I
The Buonarroti Simoni, to whom Michelangelo belonged, were a
Florentine family of ancient burgher nobility. Their arms appear to
have been originally "azure two bends or." To this coat was added
"a label of four points gules inclosing three fleur-de-lys or."
That augmentation, adopted from the shield of Charles of Anjou,
occurs upon the scutcheons of many Guelf houses and cities. In the
case of the Florentine Simoni, it may be ascribed to the period
when Buonarrota di Simone Simoni held office as a captain of the
Guelf party (1392). Such, then, was the paternal coat borne by the
subject of this Memoir. His brother Buonarroto received a further
augmentation in 1515 from Leo X., to wit: "upon a chief or, a
pellet azure charged with fleur-de-lys or, between the capital
letters L. and X." At the same time he was created Count Palatine.
The old and simple bearing of the two bends was then crowded down
into the extreme base of the shield, while the Angevine label found
room beneath the chief.
According to a vague tradition, the Simoni drew their blood
from the high and puissant Counts of Canossa. Michelangelo himself
believed in this pedigree, for which there is, however, no
foundation in fact, and no heraldic corroboration. According to his
friend and biographer Condivi, the sculptor's first Florentine
ancestor was a Messer Simone dei Conti di Canossa, who came in 1250
as Podestà to Florence. "The eminent qualities of this man gained
for him admission into the burghership of the city, and he was
appointed captain of a Sestiere; for Florence in those days was
divided into Sestieri, instead of Quartieri, as according to the
present usage." Michelangelo's contemporary, the Count Alessandro
da Canossa, acknowledged this relationship. Writing on the 9th of
October 1520, he addresses the then famous sculptor as "honoured
kinsman," and gives the following piece of information: "Turning
over my old papers, I have discovered that a Messere Simone da
Canossa was Podestà of Florence, as I have already mentioned to the
above-named Giovanni da Reggio." Nevertheless, it appears now
certain that no Simone da Canossa held the office of Podestà at
Florence in the thirteenth century. The family can be traced up to
one Bernardo, who died before the year 1228. His grandson was
called Buonarrota, and the fourth in descent was Simone. These
names recur frequently in the next generations. Michelangelo always
addressed his father as "Lodovico di Lionardo di Buonarrota
Simoni," or "Louis, the son of Leonard, son of Buonarrota Simoni;"
and he used the family surname of Simoni in writing to his brothers
and his nephew Lionardo. Yet he preferred to call himself
Michelangelo Buonarroti; and after his lifetime Buonarroti became
fixed for the posterity of his younger brother. "The reason," says
Condivi, "why the family in Florence changed its name from Canossa
to Buonarroti was this: Buonarroto continued for many generations
to be repeated in their house, down to the time of Michelangelo,
who had a brother of that name; and inasmuch as several of these
Buonarroti held rank in the supreme magistracy of the republic,
especially the brother I have just mentioned, who filled the office
of Prior during Pope Leo's visit to Florence, as may be read in the
annals of that city, this baptismal name, by force of frequent
repetition, became the cognomen of the whole family; the more
easily, because it is the custom at Florence, in elections and
nominations of officers, to add the Christian names of the father,
grandfather, great-grandfather, and sometimes even of remoter
ancestors, to that of each citizen. Consequently, through the many
Buonarroti who followed one another, and from the Simone who was
the first founder of the house in Florence, they gradually came to
be called Buonarroti Simoni, which is their present designation."
Excluding the legend about Simone da Canossa, this is a pretty
accurate account of what really happened. Italian patronymics were
formed indeed upon the same rule as those of many Norman families
in Great Britain. When the use of Di and Fitz expired, Simoni
survived from Di Simone, as did my surname Symonds from
Fitz-Symond.
On the 6th of March 1475, according to our present
computation, Lodovico di Lionardo Buonarroti Simoni wrote as
follows in his private notebook: "I record that on this day, March
6, 1474, a male child was born to me. I gave him the name of
Michelangelo, and he was born on a Monday morning four or five
hours before daybreak, and he was born while I was Podestà of
Caprese, and he was born at Caprese; and the godfathers were those
I have named below. He was baptized on the eighth of the same month
in the Church of San Giovanni at Caprese. These are the
godfathers:—
DON DANIELLO DI SER BUONAGUIDA of Florence,
Rector of San Giovanni at Caprese;
DON ANDREA DI …. of Poppi, Rector of the Abbey
of Diasiano ( i.e. ,
Dicciano);
JACOPO DI FRANCESCO of Casurio (?);
MARCO DI GIORGIO of Caprese;
GIOVANNI DI BIAGIO of Caprese;
ANDREA DI BIAGIO of Caprese;
FRANCESCO DI JACOPO DEL ANDUINO (?) of Caprese;
SER BARTOLOMMEO DI SANTI DEL LANSE (?), Notary."
