A History of Art for Beginners and Students: Painting, Sculpture, Architecture

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

During two years they wrote constantly to each other, and each sent to the other the sonnets they wrote. At this time all Italy read the poems of Vittoria, and those of Michael Angelo still stand the test of time. In them he shows the blessed effect of her influence over him. At length she returned to Rome and entered a convent, where she died in 1547. Michael Angelo was with her to the last, and years later he declared that he regretted nothing so much as that he had only kissed her hand, and not her forehead or cheeks in that last hour. His loss was far too great to be told. (An engraving of a portrait of Michael Angelo can be seen in Mrs. Clement's "Painting," p. 95.)

In the year following Vittoria's death all the hopes which he had cherished for the freedom of Florence were crushed. High honors were offered him to induce him to return there, but he would not go. His health failed, his sadness increased, and his writings show how constantly he mourned for Vittoria. After this he did much work as an architect, and held the post of director of the building of St. Peter's. He superintended the erection of the statue of Marcus Aurelius, and completed the Farnese Palace, and had many improvements in mind.

Now, in his old age, he was authority itself in Rome. He had no rival, and his advice was sought by artists as well as others. He lived very simply: he dined alone, and received his visitors in the plainest manner. Anatomy, which had always been a passion with him, was now his chief pursuit. He made many dissections of animals, and was grateful when a human subject could be allowed him.

When he could not sleep he would get up at night and work upon the group of which we have spoken; he had a cap with a candle in it, so that it cast a light upon his work. Vasari once entered when he was at work upon this group, and had a lantern in his hand; he dropped it purposely, so that the sculpture should not be seen, and said: "I am so old that death often pulls me by the coat to come to him, and some day I shall fall down like this lantern, and my last spark of life will be extinguished."

There are many very interesting circumstances told of his last years and his strength of mind, and the work which he did was wonderful; but we have not space to recount it here.

At length, in February, 1564, when almost ninety years old, he died. He had asked to be buried in Florence. His friends feared that this would be opposed, so they held burial-services in Rome, and his body was afterward carried through the gates as merchandise. In Florence the body was first laid in San Piero Maggiore, and on Sunday, at evening, the artists assembled, and forming a procession, proceeded to Santa Croce, where he was buried. The younger artists bore the bier upon their shoulders, and the older ones carried torches to light the way. A great multitude followed the procession, and in the Sacristy of Santa Croce the coffin was opened; though three weeks had passed since his death, his face appeared as if he had just died; the crowd was very great, but all was quiet, and before morning it had dispersed. The Duke had thought that a public funeral would recall old memories, and might cause a disturbance; but Michael Angelo had left Florence thirty years before his death, and his connection with the city was forgotten by many.

The July following was appointed for a memorial service in his honor; San Lorenzo was splendidly decorated; Varchi delivered an oration. Leonardo, his nephew, erected a monument to him in Santa Croce, for which the Duke gave the marble. His statue stands in the court of the Uffizi with those of other great Florentines, but with no especial prominence. His house in the Ghibelline Street is preserved as a museum, and visitors there see many mementos of this great man.

In 1875 a grand festival was held in Florence to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of his birth. The ceremonies were impressive, and certain documents relating to his life which had never been opened, by command of the king, were given to suitable persons for examination. Mr. Heath Wilson, an English artist, then residing at Florence, wrote a new life of Michael Angelo, and the last signature which Victor Emmanuel wrote before his death was upon the paper which conferred on Mr. Wilson the Order of the Corona d'Italia, given as a recognition of his services in writing this book.

The national pride in Michael Angelo is very strong. "All Italians feel that he occupies the third place by the side of Dante and Raphael, and forms with them a triumvirate of the greatest men produced by their country—a poet, a painter, and one who was great in all arts. Who would place a general or a statesman by their side as equal to them? It is art alone which marks the prime of nations."

The genius of Michael Angelo and his spirit were powerful forces. They pervaded the whole art of Italy to such an extent that it may be said that all sculptors were his imitators, both while he lived and after his death. He loved to treat strong subjects, such as demanded violent movement and unusual positions. It was only a man of his genius who could raise such subjects above grotesqueness and the one effect of strange and unnatural exaggeration. As we look over all his works it seems as if the idea of beauty and such things as are pleasing to the ordinary mind rarely, if ever, came to his mind. Noble feeling, depth of thought, strength, and grandeur are the associations which we have with him, and in the hands of weaker men, as his imitators were, these subjects became barren, hollow displays of distorted limbs and soulless heads and faces.