he knew of no justice to extenuate, nor mercy to forgive: he therefore imprisoned, banished, and put to death at his own discretion!" Michel Angelo secreted himself in the bell tower of the church of St. Nicholas. His house was eagerly searched, and not a trunk left unopened that could be supposed capable of containing him. After some days, when all search had proved ineffectual, the pope publicly promised that if he would discover him. self he should not be molested-on condition of his finishing the mo. numents of Giuliano de Medici, and his nephew Lorenzo, which he bad beguu. Michel Angelo accepted the terms, and as Mr. Duppa with his usual good feeling expresses himself, -"with little respect for the persons his genius was to commemorate, and with less affection for his employer, he hastened to complete his labour."

There was no work upon which he would so willingly have proceeded, as upon the monument of Julius; but in this he was by various circumstances so often interrupted, that it became a cause of continual vexation to him. The plan for this monument was now a second time contracted on the score of expence, and an arrangement for its execution concluded, by which he was to be permitted to work for the pope in Florence four months in the year. Having worked there four months, he returned to Rome to fulfil his engagement with the duke of Urbino, who was now the representative of Julius. "But Clement, who was not in the habit of keeping promises, nor of permitting others to do so when it interfered with his inclination or his interest," ordered him to paint the

two end walls of the Sistine chapel. He had formerly made several studies for the west end, where he designed to have painted the Fall of Satan: why this design was not now carried into effect does not appear, but he began the cartoon of the Last Judgment. It is almost sinful to regret any circumstances which occasioned that wonderful picture, yet as the same genius would have been exerted on either subject, we are almost tempted to wish that the one had been preferred which was wholly mythological, aud in which the superstitions of the Romish church could not have found a place. He procrastinated this work as much as he could, and secretly proceeded with the monument. Clement died. Paul III. who succeeded, wished to engage Michel Angelo in his service, who resolutely protested that he must devote himself to the fulfilment of his prior engagement. The duke of Urbino, however, was unwilling to offend the pope. The plan of the monument was once more changed, and three statues only instead of six were required from him, and thus it was at last completed.. He then finished the Last Judgment, for which the pope with becoming liberality rewarded him with a pension for life, equal to 6001.

At this time San Gallo died, and Michel Angelo was appointed architect of St. Peter's, a situation which, however honourable, proved to him a source of vexation as long as he lived. He was not only a man of genius, and therefore the certain object of envy and malice, but also a man of integrity, and therefore hated by all the numerous persons employed about the building, who till his time had been accustomed to cheat the government with impu3 H 4

nity.

nity. Paul understood his merits and protected him.

As men are generally malevolent in proportion to the disappoint. ment of their mischievous hopes, so the enemies of Michel Angelo grew inveterate from the ill success of their opposition and to all those who could have any influence in injuring his reputation, they did not fail to use exertions to represent him as an unworthy successor of San Gallo. Upon the death of Paul III. * an effort was made to remove him from his situation, but Julius III. who succeeded to the pontificate, was not less favourably disposed towards him than his predecessor; however they presented a memorial, petitioning the pope to hold a committee of architects in St. Peter's at Rome, to convince his holiness that their accusations and

complaints were not unfounded. At the head of his party was cardinal Salviati, nephew to Leo X. and cardinal Marcello Cervino, who was afterwards pope by the title of Marcellus II. Julius agreed to the investigation, Michel Angelo was formally arraigned, and the pope gave his personal attendance. The complainants stated, that the church wanted light, and the architects had previously furnished the two cardi. nals with a particular example to

d

prove the basis of the general pos tion, which was, that he had walle up a recess for three chapels, and made only three insufficient windows; upon which the pope asked Michel Angelo to give his reasons for having done so he replied, “I should wish first to hear the depu. ties." Cardinal Marcello immediately said for himself and cardinal Salviati," We ourselves are the deputies." Then said Michel Angelo, "In the part of the church alluded to, over those windows are to be placed three others." "You never said that before," replied the cardinal: to which he answered with some warmth, "I am not, neither will I ever be obliged to tell your eminence, or any one else, what I ought or am disposed to do; it is your office to see that the money be provided, to take care of the thieves, and to leave the building of St. Peter's to me." Turning to the pope holy father, you see what I gain: if these machinations to which I am exposed are not for my spiritual welfare, I lose both my labour and my time." The Pope replied, putting his hands upon his shoulders, "Do not doubt, your gain is now and will be hereafter;" and at the same time gave him assurance of his confidence and es teem."