Note that the date is March 6, 1474, according to Florentine
usage ab incarnatione , and
according to the Roman usage, a
nativitate , it is 1475.
Vasari tells us that the planets were propitious at the
moment of Michelangelo's nativity: "Mercury and Venus having
entered with benign aspect into the house of Jupiter, which
indicated that marvellous and extraordinary works, both of manual
art and intellect, were to be expected from him."
II
Caprese, from its beauty and remoteness, deserved to be the
birthplace of a great artist. It is not improbable that Lodovico
Buonarroti and his wife Francesca approached it from Pontassieve in
Valdarno, crossing the little pass of Consuma, descending on the
famous battle-field of Campaldino, and skirting the ancient castle
of the Conti Guidi at Poppi. Every step in the romantic journey
leads over ground hallowed by old historic memories. From Poppi the
road descends the Arno to a richly cultivated district, out of
which emerges on its hill the prosperous little town of Bibbiena.
High up to eastward springs the broken crest of La Vernia, a mass
of hard millstone rock ( macigno
) jutting from desolate beds of lime and shale at the height
of some 3500 feet above the sea. It was here, among the sombre
groves of beech and pine which wave along the ridge, that S.
Francis came to found his infant Order, composed the Hymn to the
Sun, and received the supreme honour of the stigmata. To this point
Dante retired when the death of Henry VII. extinguished his last
hopes for Italy. At one extremity of the wedge-like block which
forms La Vernia, exactly on the watershed between Arno and Tiber,
stands the ruined castle of Chiusi in Casentino. This was one of
the two chief places of Lodovico Buonarroti's podesteria. It may be
said to crown the valley of the Arno; for the waters gathered here
flow downwards toward Arezzo, and eventually wash the city walls of
Florence. A few steps farther, travelling south, we pass into the
valley of the Tiber, and, after traversing a barren upland region
for a couple of hours, reach the verge of the descent upon Caprese.
Here the landscape assumes a softer character. Far away stretch
blue Apennines, ridge melting into ridge above Perugia in the
distance. Gigantic oaks begin to clothe the stony hillsides, and
little by little a fertile mountain district of chestnut-woods and
vineyards expands before our eyes, equal in charm to those aërial
hills and vales above Pontremoli. Caprese has no central commune or
head-village. It is an aggregate of scattered hamlets and
farmhouses, deeply embosomed in a sea of greenery. Where the valley
contracts and the infant Tiber breaks into a gorge, rises a wooded
rock crowned with the ruins of an ancient castle. It was here,
then, that Michelangelo first saw the light. When we discover that
he was a man of more than usually nervous temperament, very
different in quality from any of his relatives, we must not forget
what a fatiguing journey had been performed by his mother, who was
then awaiting her delivery. Even supposing that Lodovico Buonarroti
travelled from Florence by Arezzo to Caprese, many miles of rough
mountain-roads must have been traversed by her on
horseback.
III
Ludovico, who, as we have seen, was Podestà of Caprese and of
Chiusi in the Casentino, had already one son by his first wife,
Francesca, the daughter of Neri di Miniato del Sera and Bonda
Rucellai. This elder brother, Lionardo, grew to manhood, and become
a devoted follower of Savonarola. Under the influence of the
Ferrarese friar, he determined to abjure the world, and entered the
Dominican Order in 1491. We know very little about him, and he is
only once mentioned in Michelangelo's correspondence. Even this
reference cannot be considered certain. Writing to his father from
Rome, July 1, 1497, Michelangelo says: "I let you know that Fra
Lionardo returned hither to Rome. He says that he was forced to fly
from Viterbo, and that his frock had been taken from him, wherefore
he wished to go there ( i.e. ,
to Florence). So I gave him a golden ducat, which he asked for; and
I think you ought already to have learned this, for he should be
there by this time." When Lionardo died is uncertain. We only know
that he was in the convent of S. Mark at Florence in the year 1510.
Owing to this brother's adoption of the religious life,
Michelangelo became, early in his youth, the eldest son of
Lodovico's family. It will be seen that during the whole course of
his long career he acted as the mainstay of his father, and as
father to his younger brothers. The strength and the tenacity of
his domestic affections are very remarkable in a man who seems
never to have thought of marrying. "Art," he used to say, "is a
sufficiently exacting mistress." Instead of seeking to beget
children for his own solace, he devoted himself to the interests of
his kinsmen.
The office of Podestà lasted only six months, and at the
expiration of this term Lodovico returned to Florence. He put the
infant Michelangelo out to nurse in the village of Settignano,
where the Buonarroti Simoni owned a farm. Most of the people of
that district gained their livelihood in the stone-quarries around
Settignano and Maiano on the hillside of Fiesole. Michelangelo's
foster-mother was the daughter and the wife of stone-cutters.
