Lives of the Artists

by Giorgio Vasari

  When Vasari left for Florence, he asked Michelangelo to prepare the work for San Pietro in Montorio. However, he also told his great friend Bin do Altoviti, who was then the consul for the Florentine colony at Rome, that it would be better to have the tombs erected in the church of San Giovanni de’ Fiorentini, that he had already suggested this to Michelangelo, who was in favour, and that this would be a good opportunity for completing the church. Bindo liked the suggestion, and being very intimate with the Pope he urged him strongly to have the chapel and tombs that his holiness was having made for Montorio put up in San Giovanni de’ Fiorentini instead, adding that this would give the Florentines in Rome the opportunity and incentive to meet the expense of having their church completed. If his holiness would build the principal chapel, he said, the merchants would then build six more and gradually have all the work carried out. Because of this the Pope changed his mind, although the model had been made and the price agreed; and he went to Montorio and sent for Michelangelo. Vasari, meanwhile, was writing every day to Michelangelo, who sent him news of what was happening. So on I August 1550 Michelangelo wrote telling Vasari of the Pope’s change of plan, and this is what he said:

  My dear Giorgio,

  Concerning the new foundations for San Pietro in Montorio, as the Pope did not want to hear about them I did not write to you, knowing that you were already informed by your man here. Now I must tell you the following, namely that yesterday morning after he had gone to Montorio the Pope sent for me. I met him on the bridge when he was on his way back and had a long conversation with him about the tombs you were commissioned to do; and finally, he told me he had determined that he would have them built not on the hill but in the church of the Florentines instead. Then he asked me for my opinion and for a design, and I strongly encouraged him, thinking that in this way the church would be brought to completion. As for the three letters I have received from you, I myself cannot aspire to such heights; but if I were anxious to be in some degree what you say I am, it would be only so that you might have a worthy servant. However, seeing you are a man who brings the dead back to life, I am not at all astonished that you should prolong the life of the living, or rather that you should snatch from the hands of death and immortalize those who are scarcely alive. Such as I am, then, I am all yours. Michelangelo Buonarroti. Rome.

  While these matters were being arranged and the Florentines living in Rome were trying to find the money that was needed several difficulties arose, nothing was settled, and enthusiasm began to cool. Meanwhile, Vasari and Ammanati excavated all the marbles at Carrara and they were sent to Rome; and Ammanati went with them, taking a letter to Buonarroti in which Vasari wrote that he should get the Pope to say where he wanted the tomb to go and that, when the order was given, he should prepare the foundation. As soon as Michelangelo received the letter he spoke to his holiness, and then he wrote to Vasari as follows:

  My dear Giorgio,

  As soon as Bartolommeo arrived here I went to have a word with the Pope; and when I saw that he wanted preparations made at Montorio for the tombs I looked for a mason from St Peter’s. Busybody found this out and wanted to send someone to suit himself; and to avoid striving against a man who sets the winds in motion I stood aside, seeing that I’m a lightweight and have no wish to be blown off my feet. Anyhow, I think we have to forget all about the church of the Florentines. Come back soon, and keep well. I have nothing more to say. 13 October 1550.

  ‘Busybody’ was Michelangelo’s name for the bishop of Forli, because he meddled in everything. As the Pope’s head chamberlain he was in charge of the medals, jewels, cameos, small bronze figures, pictures, and drawings, and he wanted everything to depend on him. Michelangelo tried to keep out of his way, because he found the bishop’s meddling always dangerous and feared lest his ambitions should land him in a spot of serious trouble. Anyhow, the Florentines lost an excellent opportunity of building their church and God knows if there will ever be another. This caused me great sorrow; but I thought I should briefly record what happened to show the way Michelangelo always tried to help his own people and friends, and the profession of architecture.

