was in Rome, in 1560, he visited Michael Angelo, uncovered in
his presence, and stood with his hat in his hand while speaking to
him; but from the time when he made himself the tyrant of Florence he
never could persuade Michael Angelo to visit, even for a day, his
native city.
The arrogance imputed to Michael Angelo seems rather to have arisen
from a contempt for others than from any overweening opinion of
himself. He was too proud to be vain. He had placed his standard of
perfection so high, that to the latest hour of his life he considered
himself as striving after that ideal excellence which had been
revealed to him, but to which he conceived that others were blind or
indifferent. In allusion to his own imperfections, he made a drawing,
since become famous, which represents an aged man in a go-cart, and
underneath the words "_Ancora impara_" (still learning).
He continued to labor unremittingly, and with the same resolute energy
of mind and purpose, till the gradual decay of his strength warned him
of his approaching end. He did not suffer from any particular malady,
and his mind was strong and clear to the last. He died at Rome, on
February 18, 1564, in the ninetieth year of his age. A few days before
his death he dictated his will in these few simple words: "I bequeath
my soul to God, my body to the earth, and my possessions to my nearest
relations." His nephew, Leonardo Buonarroti, who was his principal
heir, by the orders of the Grand Duke Cosmo had his remains secretly
conveyed out of Rome and brought to Florence; they were with due
honors deposited in the church of Santa Croce, under a costly
monument, on which we may see his noble bust surrounded by three very
commonplace and ill-executed statues, representing the arts in which
he excelled--Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture. They might have
added _Poetry_, for Michael Angelo was so fine a poet that his
productions would have given him fame, though he had never peopled the
Sistine with his giant creations, nor "suspended the Pantheon in the
air." The object to whom his poems are chiefly addressed, Vittoria
Colonna, Marchioness of Pescara, was the widow of the celebrated
commander who overcame Francis I. at the battle of Pavia; herself a
poetess, and one of the most celebrated women of her time for beauty,
talents, virtue, and piety. She died in 1547.
[Illustration: Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna.]
RAPHAEL
By Mrs. LEE
(1483-1520)
[Illustration: Raphael.]
The solemn and silent season of Lent had passed away; and, on the
second evening of the joyful Easter, a house was seen brightly
illuminated in one of the streets of Urbino. It was evident that a
festival was held there on some happy occasion. The sound of music was
heard, and guest after guest entered the mansion. No one, however, was
more cordially welcomed than Pietro Perugino, the fellow-student of
Leonardo da Vinci, at the school of the good old Andrea Verocchio.
For a moment, general gayety was suspended in honor of the guest. He
was considered at that time one of the greatest painters of the age;
and the host, Giovanni di Sanzio, though himself only ranking in the
second or third order of limners, knew well how to prize the rare
talents of his visitor.
The wife of Giovanni came forward, leading her son Raphael. Perugino
had the eye of an artist: he gazed upon the mother and son with
enthusiastic feeling; the striking resemblance they bore to each
other, so exquisitely modulated by years and sex, was indeed a study
for this minute copyist of nature.
"Benvenuto, Messer Perugino," said the hostess, with her soft musical
voice and graceful Italian accent, and she placed the hand of her boy
in that of the artist. Gently he laid the other on the head of the
youthful Raphael, and in a solemn and tender manner pronounced a
benediction.
"Your blessing is well timed, my honored friend," said Giovanni, "our
festival is given to celebrate the birthday of our son."
"Is this his birthday?" inquired Perugino.
"Not so," replied the father, "he was born on April 7th, the evening
of _Good Friday_, and it well befits us to be gay on the joyful Easter
that succeeds it."
"My friend," said Perugino, "if thou wilt entrust thy boy to my care,
I will take him as my pupil."
The father acceded with delight to this proposal. When the mother
became acquainted with the arrangement, and found that her son was to
quit his paternal dwelling at the early age of twelve, and reside
wholly with Perugino, she could not restrain her tears. With hers the
young Raphael's mingled, though ever and anon a bright smile darted
like a sunbeam across his face.