"George," said he in after-years to his friend Vasari, "if I
possess anything of good in my mental constitution, it comes from
my having been born in your keen climate of Arezzo; just as I drew
the chisel and the mallet with which I carve statues in together
with my nurse's milk."
When Michelangelo was of age to go to school, his father put
him under a grammarian at Florence named Francesco da Urbino. It
does not appear, however, that he learned more than reading and
writing in Italian, for later on in life we find him complaining
that he knew no Latin. The boy's genius attracted him irresistibly
to art. He spent all his leisure time in drawing, and frequented
the society of youths who were apprenticed to masters in painting
and sculpture. Among these he contracted an intimate friendship
with Francesco Granacci, at that time in the workshop of Domenico
Ghirlandajo. Granacci used to lend him drawings by Ghirlandajo, and
inspired him with the resolution to become a practical artist.
Condivi says that "Francesco's influence, combined with the
continual craving of his nature, made him at last abandon literary
studies. This brought the boy into disfavour with his father and
uncles, who often used to beat him severely; for, being insensible
to the excellence and nobility of Art, they thought it shameful to
give her shelter in their house. Nevertheless, albeit their
opposition caused him the greatest sorrow, it was not sufficient to
deter him from his steady purpose. On the contrary, growing even
bolder he determined to work in colours." Condivi, whose narrative
preserves for us Michelangelo's own recollections of his youthful
years, refers to this period the painted copy made by the young
draughtsman from a copper-plate of Martin Schöngauer. We should
probably be right in supposing that the anecdote is slightly
antedated. I give it, however, as nearly as possible in the
biographer's own words. "Granacci happened to show him a print of
S. Antonio tormented by the devils. This was the work of Martino
d'Olanda, a good artist for the times in which he lived; and
Michelangelo transferred the composition to a panel. Assisted by
the same friend with colours and brushes, he treated his subject in
so masterly a way that it excited surprise in all who saw it, and
even envy, as some say, in Domenico, the greatest painter of his
age. In order to diminish the extraordinary impression produced by
this picture, Ghirlandajo went about saying that it came out of his
own workshop, as though he had some part in the performance. While
engaged on this piece, which, beside the figure of the saint,
contained many strange forms and diabolical monstrosities,
Michelangelo coloured no particular without going first to Nature
and comparing her truth with his fancies. Thus he used to frequent
the fish-market, and study the shape and hues of fishes' fins, the
colour of their eyes, and so forth in the case of every part
belonging to them; all of which details he reproduced with the
utmost diligence in his painting." Whether this transcript from
Schöngauer was made as early as Condivi reports may, as I have
said, be reasonably doubted. The anecdote is interesting, however,
as showing in what a naturalistic spirit Michelangelo began to
work. The unlimited mastery which he acquired over form, and which
certainly seduced him at the close of his career into a stylistic
mannerism, was based in the first instance upon profound and
patient interrogation of reality.
IV
Lodovico perceived at length that it was useless to oppose
his son's natural bent. Accordingly, he sent him into Ghirlandajo's
workshop. A minute from Ghirlandajo's ledger, under the date 1488,
gives information regarding the terms of the apprenticeship. "I
record this first of April how I, Lodovico di Lionardo di
Buonarrota, bind my son Michelangelo to Domenico and Davit di
Tommaso di Currado for the next three ensuing years, under these
conditions and contracts: to wit, that the said Michelangelo shall
stay with the above-named masters during this time, to learn the
art of painting, and to practise the same, and to be at the orders
of the above-named; and they, for their part, shall give to him in
the course of these three years twenty-four florins (
fiorini di suggello ): to wit, six
florins in the first year, eight in the second, ten in the third;
making in all the sum of ninety-six pounds (
lire )." A postscript, dated April 16th
of the same year, 1488, records that two florins were paid to
Michelangelo upon that day.
It seems that Michelangelo retained no very pleasant memory
of his sojourn with the Ghirlandajo brothers. Condivi, in the
passage translated above, hints that Domenico was jealous of him.
He proceeds as follows: "This jealousy betrayed itself still more
when Michelangelo once begged the loan of a certain sketch-book,
wherein Domenico had portrayed shepherds with their flocks and
watchdogs, landscapes, buildings, ruins, and such-like things. The
master refused to lend it; and indeed he had the fame of being
somewhat envious; for not only showed he thus scant courtesy toward
Michelangelo, but he also treated his brother likewise, sending him
into France when he saw that he was making progress and putting
forth great promise; and doing this not so much for any profit to
David, as that he might himself remain the first of Florentine
painters. I have thought fit to mention these things, because I
have been told that Domenico's son is wont to ascribe the genius
and divinity of Michelangelo in great part to his father's
teaching, whereas the truth is that he received no assistance from
that master. I ought, however, to add that Michelangelo does not
complain: on the contrary, he praises Domenico both as artist and
as man."
