Let us notice a few points and epochs in the career of this stupendous man. He was born near Florence, in the year 1476; it was the great age of Florentine history-in politics, religion, and art. Florence was, as was natural, the city of merchandise; the Medicis, who were its masters, were, or had been, merchants. The brothers of Michael were intended to be merchants, and, with this design, probably he was sent to the grammar school of Francesco d'Urbino; but the impression was that he idled his time away in drawing, and in frequenting the studios and easels of painters. He seems to have been treated by his father and uncles with considerable harshness; they were men who knew the difference between trading and painting; but genius would not be warped; and so in 1488, he was articled to study as a painter beneath the masters Domenico and David Grillandaji. One of his first drawings drew from one of his masters the exclamation, "He understands more than I do myself!" But this seems only to have produced envy even in the minds of his masters. Then we find that as he had neglected the grammar school for drawings and paintings, so a sight he had of the statues in the gardens of San Marco inspired him, for their sakes, to slight the atelier of his masters; but even at this very early age some pieces of his workmanship in marble caught the omniscient eye of the great Lorenzo de Medici, and this circumstance gave that happy meed of influence which even greatest minds seem to need in order that they may be placed in circumstances favorable to their development and fame.

We have already said it was the great age of Florence. Michael Angelo, as a youth and young man, heard Savonarola preach those searching, rousing sermons which stirred the city to its foundation, and anticipated the thunders of Luther. He was twenty-three years of age, when, on the 23rd May, 1498, the great preacher and monk was brought out into the square, hung and burned, and his ashes thrown into the arno from the old bridge. It is a joy to us to see in Michael Angelo one of Savonarola's adherents. We

Reformer; his was a religious nature, serious and stern as that of Savonarola himself; and it was no doubt partly owing to the death of his patron Lorenzo de Medici, and to the stormful state of the politics of the city that he left Florence and entered Rome, which was to be, for the greater number of the years of his life, his resting-place, and the scene of his most magnificent labors. We soon find him engaged in works which were to abide as the marks and tests of his genius. We notice especially his Madonna; and it has been remarked upon as wonderful, that at a period when the breaking up of all political, and moral, external and religious things was to be expected, in Rome, the center of all corruption, Michael Angelo could have produced, at twenty-four years of age, a work which, for purity and beauty, critics the most eminent placed among the master-pieces of Italy-a piece which, says Condivi, "makes its artist the first master in Italy, and even places him above the ancient masters." Artists, indeed, raised grave questions-questions which do not occur to us now, but which were the very hinges of critical acumen and observation then. Mary, for instance, was considered too young in relation to her son, and Condivi applied to Michael Angelo himself for his reasons for such an apparent inconsistency. We think the feeling, and thought, and prescience of the artist shine out very distinctly in his reply

Condivi), that chaste women remain fresher than those who are not so? How much more then a virgin who has never been led astray by the slightest sinful desire? But yet more, if such youthful bloom is thus naturally retained in her, we must believe that the divine power came also to her aid, so that the maidenliness and imperishable purity of the mother of God might appear to all the world. Not so necessary was this in the Son; on the contrary, it was to be shown how he in truth assumed the human form and was exposed to all that can befall a mortal man, sin only excepted. Thus it was not necessary here to place his divinity before his humanity, but to the course of time, he had reached. It must represent him at the age which, according to not therefore appear amazing to you if I have represented the most holy Virgin and mother

"Do you not know," he answered me (says

dle, which would not drop like wax, to light him when at his work, and which was not in his way. Of course, the vault could only be painted by his lying on his back; and after the work was accomplished, for many months he could only read or see the thing he examined distinctly by holding his head back, and the book or object over rather than before his eyes. Then he had a troublesome old Pope to deal with, who was constantly coming to him on the scaffolding, ascending the ladder so that the painter had to hold out his hand for the last step-an impatient and irritable old Pope, perpetually asking him when he would come to an end, insisting on the removal of the scaffolding at any rate from one part. The last touches were still wanting, the gold for the different lights and ornaments had yet to be laid on, when the harsh old despot thundered, "You seem desirous that I should have you thrown down from this scaffolding!" It was a dangerous hint; the Pope was not nice in his moral notions when likely to be thwarted; the painter knew his man, and suspended his work; the beams were removed. In the midst of the dust and confusion which filled the chapel, the Pope pressed forward admiring the work, and on All Saints day, 1509, Rome crowded in to gaze upon the wonder of art which had risen like magic.