He remained with Perugino several years. Raphael was made for
affection, and fondly did his heart cling to his instructor. For a
time he was content to follow his manner; but at length he began to
dwell upon his own beau ideal; he grew impatient of imitation, and
felt that his style was deficient in freshness and originality. He
longed to pass the narrow bounds to which his invention had been
confined.
With the approbation of Perugino and the consent of his parents, he
repaired to Siena; here he was solicited to adorn the public library
with fresco, and painted there with great success. But while he was
busily engaged, his friend, Pinturrichio, one day entered. After
looking at his friend's work very attentively, "Bravo!" he exclaimed,
"thou hast done well, my Raphael--but I have just returned from
Florence--oh, would that thou couldst behold the works of Leonardo da
Vinci! Such horses! they paw the ground and shake the foam from their
manes. Oh, my poor Raphael! thou hast never seen nature; thou art
wasting time on these cartoons. Perugino is a good man and a good
painter, I will not deny that--but Leonardo's horses!"
Raphael threw aside his pencil and hastily rose.
"Where now?" asked his friend; "whither art thou going so hastily?"
"To Florence," exclaimed Raphael.
"And what carries you so suddenly?"
"The horses of Leonardo," replied the young artist, sportively;
"seriously, however, the desire of excellence implanted in my soul."
When he arrived at Florence he was charmed with the appearance of the
city; but his whole mind was absorbed in the works of Leonardo da
Vinci and of Michael Angelo, the rival artists of the age. As his stay
was to be short, he did not enter upon laborious occupation. His
mornings were passed in the reveries of his art; his evenings in the
gay and fascinating society of Florence, where the fame of Perugino's
beloved pupil had already reached. The frescos at Siena were spoken
of; and the beautiful countenance and graceful deportment of Raphael
won him the friendship of distinguished men. Taddeo Taddei, the
learned friend of Cardinal Bembo, solicited him to reside in his
house; he consented, and in return for the courtesy painted for him
two pictures, in what is called his first style, that of Perugino.
One evening he retired to his couch at a late hour. He had been the
hero of a _fete_, and love and beauty had heedlessly scattered their
flowers in the path of the living Adonis. In vain he sought a few
hours of slumber. He had quaffed the juice of the grape, emptying
goblet after goblet, till his beating pulse and throbbing temples
refused to be quieted. He started from his couch and approached the
lattice; the heavens had changed their aspect, the still serenity of
the evening had passed away, and the clouds were hurrying over the
pale and watery moon. Nothing was heard but the low sighing of the
wind, and now and then a sudden gust swept through the lattice, and
threatened to extinguish the taper which was burning dimly on the
table. A slight noise made him turn his eyes, and he perceived a note
that the wind had displaced. He hastily took it up. It was Perugino's
handwriting. He cut the silken cord that fastened it, and read:
"On me, my beloved Raffaello, devolves the task of informing you of
the events which have taken place at Urbino. May this letter find you
prepared for all the changes of life; a wise man will never suffer
himself to be taken by surprise; this is true philosophy, and the
_only philosophy_ that can serve us! An epidemic has prevailed at
Urbino, and has entered your paternal dwelling. Need I say more? Come
to me, my son, at Perugia, for I am the only parent that remains to
you. Pietro Perugino."
As he hastily arose, a crucifix which his mother had suspended to his
neck at parting, fell from his bosom. Even the symbols of religion are
sacred where the living principle has been early implanted in the
heart. He pressed it to his lips: "Ah!" thought he, "what is the
_philosophy_ of Perugino, compared to the _faith_ of which this is the
emblem?" His thoughts went back to infancy and childhood, and his
grief and remorse grew less intense. He dwelt on the deep and enduring
love of his parents till he felt assured death could not extinguish
it, and that he should see them again in a brighter sphere.
When morning came it found Raphael calm and composed; the lines of
grief and thought were deeply marked on his youthful face; but the
whirlwind and the storm had passed. He took leave of his friends, and
hastened to Perugino, who received him with the fondness of a parent.