This passage irritated Vasari beyond measure. He had written
his first Life of Michelangelo in 1550. Condivi published his own
modest biography in 1553, with the expressed intention of
correcting errors and supplying deficiencies made by "others,"
under which vague word he pointed probably at Vasari. Michelangelo,
who furnished Condivi with materials, died in 1564; and Vasari, in
1568, issued a second enlarged edition of the Life, into which he
cynically incorporated what he chose to steal from Condivi's
sources. The supreme Florentine sculptor being dead and buried,
Vasari felt that he was safe in giving the lie direct to this
humble rival biographer. Accordingly, he spoke as follows about
Michelangelo's relations with Domenico Ghirlandajo: "He was
fourteen years of age when he entered that master's service, and
inasmuch as one (Condivi), who composed his biography after 1550,
when I had published these Lives for the first time, declares that
certain persons, from want of familiarity with Michelangelo, have
recorded things that did not happen, and have omitted others worthy
of relation; and in particular has touched upon the point at issue,
accusing Domenico of envy, and saying that he never rendered
Michelangelo assistance."—Here Vasari, out of breath with
indignation, appeals to the record of Lodovico's contract with the
Ghirlandajo brothers. "These minutes," he goes on to say, "I copied
from the ledger, in order to show that everything I formerly
published, or which will be published at the present time, is
truth. Nor am I acquainted with any one who had greater familiarity
with Michelangelo than I had, or who served him more faithfully in
friendly offices; nor do I believe that a single man could exhibit
a larger number of letters written with his own hand, or evincing
greater personal affection, than I can."
This contention between Condivi and Vasari, our two
contemporary authorities upon the facts of Michelangelo's life, may
not seem to be a matter of great moment for his biographer after
the lapse of four centuries. Yet the first steps in the art-career
of so exceptional a genius possess peculiar interest. It is not
insignificant to ascertain, so far as now is possible, what
Michelangelo owed to his teachers. In equity, we acknowledge that
Lodovico's record on the ledger of the Ghirlandajo brothers proves
their willingness to take him as a prentice, and their payment to
him of two florins in advance; but the same record does not
disprove Condivi's statement, derived from his old master's
reminiscences, to the effect that Domenico Ghirlandajo was in no
way greatly serviceable to him as an instructor. The fault, in all
probability, did not lie with Ghirlandajo alone. Michelangelo, as
we shall have occasions in plenty to observe, was difficult to live
with; frank in speech to the point of rudeness, ready with
criticism, incapable of governing his temper, and at no time apt to
work harmoniously with fellow-craftsmen. His extraordinary force
and originality of genius made themselves felt, undoubtedly, at the
very outset of his career; and Ghirlandajo may be excused if,
without being positively jealous of the young eagle settled in his
homely nest, he failed to do the utmost for this gifted and
rough-natured child of promise. Beethoven's discontent with Haydn
as a teacher offers a parallel; and sympathetic students of
psychology will perceive that Ghirlandajo and Haydn were almost
superfluous in the training of phenomenal natures like Michelangelo
and Beethoven.
Vasari, passing from controversy to the gossip of the studio,
has sketched a pleasant picture of the young Buonarroti in his
master's employ. "The artistic and personal qualities of
Michelangelo developed so rapidly that Domenico was astounded by
signs of power in him beyond the ordinary scope of youth. He
perceived, in short, that he not only surpassed the other students,
of whom Ghirlandajo had a large number under his tuition, but also
that he often competed on an equality with the master. One of the
lads who worked there made a pen-drawing of some women, clothed,
from a design of Ghirlandajo. Michelangelo took up the paper, and
with a broader nib corrected the outline of a female figure, so as
to bring it into perfect truth to life. Wonderful it was to see the
difference of the two styles, and to note the judgment and ability
of a mere boy, so spirited and bold, who had the courage to
chastise his master's handiwork! This drawing I now preserve as a
precious relique, since it was given me by Granacci, that it might
take a place in my Book of Original Designs, together with others
presented to me by Michelangelo. In the year 1550, when I was in
Rome, I Giorgio showed it to Michelangelo, who recognised it
immediately, and was pleased to see it again, observing modestly
that he knew more about the art when he was a child than now in his
old age.
"It happened then that Domenico was engaged upon the great
Chapel of S. Maria Novella; and being absent one day, Michelangelo
set himself to draw from nature the whole scaffolding, with some
easels and all the appurtenances of the art, and a few of the young
men at work there. When Domenico returned and saw the drawing, he
exclaimed: 'This fellow knows more about it than I do,' and
remained quite stupefied by the new style and the new method of
imitation, which a boy of years so tender had received as a gift
from heaven."
