# The Life of Michael Angelo/Shattered

II
SHATTERED STRENGTH
Roct' è l'alta cholonna.
Michael Angelo terminated this herculean task, glorious but shattered. Through having to hold his head thrown back for months, whilst painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, "he injured his sight to such an extent that for a long time afterwards he could neither read a letter nor look at an object unless he held them above his head, in order to see them better."
He himself joked about his infirmities: "Labour has given me a goitre, as water does to the cats of Lombardy . . . My stomach points towards my chin, my beard turns towards the sky, my skull rests on my back and my chest is like that of a harpy. The paint from my brush, in dripping on to my face, has made a many-coloured pattern upon it. My loins have entered into my body and my posterior counterbalances. I walk in a haphazard manner, without being able to see my feet. My skin is extended in front and shortened behind. I am bent like a Syrian bow. My intelligence is as strange as my body, for one plays an ill tune on a bent reed."
We must not be deceived by this good humour. Michael Angelo could not endure being ugly. To a man like himself, appreciating physical beauty more than any one, ugliness was a disgrace. We find traces of his humiliation in some of his madrigals. His sorrow was so much the more acute as, the whole of his life he was consumed with love, which does not appear ever to have been returned. Consequently he retired within himself, putting all his tenderness and troubles into his poetry.
The composition of verse—a pressing necessity with him—dated from his earliest years. He covered his drawings, letters and loose sheets of paper with thoughts, to which he afterwards returned and ceaselessly polished. Unfortunately, in 1518, he burnt the greater number of ​these thoughts of his youth, and others were destroyed before his death. However, the few which remain suffice to call up his passions.
The oldest poem seems to have been written in Florence about 1504:
"How happy I lived, Cupid, so long as I was allowed to resist your passion victoriously! Now, alas! my breast is wet with tears—I have felt your strength. ...."
Two madrigals, written between 1504 and 1511, and probably addressed to the same woman, are poignantly expressive:
"Who is it leads me by force to you . . . Alas! Alas! Alas! . . . closely enchained? And yet I am free! . . ."
"Chi è quel che per fonza a te mi mena,  Oilme, oilme, oilme,  Legato e strecto, e son libero e sciolto?"
"How is it possible that I am no longer myself?
​O God! O God! O God! . . . Who has torn me from myself? . . . Who can do more for me than I myself? O God! O God! O God! . . ."
"Come puo esser, ch’io non sia piu mio?  O Dio, o Dio, o Dio!  Chi m’ ha tolto a me stesso,  Ch’ à me fusse piu presso  O piè di me potessi, che poss’io?  O Dio, o Dio, o Dio! . . ."
On the back of a letter of December 1507, written in Bologna, was the following juvenile sonnet, the sensual affectation of which evokes a vision of Botticelli:
"Light and with flowers well decked, how happy is the crown upon her golden head of hair! How the flowers eagerly press upon her forehead, seeing who will be the first to kiss it! The dress which encircles her breast and spreads below is happy the livelong day. The golden tissue is never tired of caressing her cheeks and neck. Still more precious is the fortune of the gold-edged ribbon which lightly presses upon the breast which it envelops. Her belt seems to say: 'I would ever embrace you . . .' Ah! . . . what then would my arms not do!"
In a long poem of an intimate character—a sort of confession, which it is difficult to quote exactly—Michael Angelo described, with a singular crudity of expression, his love anguish:
"When I remain a day without seeing you I can find ​peace nowhere. When I see you, you are to me what food is to one who is hungry … When you smile at me or motion to me in the street, I take fire like powder … When you speak to me, I blush, lose my voice, and suddenly my great desire vanishes. …"
Then come sorrowful lamentations, such as:
"Ah! infinite suffering, which tears my heart, when it thinks that she whom I love so much loves me not! How shall I live? …"
"… Ahi, che doglia 'nfinita Sente 'l mio cor, quando li torna a mente, Che quella ch'io tant'amo amor non sente! Come restero 'n vita? …"
These lines, also, are written next to some studies for the "Madonna" of the Medici Chapel:
"Alone, I remain burning in the shade, when the sun deprives the world of its rays. Every one rejoices, but I, stretched on the ground and stricken with sorrow, moan and weep."
