giving me the right to take the blocks that suit my purpose. However,
I cannot find among them what is worth twenty-five ducats, the whole
being a jumble of rascally work. Either maliciously or through
ignorance, he has treated me very ill."

Upon the 17th April 1517, Michelangelo had bought a piece of ground in
Via Mozza, now Via S. Zanobi, at Florence, from the Chapter of S.
Maria del Fiore, in order to build a workshop there. He wished, about
the time of the last letter quoted, to get an additional lot of land,
in order to have larger space at his command for the finishing of
marbles. The negotiations went on through the summer of 1518, and on
the 24th of November he records that the purchase was completed.
Premises adapted to the sculptor's purpose were erected, which
remained in Michelangelo's possession until the close of his life.

In August 1518 he writes to a friend at Florence that the road is now
as good as finished, and that he is bringing down his columns. The
work is more difficult than he expected. One man's life had been
already thrown away, and Michelangelo himself was in great danger.
"The place where we have to quarry is exceedingly rough, and the
workmen are very stupid at their business. For some months I must make
demands upon my powers of patience until the mountains are tamed and
the men instructed. Afterwards we shall proceed more quickly. Enough,
that I mean to do what I promised, and shall produce the finest thing
that Italy has ever seen, if God assists me."

There is no want of heart and spirit in these letters. Irritable at
moments, Michelangelo was at bottom enthusiastic, and, like Napoleon
Buonaparte, felt capable of conquering the world with his sole arm.

In September we find him back again at Florence, where he seems to
have spent the winter. His friends wanted him to go to Rome; they
thought that his presence there was needed to restore the confidence
of the Medici and to overpower calumniating rivals. In reply to a
letter of admonition written in this sense by his friend Lionardo di
Compagno, the saddle-maker, he writes: "Your urgent solicitations are
to me so many stabs of the knife. I am dying of annoyance at not being
able to do what I should like to do, through my ill-luck." At the same
time he adds that he has now arranged an excellent workshop, where
twenty statues can be set up together. The drawback is that there are
no means of covering the whole space in and protecting