Both Condivi and Vasari relate that, during his
apprenticeship to Ghirlandajo, Michelangelo demonstrated his
technical ability by producing perfect copies of ancient drawings,
executing the facsimile with consummate truth of line, and then
dirtying the paper so as to pass it off as the original of some old
master. "His only object," adds Vasari, "was to keep the originals,
by giving copies in exchange; seeing that he admired them as
specimens of art, and sought to surpass them by his own handling;
and in doing this he acquired great renown." We may pause to doubt
whether at the present time—in the case, for instance, of Shelley
letters or Rossetti drawings—clever forgeries would be accepted as
so virtuous and laudable. But it ought to be remembered that a
Florentine workshop at that period contained masses of accumulated
designs, all of which were more or less the common property of the
painting firm. No single specimen possessed a high market value. It
was, in fact, only when art began to expire in Italy, when Vasari
published his extensive necrology and formed his famous collection
of drawings, that property in a sketch became a topic for moral
casuistry.
Of Michelangelo's own work at this early period we possess
probably nothing except a rough scrawl on the plaster of a wall at
Settignano. Even this does not exist in its original state. The
Satyr which is still shown there may, according to Mr. Heath
Wilson's suggestion, be a rifacimento
from the master's hand at a subsequent period of his
career.
V
Condivi and Vasari differ considerably in their accounts of
Michelangelo's departure from Ghirlandajo's workshop. The former
writes as follows: "So then the boy, now drawing one thing and now
another, without fixed place or steady line of study, happened one
day to be taken by Granacci into the garden of the Medici at San
Marco, which garden the magnificent Lorenzo, father of Pope Leo,
and a man of the first intellectual distinction, had adorned with
antique statues and other reliques of plastic art. When
Michelangelo saw these things and felt their beauty, he no longer
frequented Domenico's shop, nor did he go elsewhere, but, judging
the Medicean gardens to be the best school, spent all his time and
faculties in working there." Vasari reports that it was Lorenzo's
wish to raise the art of sculpture in Florence to the same level as
that of painting; and for this reason he placed Bertoldo, a pupil
and follower of Donatello, over his collections, with a special
commission to aid and instruct the young men who used them. With
the same intention of forming an academy or school of art, Lorenzo
went to Ghirlandajo, and begged him to select from his pupils those
whom he considered the most promising. Ghirlandajo accordingly
drafted off Francesco Granacci and Michelangelo Buonarroti. Since
Michelangelo had been formally articled by his father to
Ghirlandajo in 1488, he can hardly have left that master in 1489 as
unceremoniously as Condivi asserts. Therefore we may, I think,
assume that Vasari upon this point has preserved the genuine
tradition.
Having first studied the art of design and learned to work in
colours under the supervision of Ghirlandajo, Michelangelo now had
his native genius directed to sculpture. He began with the
rudiments of stone-hewing, blocking out marbles designed for the
Library of San Lorenzo, and acquiring that practical skill in the
manipulation of the chisel which he exercised all through his life.
Condivi and Vasari agree in relating that a copy he made for his
own amusement from an antique Faun first brought him into
favourable notice with Lorenzo. The boy had begged a piece of
refuse marble, and carved a grinning mask, which he was polishing
when the Medici passed by. The great man stopped to examine the
work, and recognised its merit. At the same time he observed with
characteristic geniality: "Oh, you have made this Faun quite old,
and yet have left him all his teeth! Do you not know that men of
that great age are always wanting in one or two?" Michelangelo took
the hint, and knocked a tooth out from the upper jaw. When Lorenzo
saw how cleverly he had performed the task, he resolved to provide
for the boy's future and to take him into his own household. So,
having heard whose son he was, "Go," he said, "and tell your father
that I wish to speak with him."
A mask of a grinning Faun may still be seen in the
sculpture-gallery of the Bargello at Florence, and the marble is
traditionally assigned to Michelangelo. It does not exactly
correspond to the account given by Condivi and Vasari; for the
mouth shows only two large tusk-like teeth, with the tip of the
tongue protruding between them. Still, there is no reason to feel
certain that we may not have here Michelangelo's first extant work
in marble.
"Michelangelo accordingly went home, and delivered the
message of the Magnificent. His father, guessing probably what he
was wanted for, could only be persuaded by the urgent prayers of
Granacci and other friends to obey the summons. Indeed, he
complained loudly that Lorenzo wanted to lead his son astray,
abiding firmly by the principle that he would never permit a son of
his to be a stonecutter. Vainly did Granacci explain the difference
between a sculptor and a stone-cutter: all his arguments seemed
thrown away. Nevertheless, when Lodovico appeared before the
Magnificent, and was asked if he would consent to give his son up
to the great man's guardianship, he did not know how to refuse. 'In
faith,' he added, 'not Michelangelo alone, but all of us, with our
lives and all our abilities, are at the pleasure of your
Magnificence!' When Lorenzo asked what he desired as a favour to
himself, he answered: 'I have never practised any art or trade, but
have lived thus far upon my modest income, attending to the little
property in land which has come down from my ancestors; and it has
been my care not only to preserve these estates, but to increase
them so far as I was able by my industry.' The Magnificent then
added: 'Well, look about, and see if there be anything in Florence
which will suit you. Make use of me, for I will do the utmost that
I can for you.' It so happened that a place in the Customs, which
could only be filled by a Florentine citizen, fell vacant shortly
afterwards. Upon this Lodovico returned to the Magnificent, and
begged for it in these words: 'Lorenzo, I am good for nothing but
reading and writing. Now, the mate of Marco Pucci in the Customs
having died, I should like to enter into this office, feeling
myself able to fulfil its duties decently.' The Magnificent laid
his hand upon his shoulder, and said with a smile: 'You will always
be a poor man;' for he expected him to ask for something far more
valuable. Then he added: 'If you care to be the mate of Marco, you
can take the post, until such time as a better becomes vacant.' It
was worth eight crowns the month, a little more or a little less."
A document is extant which shows that Lodovico continued to fill
this office at the Customs till 1494, when the heirs of Lorenzo
were exiled; for in the year 1512, after the Medici returned to
Florence, he applied to Giuliano, Duke of Nemours, to be reinstated
in the same.
If it is true, as Vasari asserts, that Michelangelo quitted
Ghirlandajo in 1489, and if Condivi is right in saying that he only
lived in the Casa Medici for about two years before the death of
Lorenzo, April 1492, then he must have spent some twelve months
working in the gardens at San Marco before the Faun's mask called
attention to his talents. His whole connection with Lorenzo, from
the spring of 1489 to the spring of 1492, lasted three years; and,
since he was born in March 1475, the space of his life covered by
this patronage extended from the commencement of his fifteenth to
the commencement of his eighteenth year.
These three years were decisive for the development of his
mental faculties and special artistic genius. It is not necessary
to enlarge here upon Lorenzo de' Medici's merits and demerits,
either as the ruler of Florence or as the central figure in the
history of the Italian Renaissance. These have supplied stock
topics for discussion by all writers who have devoted their
attention to that period of culture. Still we must remember that
Michelangelo enjoyed singular privileges under the roof of one who
was not only great as diplomatist and politician, and princely in
his patronage, but was also a man of original genius in literature,
of fine taste in criticism, and of civil urbanity in manners. The
palace of the Medici formed a museum, at that period unique,
considering the number and value of its art treasures—bas-reliefs,
vases, coins, engraved stones, paintings by the best contemporary
masters, statues in bronze and marble by Verocchio and Donatello.
Its library contained the costliest manuscripts, collected from all
quarters of Europe and the Levant. The guests who assembled in its
halls were leaders in that intellectual movement which was destined
to spread a new type of culture far and wide over the globe. The
young sculptor sat at the same board as Marsilio Ficino,
interpreter of Plato; Pico della Mirandola, the phoenix of Oriental
erudition; Angelo Poliziano, the unrivalled humanist and melodious
Italian poet; Luigi Pulci, the humorous inventor of burlesque
romance—with artists, scholars, students innumerable, all in their
own departments capable of satisfying a youth's curiosity, by
explaining to him the particular virtues of books discussed, or of
antique works of art inspected. During those halcyon years, before
the invasion of Charles VIII., it seemed as though the peace of
Italy might last unbroken. No one foresaw the apocalyptic vials of
wrath which were about to be poured forth upon her plains and
cities through the next half-century. Rarely, at any period of the
world's history, perhaps only in Athens between the Persian and the
Peloponnesian wars, has culture, in the highest and best sense of
that word, prospered more intelligently and pacifically than it did
in the Florence of Lorenzo, through the co-operation and mutual
zeal of men of eminence, inspired by common enthusiasms, and
labouring in diverse though cognate fields of study and
production.
Michelangelo's position in the house was that of an honoured
guest or adopted son. Lorenzo not only allowed him five ducats a
month by way of pocket-money, together with clothes befitting his
station, but he also, says Condivi, "appointed him a good room in
the palace, together with all the conveniences he desired, treating
him in every respect, as also at his table, precisely like one of
his own sons. It was the custom of this household, where men of the
noblest birth and highest public rank assembled round the daily
board, for the guests to take their places next the master in the
order of their arrival; those who were present at the beginning of
the meal sat, each according to his degree, next the Magnificent,
not moving afterwards for any one who might appear. So it happened
that Michelangelo found himself frequently seated above Lorenzo's
children and other persons of great consequence, with whom that
house continually flourished and abounded. All these illustrious
men paid him particular attention, and encouraged him in the
honourable art which he had chosen. But the chief to do so was the
Magnificent himself, who sent for him oftentimes in a day, in order
that he might show him jewels, cornelians, medals, and such-like
objects of great rarity, as knowing him to be of excellent parts
and judgment in these things." It does not appear that Michelangelo
had any duties to perform or services to render. Probably his
patron employed him upon some useful work of the kind suggested by
Condivi. But the main business of his life in the Casa Medici was
to make himself a valiant sculptor, who in after years should
confer lustre on the city of the lily and her Medicean masters.
What he produced during this period seems to have become his own
property, for two pieces of statuary, presently to be described,
remained in the possession of his family, and now form a part of
the collection in the Casa Buonarroti.
VI
Angelo Poliziano, who was certainly the chief scholar of his
age in the new learning, and no less certainly one of its truest
poets in the vulgar language, lived as tutor to Lorenzo's children
in the palace of the Medici at Florence. Benozzo Gozzoli introduced
his portrait, together with the portraits of his noble pupils, in a
fresco of the Pisan Campo Santo. This prince of humanists
recommended Michelangelo to treat in bas-relief an antique fable,
involving the strife of young heroes for some woman's person.
Probably he was also able to point out classical examples by which
the boyish sculptor might be guided in the undertaking. The subject
made enormous demands upon his knowledge of the nude. Adult and
youthful figures, in attitudes of vehement attack and resistance,
had to be modelled; and the conditions of the myth required that
one at least of them should be brought into harmony with equine
forms. Michelangelo wrestled vigorously with these difficulties. He
produced a work which, though it is imperfect and immature, brings
to light the specific qualities of his inherent art-capacity. The
bas-relief, still preserved in the Casa Buonarroti at Florence, is,
so to speak, in fermentation with powerful half-realised
conceptions, audacities of foreshortening, attempts at intricate
grouping, violent dramatic action and expression. No previous
tradition, unless it was the genius of Greek or Greco-Roman
antiquity, supplied Michelangelo with the motive force for this
prentice-piece in sculpture. Donatello and other Florentines worked
under different sympathies for form, affecting angularity in their
treatment of the nude, adhering to literal transcripts from the
model or to conventional stylistic schemes. Michelangelo discarded
these limitations, and showed himself an ardent student of reality
in the service of some lofty intellectual ideal. Following and
closely observing Nature, he was also sensitive to the light and
guidance of the classic genius. Yet, at the same time, he violated
the aesthetic laws obeyed by that genius, displaying his Tuscan
proclivities by violent dramatic suggestions, and in loaded,
overcomplicated composition. Thus, in this highly interesting
essay, the horoscope of the mightiest Florentine artist was already
cast. Nature leads him, and he follows Nature as his own star bids.
But that star is double, blending classic influence with Tuscan
instinct. The roof of the Sistine was destined to exhibit to an
awe-struck world what wealths of originality lay in the artist thus
gifted, and thus swayed by rival forces. For the present, it may be
enough to remark that, in the geometrical proportions of this
bas-relief, which is too high for its length, Michelangelo revealed
imperfect feeling for antique principles; while, in the grouping of
the figures, which is more pictorial than sculpturesque, he already
betrayed, what remained with him a defect through life, a certain
want of organic or symmetrical design in compositions which are not
rigidly subordinated to architectural framework or limited to the
sphere of an intaglio
.
Vasari mentions another bas-relief in marble as belonging to
this period, which, from its style, we may, I think, believe to
have been designed earlier than the Centaurs. It is a seated
Madonna with the Infant Jesus, conceived in the manner of
Donatello, but without that master's force and power over the lines
of drapery. Except for the interest attaching to it as an early
work of Michelangelo, this piece would not attract much attention.
Vasari praises it for grace and composition above the scope of
Donatello; and certainly we may trace here the first germ of that
sweet and winning majesty which Buonarroti was destined to develop
in his Pietà of S. Peter, the Madonna at Bruges, and the even more
glorious Madonna of S. Lorenzo. It is also interesting for the
realistic introduction of a Tuscan cottage staircase into the
background. This bas-relief was presented to Cosimo de' Medici,
first Grand Duke of Tuscany, by Michelangelo's nephew Lionardo. It
afterwards came back into the possession of the Buonarroti family,
and forms at present an ornament of their house at
Florence.
VII
We are accustomed to think of Michelangelo as a
self-withdrawn and solitary worker, living for his art, avoiding
the conflict of society, immersed in sublime imaginings. On the
whole, this is a correct conception of the man. Many passages of
his biography will show how little he actively shared the passions
and contentions of the stirring times through which he moved. Yet
his temperament exposed him to sudden outbursts of scorn and anger,
which brought him now and then into violent collision with his
neighbours. An incident of this sort happened while he was studying
under the patronage of Lorenzo de' Medici, and its consequences
marked him physically for life. The young artists whom the
Magnificent gathered round him used to practise drawing in the
Brancacci Chapel of the Carmine. There Masaccio and his followers
bequeathed to us noble examples of the grand style upon the
frescoed panels of the chapel walls. It was the custom of
industrious lads to make transcripts from those broad designs, some
of which Raphael deigned in his latest years to repeat, with
altered manner, for the Stanze of the Vatican and the Cartoons.
Michelangelo went one day into the Carmine with Piero Torrigiano
and other comrades. What ensued may best be reported in the
narration which Torrigiano at a later time made to Benvenuto
Cellini.
"This Buonarroti and I used, when we were boys, to go into
the Church of the Carmine to learn drawing from the chapel of
Masaccio. It was Buonarroti's habit to banter all who were drawing
there; and one day, when he was annoying me, I got more angry than
usual, and, clenching my fist, I gave him such a blow on the nose
that I felt bone and cartilage go down like biscuit beneath my
knuckles; and this mark of mine he will carry with him to the
grave." The portraits of Michelangelo prove that Torrigiano's boast
was not a vain one. They show a nose broken in the bridge. But
Torrigiano, for this act of violence, came to be regarded by the
youth of Florence with aversion, as one who had laid sacrilegious
hands upon the sacred ark. Cellini himself would have wiped out the
insult with blood. Still Cellini knew that personal violence was
not in the line of Michelangelo's character; for Michelangelo,
according to his friend and best biographer, Condivi, was by
nature, "as is usual with men of sedentary and contemplative
habits, rather timorous than otherwise, except when he is roused by
righteous anger to resent unjust injuries or wrongs done to himself
or others, in which case he plucks up more spirit than those who
are esteemed brave; but, for the rest, he is most patient and
enduring." Cellini, then, knowing the quality of Michelangelo's
temper, and respecting him as a deity of art, adds to his report of
Torrigiano's conversation: "These words begat in me such hatred of
the man, since I was always gazing at the masterpieces of the
divine Michelangelo, that, although I felt a wish to go with him to
England, I now could never bear the sight of him."
VIII
Youths and maids, enjoy to-day: Naught ye know about
to-morrow!
At the same period, Michelangelo fell under very different
influences; and these left a far more lasting impression on his
character than the gay festivals and witty word-combats of the
lords of Florence. In 1491 Savonarola, the terrible prophet of
coming woes, the searcher of men's hearts, and the remorseless
denouncer of pleasant vices, began that Florentine career which
ended with his martyrdom in 1498. He had preached in Florence eight
years earlier, but on that occasion he passed unnoticed through the
crowd. Now he took the whole city by storm. Obeying the magic of
his eloquence and the magnetism of his personality, her citizens
accepted this Dominican friar as their political leader and moral
reformer, when events brought about the expulsion of the Medici in
1494. Michelangelo was one of his constant listeners at S. Marco
and in the Duomo. He witnessed those stormy scenes of religious
revival and passionate fanaticism which contemporaries have
impressively described. The shorthand-writer to whom we owe the
text of Savonarola's sermons at times breaks off with words like
these: "Here I was so overcome with weeping that I could not go
on." Pico della Mirandola tells that the mere sound of the monk's
voice, startling the stillness of the Duomo, thronged through all
its space with people, was like a clap of doom; a cold shiver ran
through the marrow of his bones the hairs of his head stood on end
while he listened. Another witness reports: "Those sermons caused
such terror, alarm, sobbing, and tears, that every one passed
through the streets without speaking, more dead than
alive."
On the 8th of April 1492, Michelangelo lost his friend and
patron. Lorenzo died in his villa at Careggi, aged little more than
forty-four years. Guicciardini implies that his health and strength
had been prematurely broken by sensual indulgences. About the
circumstances of his last hours there are some doubts and
difficulties; but it seems clear that he expired as a Christian,
after a final interview with Savonarola. His death cast a gloom
over Italy. Princes and people were growing uneasy with the
presentiment of impending disaster; and now the only man who by his
diplomatical sagacity could maintain the balance of power had been
taken from them. To his friends and dependants in Florence the loss
appeared irreparable. Poliziano poured forth his sorrow in a Latin
threnody of touching and simple beauty. Two years later both he and
Pico della Mirandola followed their master to the grave. Marsilio
Ficino passed away in 1499; and a friend of his asserted that the
sage's ghost appeared to him. The atmosphere was full of rumours,
portents, strange premonitions of revolution and doom. The true
golden age of the Italian Renaissance may almost be said to have
ended with Lorenzo de' Medici's life.