  Vasari had scarcely returned to Rome, just before the beginning of 1551, when the Sangallo clique in a plot against Michelangelo persuaded the Pope to summon to a meeting in St Peter’s all the builders and overseers, hoping to convince his holiness by slanderous accusations that Michelangelo had ruined the building. Now Michelangelo had built ready for vaulting the hemicycle of the king of France (where the three chapels are) with the three upper windows; but not knowing what was to be done with the vault, and relying on their own poor judgement, they had convinced the elder Cardinal Salviati and Marcello Cervini (who later became Pope) that St Peter’s would be left poorly lit. So after they had all assembled the Pope told Michelangelo that the deputies alleged that the hemicycle would have little light.

  Michelangelo said: ‘I would like them to speak for themselves.’

  Cardinal Marcello declared: ‘Here we are.’

  Then Michelangelo said to him: ‘My lord, above these windows in the vault, which will be made of travertine, are to go three more.’

  ‘But you never told us that,’ the cardinal remarked.

  And then Michelangelo announced: ‘I’m not and I don’t intend to be obliged to discuss with your Eminence or anyone else what I ought or intend to do. Your duty is to collect the money and guard it against thieves, and you must leave the task of designing the building to me.’

  Then he turned to the Pope and added: ‘Holy Father, you know what my earnings are from this enterprise, and you know that unless my labours bring me spiritual satisfaction I am wasting all my time and work.’

  The Pope, who loved him, put his hand on Michelangelo’s shoulder and said:

  ‘Both your soul and your body will profit, never fear.’

  After he was rid of the others the Pope’s love for Michelangelo grew almost boundless; and the following day he ordered him and Vasari to go to the Villa Giulia, where they had many discussions together, which brought that work almost to its present beauty; nor was any aspect of the design planned or carried out without Michelangelo’s advice and judgement. The Pope once insisted (this was on one of the many occasions when Michelangelo went to see him with Vasari, and this time they found him in the company of twelve cardinals, by the fountain of the Acqua Vergine) the Pope insisted, I repeat, that Michelangelo should sit by his side, despite his humble resistance, for he always paid the greatest honour to his genius.

  His holiness commissioned Michelangelo to make a model for the façade of a palace he wanted to build alongside San Rocco, with the idea of using the mausoleum of Augustus for the remainder of the walls. So Michelangelo produced a design of incomparable richness, variety, and originality, for in everything he did he was in no need of architectural rules, either ancient or modern, being an artist with the power to invent varied and original things as beautiful as those of the past. This model now belongs to Duke Cosimo de’ Medici, to whom, when he went to Rome, it was given by Pope Pius IV, and who keeps it among his most precious belongings.

  The Pope held Michelangelo in such high regard that he constantly defended him against those cardinals and others who tried to slander him; and he always insisted that other artists, no matter how skilled or distinguished, should wait on Michelangelo at his own house. His holiness held him in such respect and reverence that to avoid wearying him he refrained from asking for many things that Michelangelo, old as he was, would certainly have done.

  When Paul III was living Michelangelo had on his orders made a start on rebuilding the bridge of Santa Maria, which had been weakened and ruined by time and the continuous flow of the water. He constructed caissons and started to repair and refound the piers, and he succeeded in completing a substantial part of the work, at no little cost in wood and travertine. Then during the reign of Julius III it was proposed at a meeting of papal administrators to finish the work, and it was suggested t
hat the architect Nanni di Baccio Bigio would, by doing it under contract, save a great deal of time and money. They also claimed that it would be to Michelangelo’s benefit to relieve him of the task, since he was old and uninterested in it, and that if nothing were done it would never be finished. The Pope was anxious to avoid any strife, and so not realizing what the outcome would be he authorized the clerks to do what they wanted, telling them to treat it as within their competence. Then, without telling Michelangelo, they handed the work over to Nanni, with an unrestricted contract and all the materials. But instead of doing what was necessary to make the foundations secure, Nanni even despoiled the bridge of a good number of the blocks of travertine with which many years before it had been strengthened and paved. He sold the travertine, which had increased the weight and solidity of the bridge, and substituted gravel and similar materials, so that the internal structure appeared sound. On the exterior he constructed parapets and various supports so that it seemed to be totally rebuilt. But, as the bridge had now been thoroughly weakened and debilitated, five years later in 1557 the impetus of the flood that happened that year caused such destruction that there was revealed for all to see the bad judgement of those clerks and the loss that Rome suffered through neglecting the advice of Michelangelo. For he predicted the destruction of the bridge many times to his friends and to me; and I remember his saying, when we were crossing it together on horseback:

  ‘Giorgio, this bridge is shaking. Let’s ride faster in case it crashes down while we’re on it.’