THE SLAVE
From the Statue in the Louvre
"Amando, a che son nato? "
On terminating the paintings of the Sistine Chapel, and Julius II. having died, Michael Angelo returned to Florence and resumed work on the project which he had most at heart—the mausoleum of the dead Pope. He undertook by contract to complete it in seven years. For three years he was almost exclusively occupied with this work. During this relatively tranquil period—a period of melancholy and serene maturity when the furious agitation of the Sistine days subsided, like the raging sea which returns to its bed—Michael Angelo produced his most perfect works, those which best display the equihbrium of his passion and will-power—his "Moses," and the "Slaves" of the Louvre.
​ But it was only for a moment: the stormy course of his life was resumed almost immediately and he fell back again into the night.
The new Pope, Leo X., undertook to tear Michael Angelo away from the glorification of his predecessor and to attach him to the triumph of his own house. It was more a question of pride than sympathy with him; for, with his epicurean nature, he could not understand Michael Angelo's sad genius—all his favours were for Raphael. But the man who had produced the paintings of the Sistine Chapel was an Italian glory, and Leo X. wished to domesticate it.
He offered to allow Michael Angelo to build the façade of San Lorenzo, the church of the Medici, at Florence. Michael Angelo, stimulated by his rivalry with Raphael, who had profited by his absence to become the sovereign of art in Rome, allowed himself to be allured by this ​new task, which it was materially impossible for him to accomplish without neglecting the old one, and which was to be the cause of endless worry to him. He tried to persuade himself that he could manage both the mausoleum of Julius II. and the façade of San Lorenzo at once. He counted on relieving himself of a good deal of the work by having an assistant, and himself executing only the principal statues. But, as usual, he gradually became interested in his plan, and soon could no longer suffer the idea of dividing the honour with another. Moreover, he feared that the Pope might withdraw it from him, so he begged Leo X. to bind him to this new chain.
Naturally it became impossible for him to continue the mausoleum of Julius II. But the saddest part of the matter was that he did not succeed either in building the façade. Not content with refusing every collaborator, his terrible mania for wishing to do everything himself drove him, instead of remaining in Florence and working on his work, to go to Carrara to superintend the extraction of the blocks of marble. There he found himself face to face with all sorts of difficulties. The Medicis wished to utilise the quarries of Pietrasanta, recently acquired by Florence, in preference to those of Carrara. For having taken the part of the Carrarais, Michael Angelo was ​insultingly accused by the Pope of being bribed; and for having had to obey Leo's orders he was persecuted by the Carrarais, who, by coming to an arrangement with the Ligurian mariners, prevented him finding a single ship, from Genoa to Pisa, to carry his marble. He had to construct a road, partly on piles, through the mountains and over the swampy plains—a road to the cost of which the people of the district refused to contribute a penny. The workers knew nothing about their work. The quarries were new and the workman also. Michael Angelo lamented.
"In wishing to conquer these mountains and bring art here I have undertaken to awaken the dead."
He stuck to his task, however.
​"What I have promised I will carry out, in spite of everything. With God's assistance I will produce the finest work which Italy has ever seen."
What strength, enthusiasm and genius wasted in vain! At the end of September 1518 he fell ill at Scravezza, through overwork and worry. He was well aware that his health and dreams were being ruined by this workman's life. He was obsessed with the desire to at last begin his work and by the anguish of being prevented. He was pressed by his other engagements which he could not carry out.
I am dying with impatience because my unhappy destiny will not allow me to do what I want. ... I am dying through sorrow. I have the air of being a deceiver, although it is no fault of mine. . . ."
Returning to Florence, he wore himself out with worry whilst awaiting the arrival of the consignments of marble. But the Arno was dry and the boats loaded with blocks could not ascend the river.