Here he remained some time, and at length collected sufficient
resolution to return to Urbino, and once more enter the mansion of his
desolated home.
It was necessary for him to reside at his native place for a number of
months. During that time he painted several fine pictures. His heart,
however, yearned for Florence, and he returned to it once more with
the determination of making it his home. With far different sensations
did he a second time enter the city of beauty. The freshness of his
gayety was blighted; lessons of earthly disappointment were ever
present to his mind, and he returned to it with the resolute purpose
of devoting himself to serious occupation.
How well he fulfilled this resolution all Italy can bear witness. From
this time he adopted what has been called his _second manner_. He
painted for the Duke of Urbino the beautiful picture of the Saviour at
sunrise, with the morning light cast over a face resplendent with
divinity; the flowers glittering with dew, the two disciples beyond,
still buried in slumber, at the time when the Saviour turns his eyes
upon them with that tender and sorrowful exclamation, "Could ye not
watch one hour?"
Raphael enriched the city of Florence with his works. When asked what
had suggested some of the beautiful combinations of his paintings, he
said, "They came to me in my sleep." At other times he called them
"visions;" and then again said they were the result of "una certa idea
che mi viene alla mente." It was this power of drawing from the deep
wells of his own mind that gave such character, originality, and
freshness to his works. He found that power _within_ which so many
seek, and seek in vain, _without_.
At the age of twenty-five Raphael was summoned by the pope to paint
the chambers of the Vatican. The famous frescos of the Vatican need
neither enumeration nor description; the world is their judge and
their eulogist.
No artist ever consecrated his works more by his affections than
Raphael. The same hallowed influence of the heart gave inexpressible
charm to Correggio's, afterward. One of Raphael's friends said to him,
in looking upon particular figures in his groups, "You have
transmitted to posterity your own likeness."
"See you nothing beyond that?" replied the artist.
"I see," said the critic, "the deep-blue eye, and the long, fair hair
parted on the forehead."
"Observe," said Raphael, "the feminine softness of expression, the
beautiful harmony of thought and feeling. When I take my pencil for
high and noble purposes, the spirit of my mother hovers over me. It is
her countenance, not my own, of which you trace the resemblance."
This expression is always observable in his Madonnas. His portraits of
the _Fornarina_ are widely different. Raphael, in his last and most
excellent style, united what was graceful and exquisite in Leonardo
with the sublime and noble manner of Michael Angelo. It is the
privilege and glory of genius to appropriate to itself whatever is
noble and true. The region of thought is thus made a common ground for
all, and one master mind becomes a reservoir for the present and
future times.
When Raphael was invited to Rome by Pope Julius II., Michael Angelo
was at the height of his glory; his character tended to inspire awe
rather than affection; he delighted in the majestic and the terrible.
In boldness of conception and grandeur of design, he surpassed
Leonardo, but never could reach the sweetness and gentleness of his
figures. Even his children lose something of their infantine beauty,
and look mature; his women are commanding and lofty; his men of
gigantic proportions. His painting, like his sculpture, is remarkable
for anatomical exactness, and perfect expression of the muscles. For
this union of magnificence and sublimity, it was necessary to prepare
the mind; the first view was almost harsh, and it was by degrees that
his mighty works produced their designed effect. Raphael, while he
felt all the greatness of the Florentine, conceived that there might
be something more like nature--something that should be harmonious,
sweet, and flowing--that should convey the idea of intellectual rather
than of external majesty. Without yielding any of the correctness of
science, he avoided harshness, and imitated antiquity in uniting grace
and elegance with a strict observation of science and of the rules of
art.
It was with surprise that Michael Angelo beheld in the youthful
Raphael a rival artist; nor did he receive this truth meekly; he
treated him with coldness and distance. In the meantime Raphael went
on with his works; he completed the frescos of the Vatican, and
designed the cartoons. He also produced those exquisite paintings in
oil which seem the perfection of human art.
[Illustration: Leo X. at Raphael's Bier.]