  To return to what we were discussing earlier: after the work at Montorio had been finished, to my great satisfaction, I returned to serve Duke Cosimo in Florence; this was in 1554. Both Michelangelo (whose adversaries tormented him continually in one way or another) and Vasari were grieved at their separation and they wrote to each other every day. In April of the same year Vasari sent Michelangelo the news that his nephew Lionardo had had a son and that in company with many noble ladies they had taken him to be baptized and had revived the name Buonarroto. Michelangelo replied with a letter to Vasari in these words:

  My dear Giorgio,

  Your letter gave me tremendous pleasure, seeing that you still remember this poor old man and even more because you were present at the triumph you describe, namely the birth of another Buonarroto. I send my heartfelt thanks for this news; however, I disapprove of such pomp, because men should not rejoice when the whole world is weeping. And I consider that Lionardo has no cause to celebrate a birth with the kind of rejoicing that should be reserved for the death of someone who has lived a good life. Now don’t be surprised at my not replying immediately; it’s just that I don’t want to seem like a businessman. As for all the flattering remarks in your letter, I wish I deserved only one of them; and then I believe I could discharge a tiny part of my debt by giving myself to you body and soul. I am constantly aware that I owe you far more than I can repay. Seeing how old I am, I can never expect to square the account in this life but must wait for the next. So I beg you to be patient, and I remain yours. Things here go on as usual.1

  During the reign of Paul III, Duke Cosimo had already sent Tribolo to Rome to see if he could persuade Michelangelo to return to Florence and finish the sacristy of San Lorenzo. But Michelangelo pleaded that having grown old he could no longer support the burden of the work, and he gave various excuses for not being able to leave Rome. Finally, Tribolo asked him about the stairway for the library of San Lorenzo, for which Michelangelo had caused many stones to be prepared although there was no model nor any certainty as to its exact form; there were some marks on a pavement and some rough designs in clay, but the true and final plans could not be found. However, despite all the entreaties made by Tribolo, who invoked the name of the duke, all Michelangelo would say was that he did not remember them.

  Vasari was then instructed by Duke Cosimo to write to Michelangelo asking him to reply saying what final form the stairway should have, in the hope that because of his love and friendship for Vasari he would say something that might lead to a solution and to the completion of the work.

  So Vasari wrote telling Michelangelo what the duke wanted and adding that he himelf would be given the task of executing what was still to be done, and that he would do this with the fidelity and care that, as Michelangelo knew, he was always accustomed to give to work for Michelangelo. So Michelangelo then sent the directions for making the stairway in a letter dated 28 September 1555.

  Giorgio, my dear friend,

  Concerning the stairway for the library that I’ve been asked about so much, believe me if I could remember how I planned it I would not need to be asked. A certain staircase comes to my mind just like a dream, but I don’t think it can be the same as the one I had in mind originally since it seems so awkward. However, I’ll describe it for you: first, it is as if you took a number of oval boxes, each about a span deep but not of the same length or width, and placed the largest down on the paving further from or nearer to the wall with the door, depending on the gradient wanted for the stairs. Then it is as if you placed another box on top of the first, smaller than the first and leaving all round enough space for the foot to ascend; and so on, diminishing and drawing back the steps towards the door, always with enough space to climb; and the last step should be the same size as the opening of the door. And this oval stairway should have two wings, one on either side, following the centre steps but straight instead of oval. The central flight from the beginning of the stairs to half-way up should be reserved for the master. The ends of the two wings should face the walls and, with the entire staircase, come about three spans from the wall, leaving the lower part of each wall of the anteroom completely unobstructed. I am writing nonsense, but I know you will find something here to your purpose.