Julius

;

Julius III. was indeed one of the truest friends of Michel Angelo; he desired Condivi to write his life, and, as appears by Condivi's dedication, recommended him to imitate his virtue and his excellence. He said also that if it were possible he would gladly take upon himself his years, that the world might have a better chance of not being deprived so soon of a great man. Unfortu nately, for Michel Angelo, Julius died after a short reign of five years, leaving him an old man of eighty one. Cardinal Marcello, one of his enemies, was elected in his stead; he died within the month, and was succeeded by Paul IV. whose two main objects were to be revenged on his enemies by the sword, and to root out heresy by means of the inquisition, of which he had long been the main patron. This man's religious feelings were offended at the naked figures in the Last Judgment, and he determined that the picture should be reformed. When Michel Angelo heard this, he desired that the pope might be told from him that what he wished was very little and might be easily effected; for if his holiness would only reform the opinions of mankind, the picture would be reformed of itself. Paul at last determined to destroy the picture altogether, luckily his cardinals persuaded him that it would be a sin to whitewash the wall, and he contented himself with ordering the figures to be dress ed thereby it is to be presumed expressing his opinion that when the trumpet sounds, the dead are not to rise till they have made themselves decent, for which purpose there will be a resurrection of shrouds and winding sheets also.

This was the barbarian who encouraged or instigated our bloody Mary in all her cruelties. Pius IV. made some little amends to him for the insults and injustices he had received from his predecessor, but Michel Angelo was now going to receive the reward of a long life of integrity and virtue. He died on the 17th of February, 1563, in his eighty-ninth year. Public obsequies were decreed him at Florence; the work of envy was over; from that day the excellence of Michel Angelo has been acknowledged, and it will continue to be so, as long as stone and marble can endure, and as long as the engraver can preserve the conceptions of the painter.

"In the early part of his life, Michel Angelo not only applied himself to sculpture and painting, but to every branch of knowledge connected in any way with those arts, and gave himself up so much to application, that he in a great degree withdrew from society. From this ruling passion to cultivate his mind he became habituated to solitude, and happy in his pursuits, he was more contented to be alone than in company; by which he obtained the character of being a proud and an odd man, distinctions that never fail to be given to those with whom we wish to find fault for not resembling ourselves. When his mind was matured he attached himself to men of learning and judgment, and in the number of his most intimate friends were ranked the highest dignitaries in the church, and the most eminent literary characters of his time. That princely cardinal, Ippolito de Medici, and the cardi. nals Bembo, Ridolfi, and Maffeo, were distinguished for their friend

66

ship towards him, and, as an Englishman, it gives me pleasure to find cardinal Pole amongst them, entitled, suo amicissimo." Ippolito de' Medici was particularly partial to him, and understanding that Michel Angelo admired a Turkish horse he possessed, he sent it to his house, with ten mules loaded with corn, and begged his acceptance of the gift as a mark of his esteem. Notwithstanding he ranked in the number of his acquaintance the most distinguished names of his time, he was also pleased with the harmless comedy of human life, and occasionally amused with the eccentric good nature of those who had little else to recommend them. But the person of all others who absorbed his affections and esteem, was that excellent and accomplished woman, the celebrated Vittoria Colonna, marchioness of Pescara; her superior mind and endowments, and her partiality for his genius, impressed him with the most lively sense of esteem. For many years before her death she resided at Viterbo, and occasionally visited Rome for no other purpose than to enjoy his society. To her Michel Angelo addressed three sonnets and a madrigal, and wrote an epitaph, on her death, in which his admiration of her beauty and accomplishments is tempered with the most profound respect for her character. In her last moments Michel Angelo paid her a visit, and afterwards told Condivi he grieved he had not kissed her cheek as he did her hand, since there was then but little hope of his ever seeing her again. The same writer also observes, that the recollection of her death constantly produced dejection in his mind."

Some Account of the Life and Writings of Lope Felix de Vega Carpio. From his Life by Lord Holland.

This extraordinary man was born at Madrid, on the 25th of November, 1562: his father had been se cretly addicted to poetry; there are so many similar facts recorded, as to justify an opinion that the propensity to poetry, or aptitude for it, is hereditary. Lope's talents were early manifested. The uncommon quickness and brilliancy of his eyes in infancy, indicated a corresponding vivacity of mind, and before his hand was strong enough to guide the pen, he recited verses of his own composition, which he bartered with his play-fellows for prints or toys. Thus, says lord Holland, even in his childhood, he not only wrote poetry, but turned his poetry to account, an art in which he must be allowed afterwards to have excelled all poets, ancient or modern. The bishop of Evila was his first patron; his se cond was the duke of Alva, at whose instance he wrote his Arcadia.

Pastoral works, however, in prose and verse, had already met with considerable success in Spain; of which the Diana by Montemayor was the first in point of merit, and I believe in time. The species of composition is in itself tedious, and the conduct of the Arcadia evidently absurd. A pastoral in five long books of prose run mad, in which the shepherds of Arcadia woo their Dulcineas in the language of Amadis rather than of Theocritus, in which they occasionally talk theology, and discuss in verse the origin and nature of grammar, rhetoric, arith. metic, geometry, music, astrology,

and

and poetry, and which they enliven by epitaphs on Castilian generals, and a long poem on the achieve ments of the duke of Alva, and the birth of his son, is not well adapt. ed to the taste of common readers, or likely to escape the censure of critics. In most instances, however, the abstract of a work of this nature, for it must be considered as a poem, forms a very unfair criterion of its merit. The chief objects of poetry are to delineate strongly, the characters and passions of mankind, to paint the appearances of nature, and to describe their effects upon our sensations. To accomplish these ends the versification must be smooth, the language pure and impressive, and the images just, natural, and appropriate; Our interest should be excited by the nature of the subject, and kept up by the spirit of the narration. The probability of the story, the connexion of the tale, the regularity of the design, are indeed beauties; but beauties which are ornamental rather than necessary, which have often been attained by persons who had no poetical turn whatever, and as often neglected by those whose genius and productions have placed them in the first rank of the province of poetry. Novels and comedies derive, indeed, a great advantage from an attention to these niceties. in the higher branches of invention they are the less necessary, because the justness of the imitation of passions inherent in the general nature of man, depends less upon the probability of the situations, than that of manners and opinions resulting from the accidental and temporary forms of society.

But

"To judge," says Lord H. " by another criterion of the parts of the Arcadia which I have read, and especially of the verses, there are in it many harmonious lines, some eloquence, great facility and occasionally beauty of expression, and above all, a prodigious variety of maxims, similes, and illustrations. These merits, however, are disfigured by great deformities. The language, though easy and fluent, is not the language of nature; the versification is often eked out by unnecessary exclamations, and unmeaning expletives, and the eloquence is at one time distorted into extravagant hyperbole, and at another degene rates into low and tedious commonplace. The maxims, as in all Spanish authors of that time, are often trivial and often untrue. When they have produced an antithesis, they think they have struck out a truth. The illustrations are some times so forced and unnatural, that though they may display erudition, and excite surprise, they cannot elucidate the subject, and are not likely to delight the imagination. They seem to be the result of labour, and not the creation of fancy, and partake more of the nature of conundrums and enigmas, than of similes and images. Forced conceits, and play upon words, are indeed common in this as in every work of Lope de Vega; for he was one of the authors who contributed to introduce that taste for false wit, which soon afterwards became so universally prevalent throughout Europe. Marino, the champion of that style in Italy, with the highest expressions of admiration for his model, acknowledges that

he