The limitations of our pages make it impossible for us to attempt either ourselves to characterize, or, what would be better, quote our author's very eloquent characterizations of the groups of the Sistine Chapel. One distinctiveness, however, we may mention, for it vividly presents the whole works of Michael Angelo, and indicates that in which he was the creator of a new school and study of beauty; it was the movement of ideas. Every line, attitude, and aspect of these great frescoes would seem to be full of ideas. That sublime representation of God the Father brooding over the waters and dividing the light from the darkness, or that in which he, the Supreme, is calmly hovering; in the first he seems to be caught in an immense storm, and is so borne through infinite space, while he is yet compelling and controlling, the white beard of the Ancient of Days

waving, his arms commandingly outstretched, the worlds darting forth round him as he moves, like sparks from him the Living.

He was able, in all these pictures, to convey thoughts which were even themselves like that touch which God gave to Adam when he made him a living soul. The creation of man, the creation of Eve, and Abel, and Cain, and Noah, were all portrayed in this grand manner. His critic says of him that it was as if by his imagination he had seen the birth of the giant generation of the Titans. Not less marvelous, perhaps even more so, were the figures of the sybils and prophets, occupying the side walls between the windows, twelve compartments, in which he painted twelve immense figures, touching with their heads the cornices of the architectural effect he had contrived, and all drawn in strange and successful perspective, as if they were sitting round the interior of the marble temple, examining the subjects of the great ceiling above them; the perspective stretched away to present all the legends of the lands of the early earth, those few great legends which everlastingly impose themselves on the spirit; "few in number," says our critic, "but passing to and fro, walking over the untouched soil like "solitary horis." There were the woods. of Greece, the mountains of Olympus, streams rushing down its slopes to the distant sea, the pasture-lands of Asia, and the flocks of Abraham. There seems, to our mind, in these mystical figures and clear perspectives, much of that same holy-human, holy-biblical maze of mystery in which the soul of Dante was caught and lost from his Purgatory to his Paradise. The artist intended to represent the dreamy surmisings of things rising to the rapture and ecstacy of truth beheld and known, beginning with the Erythræan sibyl, the symbol of merely natural knowledge, a beautiful female turning the pages of a book upon a desk before her, a lamp in chains above her, lighted with a torch by a naked boy. The companion to this is the prophet Joel, unrolling his parchment, the muscles of his face indicating how he is weighing, mentally, what he has read; then Zachariah, absorbed; then the Delphic sibyl; followed by Isaiah; then the

Cumean sibyl; followed by Daniel; then the Libyan sibyl; followed by Jonah. There were yet other paintings: Judith and Holofernes, and David and Goliath. But thirty years after the great artist completed his wonderful work in this chapel, by his representation of the Last Judgment; and this picture, while it seems to be the product of the ripest energies of his art and imagination-our author does not hesitate to say of some sections of this painting, that, "as regards the artistic work, it is a production so astonishing that nothing which has been executed by any painter, before or after, can be compared with it;" at the same time it hangs before the mind and sense a terror the imagination of the present age refuses to entertain or conceive; it is a monument of a past age and a strange people, whose ideas are no longer ours. We have forestepped the course of our notice, but for the purpose of making it evident to those who do not already know that the Sistine Chapel is monumental to the genius of Michael Angelo. Assuredly it is not merely one of the wonders of the world, it is still more marvelous as an illustration of the force of character in forming and compelling genius. With the exception of the "Last Judgment," we have seen in how brief a space of time the whole of . these works were executed. In ten months the half of the immense surface was filled with paintings by him, and, in one of his sonnets, he grotesquely describes himself as lying day after day on his back, while the colors dropped on his face. Severe bodily exhaustion was the daily lot, and still the royal will worked on. Moreover, he could get no pay from the Pope. He wanted rest; this of course was not permitted. His father and relatives in Florence do not seem to have been so successful with their merchandise as was he with his colors and marbles. We hear of constant remittances of money home, and sometimes money would not come; but "take care of your health," writes he to his father, "and do not let the grey hairs grow." Also, while he was high upon his scaffolding there, moving through chaos with the creating God, in far-off scenes of Grecian and Asian loveliness, with the brave men and the bright women of the young