At last they arrived. Was he, this time, going to set to work? No. He returned to the quarries. He persisted in not beginning until he had collected, as in the case of the mausoleum of Julius II., a very mountain of marble. Ever did he postpone the day for setting to work. Perhaps he was frightened of doing so. Had he ​not promised too much? Had he not been rash in undertaking this great architectural work? This was not his profession. Where could he have learnt it? And now he could neither advance nor recede.
So much labour did not result even in the safe transport of the marble. Out of six monolithic columns sent to Florence four were broken on the way and one even in Florence. He was the victim of his workmen.
In the end the Pope and Cardinal de' Medici lost all patience over the precious time which had been uselessly lost in the midst of quarries and on muddy roads. On March 10, 1520, a papal brief released Michael Angelo from the contract of 1518 for the façade of San Lorenzo. Michael Angelo did not receive notice of this until the squads of workmen sent to replace him arrived at Pietrasanta. He felt cruelly hurt.
"I do not blame the Cardinal," he said, "for the three years I have lost here. I do not blame him because I am ruined over this San Lorenzo work. I do not blame him for the very great affront which I have received in them giving me this commission and then in taking it away. I do not even know why. I do not blame him for all I have lost and spent . . . And now the matter may be summed up as follows: the Pope Leo takes over again the quarry with the cut blocks; the money I have in hand—500 ducats—remains mine; and they give me my liberty."
It was not his protectors whom Michael Angelo ought to have accused—it was himself, and he well knew it. That was the sad part of it. He strove against himself. What had he accomplished between 1515 and 1520, when in the fulness of his strength and overflowing with ​genius?—the lifeless "Christ" of the Church of S. Maria Sopra Minerva—a work by Michael Angelo in which Michael Angelo is absent! Moreover, he could not even complete it.
From 1515 to 1520, during these closing years of the great Renaissance, before the overwhelming disasters which were to put an end to the springtime of Italy, Raphael had painted the Loggie, the Incendio di Borgo, the Farnesina Palace, and masterpieces of every description; had built the Villa Madame, directed the building of St. Peter's, the excavations, the fêtes, and the raising of monuments; had governed over art and founded a school of innumerable pupils. And in the midst of this triumphant work he had died.
The bitterness of his disillusions, the despair caused by lost days, ruined hopes and a broken will are reflected in the melancholy works of the following period: the tombs of the Medicis and the new statues for the mausoleum of Julius II.
The free Michael Angelo, who all his life was passing from one yoke to another, had changed his master. Cardinal Julius de' Medici, who soon became Pope under ​the name of Clement VII., reigned over him from 1520 to 1534.
Critics have been very severe on Clement VII. Doubtless, like all these Popes, he wished to make art and artists the servants of his family pride. But Michael Angelo had no great reason for complaining of him. No Pope loved him so much. Not one of the Popes showed a more constant and passionate interest in his work. Not one of them understood better his weakness of will, taking, if need be, his defence against himself and preventing him from wasting his energies in vain. Even after the revolt of Florence and the rebellion of Michael Angelo, Clement in no way changed in his disposition towards him. But it did not depend upon him to appease the disquietude, fever, pessimism and deadly melancholy which consumed this great heart. What signified the personal kindness of a master? He was always a master!
"I served the Popes," said Michael Angelo later, "but it was under compulsion."
GOD CREATING THE SUN AND MOON
In the Sistine Chapel
After dragging Michael Angelo from the inextricable enterprise in which he had become involved, Clement VII. resolved to direct his genius into a new channel, in which he could closely superintend him. He entrusted him with the building of the Medici chapel and tombs. His intention was to occupy his services exclusively. He even proposed that he should take Orders, and offered him an ecclesiastical appointment. Michael Angelo refused. Nevertheless, Clement VII. paid him a monthly salary, three times as large as he had demanded, and presented him with a house in the neighbourhood of San Lorenzo.
