MICH

ICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI, sculptor of the Moses, painter of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel, and architect of the Cupola of St. Peter's, Rome, was born on the 6th of March, 1474, at the castle of Caprese, in Tuscany, of parents so illustrious in descent and alliances-their ancestors were Counts of Canossa, and imperial blood flowed in their veins that when their son evinced, as he early did, a desire to follow the path traced for him by the dawning light of the brilliant powers which in their noon of strength achieved the magnificent works just enumerated, they vehemently objected to his taking such a course, insisting that the highest artistic fame would but stain and degrade the escutcheon of their princely race,-a princely race now only remembered because Michael Angelo the great epic artist chanced to be numbered amongst them.

The instinct of genius in the young noble's breast, stimulated and nourished by occasional companionship in the studies of Francesco Granacci, a pupil of the brothers Ghirlandia, professors of painting and design in Florence, was too powerful to be overcome by appeals to the vulgar vanity of birth, or the less illusive dreams of courtly ambition, and his father, Ludovico di Leonardo Buonarotti, essayed as a last resource, we are told, what virtue there might be in the oracular vaticinations of astrological science-a potent influence in those days, by the way-to dissuade his son from persisting in the plebeian pursuits for which he displayed so provoking an aptitude and liking. With this view he caused the young Michael's horoscope to be calculated and drawn, which, when carefully prepared, set forth in the usual jargon of such documents, that

by the combination, conjunction, and opposition of the planets which ruled his birth-Jupiter, Mercury, and Venus promised power, riches, and fortunate love, with lengthened occupancy of the house of life, but were opposed by the malign influence of Mars, which in this instance indicated struggle, danger, and untimely death. These meanings were simplified in the weird commentary which followed upon those starry aspects, by which it plainly appeared that Mars, relatively to Michael Angelo Buonarotti, signified undignified endeavour-any laborious exertion unusual for nobles to engage in; whatever pursuit, in fact, had a tendency to diverge from the primrose path of life, illumined and gilded by the mild yet mighty influences of Venus, Mercury, and Jupiter.

Michael Angelo possessed the faculties of reverence and wonder in high degree; had it not been so, the marvels of his artist-life could not have been accomplished-and this formidable horoscope having been placed in his hands when he was but just turned of thirteen years of age, it is not surprising that his unripe judgment was momentarily imposed upon, and that he retired to his turret chamber in the castle in a state of great agitation and distress. Night, arrayed in the cloudless silver sheen and dazzling diadem of stars she wears in southern climes, surprised him, whilst still irresolutely pondering the fateful horoscope, and invited him to come and look forth with his own eyes upon the planet-scroll, whereon it was said his destiny was written. He did so; and presently perceiving that of the ruling heavenly bodies he had been reading of, Mars alone, and in unusual splendour, was visible, he forthwith-so runneth the story-determined to walk for the future by the light of the herostar, whithersoever it might lead him.

Possibly this is only a fanciful mode of describing the young Michael's victorious resistance to his father's counsel that he should prefer a life of inglorious courtly ease to one of laborious endeavour; but, be this as it may, it is certain that the active opposition of Ludovico Buonarotti to his son's adoption of the profession of a painter was overcome by 1488, in the April of which year Michael Angelo was placed for three years in the studio of Dominico and David Ghirlandia, by whom he was received without a premium-a clear proof that his artistic power had been already observed, and in some degree appreciated, by men whose opinion was of value in the matter. The expectations formed by these masters of their distinguished pupil, high as they might have been, were more than realized. They had soon nothing to teach him-as was quite manifest from his picture in oil of Saint Antony beaten by Devils-imps of every imaginable shape, attitude, and character-completed before half the stipulated three years had elapsed. He had ever been of a devout turn of mind, and was now accustomed to spend many hours in the Chapel del Carmine, of Florence, alternately copying or studying the pictures there by Masaccio, and kneeling in prayer on the outer steps of the sanctuary, or before the statue of a saint, for inspiration in his art, and grace to consecrate its exercise to the glory of God and Holy Church. His immense superiority to the other students, and his religious cast of mind, whilst exciting the admiration and sympathy of the generous and pious-minded amongst them, aroused in the breast of others the bitterest

hatred and ridicule.

One of these, of the name of Torregiano, a rude scoffer and dull pupil, displayed a rancorous malignity towards Michael Angelo which a retort of the youthful artist exasperated beyond control. Torregiano broke in upon some remarks regarding the brilliant future which in all probability awaited the painter of Saint Antony's temptation, by coarsely observing that "Buonarotti had no doubt a sympathetic talent for the accurate delineation of whatever was obscene and horrible." "You are mistaken," rejoined Michael Angelo, with an unmoved quietude of manner, which added to the force and keenness of the sarcasm," you are mistaken: there is one subject which no genius for the obscene and horrible could adequately portray-that of an atheist mother teaching her child to lisp blasphemy and atheism." A fierce blow on the face, the mark of which Michael Angelo carried to his grave, was the reply to this taunt, and it was with difficulty that Torregiano was prevented from resorting to still greater violence. The indignation excited by this outrage was so great that Torregiano was ultimately compelled to leave Florence, in avoidance of a greater penalty.