world, all sorts of cliques and parties were forming against him below. Bramante, as if prophetic instincts spoke within him, was jealously determined to keep him from St. Peters. He seems to have been one of those men who, with a certain capability of appreciating art when not interfering with his own selfishness, was, after all, one of that common crowd of vulgar tormentors genius usually has to endure. It suited him to patronise and wish well to Raphael. He and Raphael should be the greatest in Rome. It is not to be thought that he was able to appreciate the exquisite melody of Raphael's spirit; but, in the first place, so far as Raphael is regarded by us, he had that easy, and yet all mighty will, which is so pleasant, so graceful, absorbing, and overcoming, which never resists, yet always conquers; as we have said, a kind of Shakspeare; all harmonious, all inclusive. Moreover, his ambitions were not architectural. He dealt with colors and frescoes, not stones and buildings. Michael Angelo, on the contrary, we suppose to have had little of this easy, lovecompelling grace, this sunning of compliance and joyousness of manner. A stupendous architect was in his soul, and while it does not seem that he especially pitted himself against the plans of San Gallo or Bramante, it is certainly probable enough that even there he saw all the future of St. Peter's hanging high in the infinite vault and chamber of his great soul. Bramante attempted vast things too; but when, in order to accomplish his work, he demolished the old columns of the old Basilica, Angelo became wroth, and poured out his indignation. "A million of bricks, said he, piled one upon the top of another, is no art, but it is a great art to execute one such column as these." Highest schemes, dreams, and conceptions of art lived in his mind. At a later period of life Vittoria Colonna truly said that "he who only admired his works, valued the smallest part of him." He turned easily and happily from the frescoes to which we have referred, to his work in marble. The rugged old Julius died (Angelo lived through many a papacy); the moment of his death found the sculptor engaged in work for his mausoleum. Men who have growled at each other over the exe

cution of some grand, immortal work, which has, between the two of them, become a glory and a success, usually love each other; the dead Pope may, very truly, be called the old friend of the artist, notwithstanding their many smart passages of arms, and probably of craft, with each other. Michael Angelo must have entered into the very innermost soul of that old man, with whom the romance, and the mysticism, and the despotism of the middle ages expired; the world seems to have been a more common-place world ever since. The knowledge and appreciation Angelo had of his character he has stamped immortally in the Moses-it has been called the crown of modern sculpture; shoulders, arms, countenance. Artists have said, "Julius is there;" others, "All Michael Angelo is there;" in fact, in this marvelous work he seems to have fused two souls, and both of them of iron. It is said, the glance is as if it traveled over a plain full of people and ruled them; the muscles of the arm speak ungovernable power. Ulrich von Hutten said of Pope Julius, that "he wished to take heaven by force, because entrance had been denied him from above;" and some such fearful power seems to be stamped upon the presence of the invincible Lawgiver-a colossal figure embodying the Hebrew law, and representing Moses gazing, with such scorn and indignation as we may conceive, on the worshippers of the golden calf.

During the papacy of Pope Leo X., our artist continued engaged on manifold works. We fear to particularize; it is difficult to mention and not to attempt to see with the mind's eye, and so to attempt to convey to the page some impression of pieces, every one of which is world-renowned: Bye-and-bye, we find the sculptor in Florence. We are not particular to notice in succession the events of his life, but it should be remembered that this great artist lived not merely in imagination and abstract idealization; he was a patriot, and when the city of Florence united with Venice, England, and France, to oppose the ambitious designs of Charles V., we find the artist transformed into a soldier. This was in the year 1529. He was appointed military architect and engineer. He brought all his skill to

bear upon the defence and fortification of his native city. When the Prince of Orange, the general of Charles V., laid seige to Florence, and directed his artillery to storm the tower of San Miniato, the artist hung mattrasses of wool on the side, exposed to the attack, and by means of the bold projecting cornice, from which they were suspended, a considera ble space was left between them and the wall. The simple expedient was sufficient, and the Prince was compelled to turn his siege into a blockade. Michael Angelo's mode of fortification has had the commendation of Vauban, the master of military strategy. We do not dwell on this aspect of his life, only to notice that, as in the cases of Dante and Milton, the artist became a citizen; it is the attribute of that order of mind, it can not be indifferent. There is another order of character, less stern, more inclusiveless majestic, more universally human and appreciable, and regarded as the very highest order of genius, too, to which earnestness is a thing impossible. By his citizenship, however, our artist fell into danger; but his life was too precious to be trifled with. Treason rose against him in Florence, and he fled; but the Pope, whose will he had also thwarted, could not incur the ignominy of either killing or imprisoning such a man. are glad when we find him engaged upon his congenial work again. And about the years 1530-34, we find him engaged on the Dawn, the Evening, Twilight, and the Night, in which impression of the highest masters is, that he brought down to the period of Renaissance the might of the old classical forms, infusing into them the modern soul, so unknown to the greatest ancients. We must quote an eloquent passage, in which our author discriminates Michael Angelo from the ancients:

We

Michael Angelo's adherence to nature, when observed independently of other considerations, is still more striking in his female forms. As Homer makes Penelope or Helena always appear in blooming youth, however numerous their years may be proved to be by the calculation of events, so the Greek sculptors exhibit their women in the soft pliant form of their early beauty. This was perhaps because among Greek women, after the disappearance of youthful brilliancy, the transition to age was too sudden to be at all capable of representation. Michael Angelo, however, chis