Everything seemed to be progressing favourably and work on the chapel was in full swing when suddenly ​Michael Angelo abandoned his house and refused Clement VII.'s allowance. He was passing through a fresh period of discouragement. The heirs of Julius II. could not pardon him for having abandoned the work he had commenced; they threatened him with legal proceedings and questioned his loyalty. At the idea of a lawsuit Michael Angelo lost his head; his conscience told him that his adversaries, were in the right—that he had broken his engagements. It seemed to him that it was impossible for him to accept Clement VII.'s money until he had returned that which he had received from Julius II.
"I work no longer, I live no longer," he wrote. He entreated the Pope to intervene with the heirs of Julius II. in order to assist him to pay everything he owed them.
"I will sell everything, do anything necessary to accomplish this restitution."
Or else he asked to be allowed to devote himself entirely to the monument of Julius II.:
"The carrying out of this obligation is dearer to me than life."
At the thought that, should Clement VII. die, he would be abandoned to his enemies, he became like a child, weeping and despairing:
MONUMENT OF LORENZO DE' MEDICI
Medici Chapel, San Lorenzo, Florence
"They tell me that you have refused your allowance, abandoned your house and stopped work. That seems to me to be an act of sheer madness. My friend, you are playing into the hands of your enemies . . . Occupy yourself, therefore, no longer with the mausoleum of Julius II. and take your allowance; for they give it willingly."
Michael Angelo determined to have his own way, so the pontifical treasury played him the trick of taking him at his word, and the allowance was stopped. A few months later the wretched man, at the last extremity, was reduced to begging for what he had refused. He did so, at first, timidly and full of shame.
"My dear Giovanni, since the pen is ever bolder than the tongue, I write to say to you what I have often been wanting to say of recent days, and what I have not had the courage to express to you by word of mouth. May I still count on an allowance? ... If I were certain that I should no longer receive it, that would in no way change my plans—I should still continue to work for the ​Pope as much as I was able. But I should arrange my affairs in consequence."
Pushed hard by necessity, he returned to the charge:
"After careful reflection, I see how much the Pope has this San Lorenzo work at heart; and since his Holiness, of his own accord, granted me an allowance, with the object of giving me greater leisure for serving him promptly, it would only be retarding the work if I were to refuse it. I have, therefore, changed my mind, and I now write to ask for it, for more reasons than I can explain. Will you give it me, counting from the day on which it was granted?… Tell me at what moment you would like me to take it."
But they wished to give him a lesson: they turned a deaf ear to his demands. Two months later he had still received nothing. More than once, after writing these two letters, was he obliged to ask for his allowance.
Worrying himself continually, he worked on. He complained that these cares were trammels on his imagination.
"Worries may have a great effect on me … One cannot work with one's hands at one thing and with one's head at another, especially in sculpture. They say that this serves to spur me on; but I contend that the goad is a bad one and may turn in the opposite direction. It is already more than a year since I have received an allowance and I struggle against poverty. I am very ​much alone, in the midst of my difficulties, and I have so many of them that they occupy me more than my art. My means do not permit me to have any one to serve me."
Clement VII. showed that he was sometimes touched by his sufferings. He affectionately expressed his sympathy and assured him of his favour "as long as he lived." But the incurable frivolity of the Medici got the upper hand, and, instead of relieving him of part of his work, he gave him fresh commissions, amongst others one for an absurd Colossus, the head of which would have been a steeple and the arm a chimney. Michael Angelo had to occupy himself for some time with this curious idea. He was also constantly struggling with his workmen, masons and carters, whom certain persons—precursors of the modern advocates of an eight hours day—endeavoured to entice from their work.