The munificent Lorenzo di Medici about this time opened extensive gardens and pleasure-grounds to the citizens of Florence, which he furnished with statues, busts, bas-reliefs, and other antique sculptures. Thither Michael Angelo, immediately the stipulated term with the brothers Ghirlandia had expired, constantly resorted, and a passionate enthusiasm for modelling figures in clay superseded for a time his devotion to palette and pencils. One day he found the dilapidated figure of a fawn thrown by as a thing of slight value, and the fancy seized him of opening the animal's mouth, and giving the face a comic expression, as of a human being laughing. Lorenzo di Medici heard of this odd transformation, and hastened to examine the young sculptor's coup d'essai with the chisel. He saw at a glance the indications of sculptural genius which the execution of the droll idea displayed, but contented himself with saying somewhat coldly, "Very well indeed, my young friend, but there is nevertheless one great fault in your work. Your fawn seems to be an old one, and yet it has all its teeth, which you know is never the case after a certain age." Michael Angelo, nettled perhaps by Lorenzo's frigid manner, exclaimed with some heat-"That defect is soon remedied!" and instantly struck out several of the fawn's teeth with his mallet and chisel. Lorenzo smiled and passed on, but the next day gave unequivocal proof of his appreciation of the impatient Michael's genius, by requesting his father to resign him wholly to the care of the family of the Medici, who would charge themselves with his further education and advancement. This request was instantly acceded to by Leonardo Buonarotti, and Michael Angelo devoted himself with renewed zeal to perfect himself as a sculptor. The astonishing progress he made, evidenced by the early production of the bas-relief of the Centaurs, was interrupted by the death of his friend and patron, Lorenzo di Medici, whose loss to Florence and the arts was ill supplied by his brother Pietro, a volatile debauchee, who cared for little but sensuous gratifications and pursuits. As if in mockery of an art which he was incapable of appreciating, he employed Michael Angelo in modelling statues of snow-a

senseless caprice, which induced the enthusiastic artist to accept a commission from the prior of the conventual church of the Holy Spirit at Florence, to paint two pictures of the Crucifixion for that edifice. A labour of reverent love this proved to the pious painter, the guiding maxim of whose life appears to have been the sentiment which trembled from his lips at the moment of death, in his eighty-ninth year:-"In your passage through life bear always in mind the sufferings of Christ." He worked at the pictures in the church, and in order that the figures might be as life-like, or rather death-like, as possible, he obtained permission of the prior to have the coffins of the newly-buried opened and placed beside him during the night-an appalling expedient, but enabling him to reproduce with terrible effect, not the mortal pallor only, but the anatomy of death visible in the relaxation and repose of muscle exhibited by a corpse. Soon after finishing this work, Michael Angelo quitted Florence for the first time, and executed two statues at Bologna, for the Dominican church there, and thenceforth became rapidly famous in the world.

Those night studies in the convent church must, no doubt, have aided in perfecting the anatomical accuracy which marks the after-productions of Michael Angelo, both in painting and statuary; and one plainly enough perceives the early footsteps of this astonishing genius, in the giant career which, in sculpture, reached from the bas-relief of the Centaurs to the lofty and serene grandeur of the Moses-in painting, from St. Antony beaten by Devils to the Last Judgment. But we peruse his youth in vain for a preliminary indication of the stupendous architectural power which, finding Saint Peter's to consist of the huge, fragmentary, partially developed conceptions of two preceding architects, Bramante and San Gallo, fused the apparently incongruous details into a majestic whole, harmonized, and crowned by the magnificent cupola, which would alone suffice for the glory of a life! It is not surprising that, under the circumstances, Catholic legends should assert that the design for Saint Peter's was furnished to Michael Angelo by the Archangel, whose name he received in baptism; but there is another marvel, a very inferior one, no doubt, but still a marvel, achieved by the artist's seemingly intuitive sagacity, for he certainly had no preceptor in the art of military engineering, that can hardly be imputed to direct celestial agency, namely, the fortifications of Florence, which in a time of danger the unanimous and undoubting voices of his fellow-citizens called upon the painter-the sculptor-the architect, forthwith to construct! He accepted the task, and performed it, according to the paramount testimony of Vauban, with entire success, both in principle and detail. Michael Angelo, moreover, composed a large quantity of rhymed and measured verse; but he could only incarnate Poetry in form and colour, -not in words, for which much higher and rarer faculties are required. Michael Angelo was contemporary with Martin Luther, having come into the world some nine years before, and left it long after the great Reformer. There is, too, a diverse coincidence, so to speak, in the lives of these two celebrated men, inasmuch that whilst Martin Luther was shaking the spiritual temple of Rome to its foundations, Michael Angelo was raising aloft its material type, in unrivalled magnificence and majesty.

M

MARTIN LUTHER.

ARTIN LUTHER, a name which breaks upon the ear like the distant booming of a signal-cannon, or of a rising sea-so intimately is it associated with impressions of a great conflict-of a mighty rising up of nations against powers and dominions hoary with prescriptive reverence of the breaking down of strongholds presumedly rockbased, and reaching to the heavens-derives this illustration only from the reliable facts known of the great Reformer's boyhood; that they clearly show that the stormy and dangerous career which he entered upon in mature life was unsought for, undesired by him, and solely prompted by a suddenly awakened, imperious sense of duty-strengthened and aided, no doubt, by an instinctive consciousness of vast mental energy, and an inflexible bravery of will, which no peril could disturb, no obstacle, however giant-like and apparently insuperable, bend or turn aside.

As frequently happens with individuals in whose history mankind takes the deepest interest, the exact place and date of Luther's birth have been a subject of eager controversy; nay, the correct orthography of his name is still in dispute-he himself writing it indifferently as Luther, Luder, Lother. His own statement, moreover, as to where he was born is undoubtedly an error. "I am a peasant's son," he writes, "and my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all peasants. My father went to Mansfield, got employment in the mines there, and