"The day of wrath ('dies iræ') is before us—the day, of which the old hymn says,—
'Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando judex est venturus Cuncta stricte discussurus.'
The Judge turns in wrath towards the condemned and raises his right hand, with an expression of rejection and condemnation; beside him the Virgin veils herself with her drapery, and turns, with a countenance full of anguish, toward the blessed. The martyrs, on the left, hold up the instruments and proofs of their martyrdom, in accusation of those who had occasioned their temporal death: these the avenging angels drive from the gates of heaven, and fulfil the sentence pronounced against them. Trembling and anxious, the dead rise slowly, as if still fettered by the weight of an earthly nature; the pardoned ascend to the blessed; a mysterious horror pervades even their hosts—no joy, nor peace, nor blessedness, are to be found here.
"It must be admitted that the artist has laid a stress on this view of his subject, and this has produced an unfavourable effect upon the upper half of his picture. We look in vain for the glory of heaven, for beings who bear the stamp of divine holiness, and renunciation of human weakness; everywhere we meet with the expression of human passion, of human efforts. We see no choir of solemn, tranquil forms, no harmonious unity of clear, grand lines, produced by ideal draperies; instead of these, we find a confused crowd of the most varied movements, naked bodies in violent attitudes, unaccompanied by any of the characteristics made sacred by holy tradition. Christ, the principal figure of the whole, wants every attribute but that of the Judge: no expression of divine majesty reminds us that it is the Saviour who exercises this office. The upper part of the composition is in many parts heavy, notwithstanding the masterly boldness of the drawing; confused, in spite of the separation of the principal and accessory groups; capricious, notwithstanding a grand arrangement of the whole. But, granting for a moment that these defects exist, still this upper portion, as a whole, has a very impressive effect, and, at the great distance from which it is seen, some of the defects alluded to are less offensive to the eye. The lower half deserves the highest praise. In these groups, from the languid resuscitation and upraising of the pardoned, to the despair of the condemned, every variety of expression, anxiety, anguish, rage, and despair, is powerfully delineated. In the convulsive struggles of the condemned with the evil demons, the most passionate energy displays itself, and the extraordinary skill of the artist here finds its most appropriate exercise. A peculiar tragic grandeur pervades alike the beings who are given up to despair and their hellish tormentors. The representation of all that is fearful, far from being repulsive, is thus invested with that true moral dignity which is so essential a condition in the higher aims of art."—Kugler, p. 308.
"The Last Judgment is now more valuable as a school of design than as a fine painting, and it will be sought more for the study of the artist, than the delight of the amateur. Beautiful it is not—but it is sublime;—sublime in conception, and astonishing in execution. Still, I believe, there are few who do not feel that it is a labour rather than a pleasure to look at it. Its blackened surface—its dark and dingy sameness of colouring—the obscurity which hangs over it—the confusion and multitude of naked figures which compose it—their unnatural position, suspended in the air, and the sameness of form and attitude, confound and bewilder the senses. These were, perhaps, defects inseparable from the subject, although it was one admirably calculated to call forth the powers of Michael Angelo. To merit in colouring it has confessedly no pretensions, and I think it is also deficient in expression—that in the conflicting passions, hopes, fears, remorse, despair, and transport, that must agitate the breasts of so many thousands in that awful moment, there was room for powerful expression which we do not see here. But it is faded and defaced; the touches of immortal genius are lost for ever; and from what it is, we can form but a faint idea of what it was. Its defects daily become more glaring—its beauties vanish; and, could the spirit of its great author behold the mighty work upon which he spent the unremitting labour of seven years, with what grief and mortification would he gaze upon it now.
"It may be fanciful, but it seems to me that in this, and in every other of Michael Angelo's works, you may see that the ideas, beauties, and peculiar excellences of statuary, were ever present to his mind; that they are the conceptions of a sculptor embodied in painting.
" ...St. Catharine, in a green gown, and somebody else in a blue one, are supremely hideous. Paul IV., in an unfortunate fit of prudery, was seized with the resolution of whitewashing over the whole of the Last Judgment, in order to cover the scandal of a few naked female figures. With difficulty was he prevented from utterly destroying the grandest painting in the world, but he could not be dissuaded from ordering these poor women to be clothed in this unbecoming drapery. Daniele da Volterra, whom he employed in this office (in the lifetime of Michael Angelo), received, in consequence, the name of Il Braghettone (the breeches-maker)."—Eaton's Rome.
Michael Angelo avenged himself upon Messer Biagio da Cesena, master of the ceremonies, who first suggested the indelicacy of the naked figures to the pope, by introducing him in hell, as Midas, with ass's ears. When Cesena begged Paul IV. to cause this figure to be obliterated, the pope sarcastically replied, "I might have released you from purgatory, but over hell I have no power."
"Michel-Ange est extraordinaire, tandis qu'Orcagna[345] est religieux. Leurs compositions se résument dans les deux Christs qui jugent. L'un est un bourreau qui foudroie, l'autre est un monarque qui condamne en montrant la plaie sacrée de son côté pour justifier sa sentence."—Cartier, Vie du Père Angelico.