At the same time his domestic troubles did nothing but increase. His father, as he grew older, became more irritable and unjust. One day he took it into his head to flee from Florence, accusing his son of having driven him from the house. It was on that occasion that Michael Angelo wrote him the following admirable letter:
"Very dear father, I was very surprised yesterday not to find you at home, and now that I learn that you ​complain of me and say that I have driven you away, I am all the more astonished. From the day of my birth until now I am certain of never having had the intention of doing anything, great or small, to displease you. All the difficulties which I have supported I have ever supported through my love for you ... I have ever taken your part . . . But a few days ago I told and promised you that, as long as I lived, I should devote all my strength to you: and I again make that promise. I am astounded that you have so soon forgotten all that. For the past thirty years you and your sons have tested me. You know that I have ever been good to you, as far as I was able, both in thought and in deed. How can you go about repeating everywhere that I have driven you away? Do you not see what a reputation you are giving me ? Nothing more now is wanting to make my troubles complete, and all these troubles I support through my love for you! Well, indeed, do you reward me ! . . . But so let it be. I wish to persuade myself that I have never ceased to cause you shame and do you harm, and I ask your pardon as though I had done so. Pardon me as you would a son who has always lived an evil life and done you all the harm that is possible in this world. Once more I beg you to pardon me, wretch that I am. But do not accuse me of having driven you from home, for my reputation is dearer to me than you are aware. In spite of everything, I am your son."
THE CREATION OF MAN
In the Sistine Chapel
Such was the assistance which he got from the members of his family. "Patience!" he said, with a sigh, in a letter to a friend. "God forbid that what does not displease Him should displease me!"
In the midst of these sorrows his work failed to advance, and when the political events which overwhelmed Italy in 1527 occurred not one of the statues for the Medici chapel was yet ready. Thus, this new period from 1520 to 1527 had merely added its disillusions and fatigue to those of the preceding one, without having brought Michael Angelo the joy of a single completed work, of a single realised project, for more than ten years.
* ↑ "Poems." i.
* ↑ Vasari.
* ↑ "Poems," ix. (See Appendix, ii.) This poem, written in the burlesque style of Francesco Berni and addressed to Giovanni da Pistoja, is dated by Frey June-July 1510. Michael Angelo alludes in the final lines to the difficulties he has encountered in painting the Sistine frescoes, and he makes excuse for them on the ground that this is not his profession. "Therefore, Giovanni, defend my dead work, and defend my honour; for painting is not part of my business. I am not a painter."
* ↑ Henry Thode has rightly pointed out this trait of his character in the first volume of his "Michelangelo und das Ende der Renaissance," 1902, Berlin.
* ↑ ". . . Since the Lord yields to souls their bodies after death for peace or eternal torment, I beseech Him to leave mine, although ugly, in heaven, as upon the earth, near yours, for a loving heart is equivalent to a beautiful face." ". . .Priego 'l mie benchè bructo, "Com' è qui teco, il voglia im paradiso: "C'un cor pietoso val quant' un bel viso. . . ." ("Poems," cix, 12.) "Heaven seems justly irritated that I am mirrored so ugly in your beautiful eyes." "Ben par che'l ciel s'adiri, "Che 'n si begli ochi i' mi veggia si bructo…." ("Poems," cix, 93.)
* ↑ The first complete edition of the poems of Michael Angelo was published by his great-nephew at the beginning of the seventeenth century under the title: “Rime di Michelangelo Buonarroti raccolte da M. A. suo nipote," 1623, Florence. But it is full of errors. Cesare Guasti, in 1863, issued in Florence the first edition that was at all exact. But the only truly scientific and complete edition is the admirable one of Carl Frey: "Die Dictungen des Michelagniolo Buonarroti, herausgegeben und mit kritischem Apparate versehen von Dr. Carl Frey," 1897, Berlin. It is the one to which I refer in the course of this biography.
* ↑ On the same sheet are drawings of horses and men fighting.
* ↑ "Poems," ii. (See Appendix, iii.)
* ↑ Ibid., v.
* ↑ “Poems,” vi.
* ↑ Ibid., vii. (See Appendix, iv.)
* ↑ I adopt the expression used by Frey, who dates the poem but without sufficient ground, in my opinion, for doing so, 1531-1532. It seems to me to be of much earlier date.
* ↑ "Poems," xxxvi. (See Appendix, v.)