  At that time Michelangelo also wrote to Vasari that Julius III being dead, and Marcellus elected Pope, the clique that was hostile to him had seized the chance to harass him again. And when the duke heard of this he was so displeased that he made Giorgio write and tell Michelangelo to leave Rome and come to live in Florence, where he wanted nothing from him except occasional advice and plans for his buildings, and where he would receive all he wanted without needing to do any work himself. The duke’s private secretary, Leonardo Marinozzi, brought Michelangelo further letters from his Excellency and also from Vasari. But then Marcellus died, and when Michelangelo went to kiss the feet of the newly elected Paul IV he received countless offers; and being anxious to see the finish of St Peter’s, to which he believed himself committed, he stayed where he was. Making his excuses, he wrote telling the duke that for the time being he was unable to serve him; he also sent the following letter to Vasari:

  My dear Giorgio,

  As God is my witness, it was against my will that I was forced to start work on the construction of St Peter’s by Pope Paul III ten years ago; and if work on the fabric had continued up to the present time in the way it started, then enough progress would have been made for me to agree to return home. But for lack of money the work has been continually delayed and it is now being held back just as the construction has reached the most exhausting and difficult part. So to abandon it at this stage would mean the shameful waste of all the labours I have undertaken for the love of God during these ten years. I am writing this speech in reply to your letter, and also because I have had a letter from the duke that has made me astonished that his lordship should condescend to address me so graciously. For this I am deeply grateful to him and to God. I am wandering from the subject because I have lost my memory and my wits, and as writing is not my profession I find it very irksome. In conclusion, to make you understand what would happen if I abandoned the building and left Rome: first, I would make many thieves happy, and I would be responsible for its ruin, and perhaps for closing it down for ever.

  And then Michelangelo added in this letter to Giorgio, by way of excuse to the duke, that he had a house and other belongings in Rome, which were worth thousands of crowns, and as well as t
his like all old men he was in danger of his life because of a disease of the kidneys, colic, and the stone, as could be testified by Master Realdo, his doctor, to whom after God he was grateful for his life. So for all these reasons, he went on, he could not leave Rome; and, indeed, he had no heart for anything except death. In several other letters, now in Vasari’s possession, Michelangelo asked him to beg the duke to forgive him, and he also, as I said, wrote to the duke directly. Certainly, had he been up to making the journey he would have set out for Florence without hesitating, and I am sure that he would never have wanted to go back to Rome, he was so moved by the kindness and affection shown him by the duke. Meanwhile, he continued working on various parts of St Peter’s, with the object of making it impossible to change what was done.

  During this time certain people had informed him that Pope Paul IV was minded to make him alter the façade of the chapel where the Last Judgement is painted since, as the Pope said, the figures there revealed their nakedness too shamelessly. When he heard this, Michelangelo commented: ‘Tell the Pope that this is a trivial matter and can easily be arranged; let him set about putting the world to rights, for pictures are soon put right.’

  The office of the chancery at Rimini was now taken away from Michelangelo, but he would not discuss this with the Pope, who in fact knew nothing about it. The decision was taken by the Pope’s cupbearer, who wanted to have him paid for his work on St Peter’s a monthly stipend of a hundred crowns instead; but when the first month’s payment was brought to his house, Michelangelo refused to take it. The same year saw the death of Urbino, Michelangelo’s servant, or rather, since this was what he had become, his companion. Urbino first came to live with Michelangelo in Florence in 1530, the year of the siege, after his pupil Antonio Mini had gone to France. He proved a devoted servant, and during the twenty-six years that he lived with him he was made a rich man by Michelangelo. who had come to love him so much that, old as he was, when Urbino fell ill he looked after him, sleeping in his clothes at night in order to see to his wants. Vasari wrote to Michelangelo to comfort him after Urbino’s death, and he had the following reply: