}

having obstinately refused the friendly and flattering attentions which Duke Cosmo lavished upon him, he seems, it is true, at the close of his life to have pardoned him for being the ruler of his country; but although several times he seriously entertained the idea of returning to die in Florence, he always excused himself with the duke, on the score sometimes of his great age, sometimes of his works; and we may well believe that the sore feelings of the battered old republican confirmed him in his determination not to leave Rome.

The increasing decline of art, and the first excesses of his disciples, did not unsettle his ideas. We know with what admiration and with what severity he spoke of Titian, after he had been with Vasari to see him at the Belvedere.

During those long years of decline, which saw the springs of life decreasing day by day, and his enthusiasm that heaven-sent frenzy which makes everything easy to youthflickering and going out, he preserved a settled silence upon his innermost feelings. He gave no sign of what he was suffering in a solitude peopled but just now with the phantom forms of his own genius ; and though still filled with an ardent and sacred love, became yet more desolate and gloomy than ever by the death of Vittoria. He spoke of himself with haughty pride: "For myself, in all my sufferings I have at least this satisfaction, that no one can read in my face the story of my weariness or my longing. I fear no envy, for I look for no honour or applause from a world so blind and so deceiving, which only cares for those who repay it with the most ingratitude; and I go upon my way alone."

In many respects, however, he lost his ruggedness of disposition under the influence of Vittoria. In his last years he was glad to do justice to Bramante, against whom he had formerly made too bitter accusations. "It must be acknow

ledged," he wrote, "that Bramante was as great an architect as any who have appeared from ancient times to our own. It was he who laid the first foundations of St. Peter's. His clear, simple and luminous plan would not have been wrong in any single detail of that vast monument. His conception was looked upon as fine, and must be so still; so fine, that whoever has deviated from the design of Bramante has deviated from the truth." And in his presence Vittoria could, without hurting his feelings, praise Raphael, whom he had suspected, and not without some show of reason, of having mixed in the intrigues relative to the Sixtine. "Raphael d'Urbino painted a masterpiece in Rome, which would have a just title to the first rank, if the other (the Sixtine) did not exist. It is a hall and two rooms, and the alcoves in the palace belonging to St. Peter's." Moreover, despite his grievances, he had at all times done justice to his young rival; "and he used willingly to bestow his praise upon all," says Condivi, "even upon Raphael, though there was some rivalry between them." Bocchi relates, that after having received 500 crowns upon account for the Sibyls of the Pace, Raphael claimed the balance which he thought due to him, from Agostino Chigi; the latter made some difficulty about it, and Michelangelo was called upon to arbitrate, and, filled with admiration, he replied "that each head was worth 100, crowns."

1

Nevertheless, his character resumed all its roughness when St. Peter's was in question. "All the nasty tricks of the San-Gallists," says Vasari, "were disgusting to the integrity of Michelangelo. One day, before he accepted the title of architect, he said openly to the foremen of the works, that

1 Partisans of San Gallo.

he would advise them to combine all their efforts to keep him out of the place, for the first use that he would make of his power would be to turn them off." The cabal was for a moment upon the point of getting him dismissed. The church was said to want light. Julius III. assembled the Council. Michelangelo replied triumphantly to all the criticisms of his enemies; and then interrupting Cardinal Marcello, who was irritating him with his remarks: "I am not, and do not mean to be, compelled to tell your lordships more than any one else what I am about, and intend to do. Your business is to give me money, and to get rid of knaves: as to the building, that's my affair." Then turning to the Pope: "You see, Holy Father, what I get. If the fatigue which I endure is of no use to my soul, I am losing time and trouble." The Pope, who was fond of him, put his hands upon his shoulders and said, "You are doing much both for soul and body." At the same time Michelangelo wrote to Vasari, who was urging him to come to Florence : "If I leave Rome it would be the ruin of St. Peter's, which would be a great disgrace to me, and an unpardonable sin. When this great edifice has got to such a point that no one can possibly alter it, I hope to be able to comply with your wishes; it is, however, a mistake perhaps to make certain intriguers wait so long who are impatient for me to be gone."

Under Pius IV. the intrigues redoubled. Michelangelo was eighty-seven. His enemies declared that he was in his dotage, and was utterly ruining everything. He does seem at that time to have been discouraged for a moment, for he writes to Cardinal di Carpi: "Your lordships must have informed Messer Dandini that the construction of St. Peter's was going on as badly as possibly, which has distressed me greatly, for it is not true. Unless I am grossly deceived, I think I may declare,

on the contrary, that it could not be going on better. But as it is true that my own interest and advanced age may easily impose upon me, and be injurious to this building, contrary to my intention, I intend, as soon as possible, to ask permission of his Holiness to withdraw. I likewise beg your Excellency, in order to gain time, kindly to relieve me at once of the too great responsibility which I have gratuitously undertaken for the last ten years under the commands of several Popes." He afterwards changed his mind, and a few weeks before his death retorted upon his detractors by that beautiful model of the dome, completing that of the nave, which was executed in 1546. The Greek cross of the original plan, which was changed to a Latin cross by Raphael, replaced by Baldassare Peruzzi, and again discarded by Antonio di San Gallo, was reinstated by Michelangelo.

[The architects who succeeded him carried out his plans conscientiously up to the beginning of the 17th century. But at this time, under the pontificate of Paul V., Carlo Maderno, who was commissioned to finish St. Peter's, conceived the unhappy idea of lengthening the front part of the nave, without observing that by changing the Greek into a Latin cross he diminished the effect of the dome, destroyed every feature of the edifice; and that by adding the ridiculous façade of the present building, he was taking away from a church the religious character which ought above all things to be maintained.].

However, if Michelangelo was valiantly resisting the perpetual knavery of the San-Gallists, the inevitable shadow of old age was creeping over him. One evening Julius III. requested Vasari to go and get a drawing from him. He found him alone in his workshop, working on the Descent from the Cross by the light of a little lantern. Talking about one

thing and another, Vasari happened to cast his eyes on one of the legs of the Christ which he was intending to alter. Michelangelo dropped his lantern on purpose to prevent him seeing his work, and while he was calling Urbino to light it again, he went out of the workshop, saying, "Ah! I am so old that death is often pulling at my coat to take me away. Some day my body will fall like that lantern, and my life will go out just as it has." Another time, Vasari wrote him word that his nephew, Leonardo, had just had a son who would perpetuate the name of Buonarroti. Michelangelo replied, "My friend Giorgio, I have read your letter with much pleasure, for I see that you do not forget the poor old You have been at the birthday feast of a new Buonarroti. I am as much obliged as I can be for all these details; but I don't like these festivals, for man ought not to be smiling when everybody is weeping. I don't think Leonardo ought to have such rejoicing over a new-born child. This joy ought to be kept for the death of a man who has lived well."

man.

About 1556 one of the most cruel blows fell upon him. His faithful Urbino died. He had been with him since the siege of Florence. He was more than a servant-he was a friend of every day and every moment. It was to him that he put that abrupt question one day, "What would you do if I were to die?" "I should have to find another master." "Oh! my poor Urbino! I couldn't bear you to be unfortunate:" and he gave him two thousand crowns on the spot. "He loved him so well," says Vasari, "that he waited on him in his illness, and sat up with him at night." When Vasari, who was at Florence, heard of his loss, he wrote to console him, and received this touching reply: "Messer Giorgio, my dear friend, it is hard for me to write; however, I must give you a line in answer to