* ↑ "Poems," xiii. A celebrated madrigal, which the composer, Bartolommeo Tromboncino set to music, before 1518, is of the same period: "How shall I have the courage to live without you, my treasure, if, on leaving, I cannot ask for your assistance? These sobs and tears and sighs, with which my wretched heart follows you, have shown you, madame, my approaching death and martyrdom. But if it is true that absence will never obliterate my faithful servitude, I leave my heart with you. My heart is no longer mine." ("Poems," xi. See Appendix, vi.)
* ↑   "Sol' io ardendo all'ombra mi rimango, Quand' el sol de suo razi el mondo spoglia; Ogni altro per piaciere, e io per doglia, Prostrato in terra, mi lamento e piangho." ("Poems," xxii.)
* ↑ "I love; why was I born?" ("Poems," cix, 35.) Compare these love poems (in which love and sorrow seem to be synonymous) with the voluptuous enthusiasm of the juvenile and ungraceful sonnets of Raphael, written on the back of his drawings for the "Dispute of the Holy Sacrament."
* ↑ Julius II. died on February 21, 1513, three months and a half after the inauguration of the frescoes of the Sistine.
* ↑ Contract of March 6, 1513. The new project, more important than the first one, included thirty-two large statues.
* ↑ During this time Michael Angelo seems to have accepted but one commission: that for the statue of Christ of S. Maria Sopra Minerva.
* ↑ The "Moses " was to be one of six colossal figures crowning the upper floor of the monument to Julius II. Michael Angelo did not cease working on it until 1545
* ↑ The "Slaves," on which Michael Angelo was working in 1513, were given by him in 1546 to Roberto Strozzi, the Florentine Republican, then exiled in France, who presented them to Francis I.
* ↑ He was not sparing in demonstrations of tenderness towards him; but he was frightened of Michael Angelo. He felt ill at ease in his presence. "When the Pope speaks of you," wrote Sebastiano del Piombo to the artist, "it is as though he were speaking of one of his brothers. There are almost tears in his eyes. He has told me that you were brought up together, and he protests that he knows and loves you. But you frighten everybody—even Popes." (October 27, 1520.) Michael Angelo was ridiculed at the court of Leo X. He laid himself open to raillery through the imprudence of his language. An unfortunate letter which he wrote to Cardinal Bibbiena, the patron of Raphael, caused joy amongst his enemies. "They speak of nothing else at the palace," wrote Sebastiano to Michael Angelo, "but of your letter. Everybody is laughing." (July 3, 1520.)
* ↑ Bramante had died in 1514, and Raphael had just been appointed superintendent of the building of St. Peter's.
* ↑ "I want to make this façade into a work which will be a mirror of architecture and sculpture for the whole of Italy. The Pope and the Cardinal (Julius de' Medici, the future Clement VII.) must decide quickly, if they wish me to do it, or not. And if they wish me to undertake the work, we must sign a contract . . . Messer Domenico, send me a definite reply on the subject of their intentions. That will give me the greatest joy." (To Domenico Buoninsegni, July 1517.) The contract was signed with Leo X. on January 19, 1518. Michael Angelo undertook to build the façade in eight years.
* ↑ Letter of February 2, 1518, from Cardinal Julius de' Medici to Michael Angelo: "We are somewhat suspicious that, through personal interest, you are siding with the Carrarais and wish to depreciate the Pietrasanta quarries…We have to inform you, without entering into further explanations, that His Holiness wishes that the entire work be carried out with blocks of Pietrasanta marble, and no other…Should you act otherwise, it will be against the express desire of His Holiness and myself, and we shall have good reason to be seriously irritated against you…Banish, therefore, this stubbornness from your mind."
* ↑ "I have been as far as Genoa to look for ships…The Carrarais have bribed all the owners of boats…I must go to Pisa…." (Letter from Michael Angelo to Urbano, April 2, 1518.) "The ships I hired at Pisa have not arrived. I believe they have tricked me—my fate in all things! Oh! cursed a thousand times be the day and hour I left Carrara! It is the cause of my ruin…." (Letter of April 18, 1518.)
