The David, now in the Accademia at Florence, inaugurates the series of Michelangelo's colossal statues. It will be remembered that the master undertook to utilize a huge block of marble already rough-hewn by an unskilful sculptor, and that he succeeded in hewing this magnificent statue, without adding any other piece at all, so exactly to the size that the old surface of the marble may still be seen on the top of the head and in the base. What most surprises the modern artist when studying not only this, but all Michelangelo's colossal works, both in painting and in sculpture, is the perfect finish of every detail. The fearless eyes, the shapely ear, the firm set mouth, the powerful hand nervously grasping the death-dealing missile, could not have been more carefully modelled in a statuette, and casts of each individual limb are still set before students to copy and admire in every studio of the world.
In 1501, when Michelangelo began this work, he was still free and unfettered, justly proud of the fame which his Pietà had brought him, and with the world literally at his feet. This young giant boldly taking aim at an unknown but formidable enemy, might well be regarded as an allegorical representation of the artist himself, on the eve of grappling with his fate. It may be taken for certain that a quarter of a century later he would have interpreted the same theme very differently, and would perhaps have given us David the King, or David the Psalmist and the Prophet, instead of this magnificent embodiment of conscious power and hope. The fierce frown, the expression of strenuous force victoriously struggling against overwhelming odds, all those characteristics, in short, which have been summed up in the word terribilità by his contemporaries, would have been replaced by the sombre majesty of the Moses, or the despairing expression of conquered, impotent strength which is the key-note to such works as the Medicean Tombs, the Louvre Captives, and the Last Judgment. Critics casting about for an artistic derivation of Michelangelo's earlier works maintain that the David's face bears a resemblance to the features of Donatello's Saint George in Or San Michele, but the type is far more virile and energetic, recalling, if anything, the masterpieces of ancient art.
The tondo representing The Holy Family, now in the Tribuna of the Uffizi, is doubly interesting as a work of art and as an instance of Michelangelo's fearless originality. It was painted about the year 1503 for that Florentine merchant prince, Angelo Doni, who sat for his portrait to the divine Raphael. Although Signorelli had once before introduced nude figures as a decorative element in a Madonna and Child which he painted for Lorenzo de' Medici (and it is possible that Michelangelo saw this picture), no other artist of the Renaissance had ever dared to interpret a sacred subject such as the Holy Family in so Pagan a spirit. An ancient Greek would quite naturally have supposed the beautiful group in the foreground to represent Juno playing with the infant Bacchus, only wondering, perhaps, why the artist had neglected to place a garland of vine leaves and clustering grapes round the Wine God's curly head. St. Joseph might easily be taken for a momentarily uxorious Jupiter or for a sober Silenus, and the nude shepherds idling in the background place the scene in a pleasant corner of Arcadia, while a grinning little Faun does duty for St. John the Baptist.
Nevertheless there is not the slightest hint at irreverence; it is merely a Pagan translation, by a master hand, of an oft-repeated Christian theme, a transposition as beautiful and as harmonious in its way as the original score. Indeed, Vasari tells us that Michelangelo painted this strikingly original tondo merely "to show his skill," and the magnificent modelling and foreshortening of the Madonna's arms, the masterful composition, and the wonderfully accurate drawing more than achieve his object. As to the colouring, he entirely disregarded it in his sculptor's pride. He might as well have carved this remarkable work in marble. Before painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo appeared to be wilfully colour-blind, as if afraid that painting would wile him away from the sister art, to which he had plighted his troth.
There is very little doubt that the original design of the Creation of Man was inspired in Michelangelo by one of the antique gems which he admired as a boy in Lorenzo de' Medici's collection. A similar origin may be assigned to the group of Judith and her maid, also in the Sistine Chapel, to several of the Athletes, and to the Leda and the Swan which he painted for the Duke of Ferrara. But this magnificent recumbent figure of Adam far surpasses anything in ancient as well as in modern art, and is indeed a worthy centre round which the remaining stupendous compositions appear to gravitate like planets round the sun. It is here, more than in any other of his works, that we can appreciate Michelangelo's wonderful gift of interpreting the highest and most inaccessible themes in a simple yet imposing manner. Resting heavily on the curved surface of the globe, his powerful limbs and finely modelled flesh clearly outlined against the indigo blue of the sky and the solemn lines of the landscape, Adam gives one the impression of a huge primeval being instinct with strength which he is as yet unable to understand or to use, and just awaking into life, a divine spark of which he receives from the Deity. Michelangelo's conception of God the Father, as an old but powerful and majestic figure, has ever since remained the only possible pictorial symbol of so lofty a subject.
THE HOLY FAMILY.
Apart from its great artistic merit, a pathetic interest attaches to the statue of Moses because it represents the last act of that tragedy of the tomb which darkened the greater part of Michelangelo's life, and influenced his art more than any other circumstance of his eventful career.
The leader and law-giver of the Hebrews is seated in an attitude of thought and wisdom, holding under his right arm the tables of the law, and supporting his chin with his left hand, like one tired and full of cares. His beard escapes in long waves between the fingers of his right hand. The hands and strong bare arms of the Moses are magnificent, beyond comparison the finest ever modelled by Michelangelo. The expression of the face is one of commanding power and almost fierce energy, a face capable of inspiring terror rather than love, a veritable embodiment of the cruel, uncompromising Hebrew legislation. The powerful, massive form is clearly apparent beneath the beautiful folds of the draperies, for here, as in all Michelangelo's clothed figures, whether in painting or in sculpture, dress does not hide but almost enhances the shape and beauty of the body. "This statue alone," exclaimed the Cardinal of Mantua, when he saw the finished work, "is enough to honour the memory of Pope Julius."