* ↑ Letter of April 18, 1518. A few months later he wrote: "The quarry is very precipitous, and the people quite ignorant. Patience! I must conquer the mountains and instruct the men…." (Letter of September 1518 to Berto da Filicaja.)
* ↑ The "Christ" of the Church of S. Maria Sopra Minerva and the mausoleum of Julius II.
* ↑ Letter of December 21, 1518, to Cardinal d'Agen. The four shapeless statues (four "Slaves" for the tomb of Julius II.), barely commenced, of the Boboli grottos appear to belong to this period.
* ↑ "Letters," 1520. (Milanesi's edition, p. 415.)
* ↑ Michael Angelo entrusted the completion of this "Christ" to his unskilful pupil, Piero Urbano, who "mutilated it." (Letter from Sebastiano del Piombo to Michael Angelo, September 6, 1521.) The sculptor Frizzi, of Rome, repaired the damages as well as was possible. All these troubles did not prevent Michael Angelo from looking for fresh tasks to add to those which were crushing him. On October 20, 1519, he signed the petition of the Academicians of Florence to Leo X. begging that the remains of Dante be brought from Ravenna to Florence; and he offered "to raise to the memory of the divine poet a monument worthy of him."
* ↑ April 6, 1520.
* ↑ "The Conqueror."
* ↑ In 1526 Michael Angelo was to write to him once a week.
* ↑ "He adores everything you do," wrote Sebastiano del Piombo to Michael Angelo. "He loves as much as it is possible to love. He speaks of you so honourably, and with so much affection, that a father would not say of his son all that he says of you…" (April 29, 1531.) "If you would come to Rome, you could be anything you liked—duke or king … You would have your share in this papacy, of which you are the master, and with which you can do what you like." (December 5, 1531.) In reading these statements, we must, in truth, make allowance for Sebastiano del Piombo's Venetian propensity for boasting.
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to his nephew Leonardo (1548).
* ↑ Work was begun in March 1521, but was not actively proceeded with until the appointment of Cardinal Julius de' Medici to the pontifical throne, under the title of Clement VII., on November 19, 1523. (Leo X. died on December 6, 1521, and from January 1522 to September 1523 was succeeded by Adrian VI.) The original plan included four tombs: those of Lorenzo the Magnificent, of his brother Julian, of his son Julian, Duke of Nemours, and of his grandson, Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino. In 1524 Clement VII. decided to add to them the sarcophagus of Leo X., and his own, reserving the place of honour for them. See Marcel Reymond's "L'Architecture des tombeaux des Medicis" (Gazette des Beaux Arts, 1907). At the same time Michael Angelo was commissioned to build the "Laurentian" library.
* ↑ There was a question of him joining the Franciscan Order. (Letter from Fattucci to Michael Angelo in the name of Clement VII., January 2, 1524.)
* ↑ March 1524.
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Giovanni Spina, agent of the Pope. (April 19, 1525.)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Fattucci. (October 24, 1525.)
* ↑ Letter from Fattucci to Michael Angelo. (March 22, 1524.)
* ↑ Letter from Leonardo Sellajo to Michael Angelo. (March 24, 1524,)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Giovanni Spina. (1524. Milanesi's edition, p. 425.)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Giovanni Spina. (August 29, 1525.)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Fattucci. (October 24, 1525.)
* ↑ Letter from Pier Paolo Marzi, on behalf of Clement VII., to Michael Angelo. (December 23, 1525.)
* ↑ Letters from October to December 1525. (Milanesi's edition, pp. 448-449.)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Fattucci. (June 17, 1526.)
* ↑ Henry Thode dates this letter about 1521. In Milanesi's edition it figures (wrongly) under the date 1516.
* ↑ "Letters." (June 1523.)
* ↑ Letter from Michael Angelo to Fattucel. (June 17, 1526.)
* ↑ The same letter, June 1526, says that a statue of a captain had been commenced, as well as four allegories for the sarcophagi, and the Madonna.