has left Rome; he has not
been seen for several days, has shunned the Court, and I certainly
believe that he will come to a bad end. He gambles, wants all the
women of the town, struts like a Ganymede in velvet shoes through
Rome, and flings his cash about. Poor fellow! I am sorry for him
since, after all, he is but young."

Such was the end of Pietro Urbano. Michelangelo was certainly
unfortunate with his apprentices. One cannot help fancying he may have
spoiled them by indulgence. Vasari, mentioning Pietro, calls him "a
person of talent, but one who never took the pains to work."

Frizzi brought the Christ Triumphant into its present state, patching
up what "the lither lad" from Pistoja had boggled. Buonarroti, who was
sincerely attached to Varj, and felt his artistic reputation now at
stake, offered to make a new statue. But the magnanimous Roman
gentleman replied that he was entirely satisfied with the one he had
received. He regarded and esteemed it "as a thing of gold," and, in
refusing Michelangelo's offer, added that "this proved his noble soul
and generosity, inasmuch as, when he had already made what could not
be surpassed and was incomparable, he still wanted to serve his friend
better." The price originally stipulated was paid, and Varj added an
autograph testimonial, strongly affirming his contentment with the
whole transaction.

These details prove that the Christ of the Minerva must be regarded as
a mutilated masterpiece. Michelangelo is certainly responsible for the
general conception, the pose, and a large portion of the finished
surface, details of which, especially in the knees, so much admired by
Sebastiano, and in the robust arms, are magnificent. He designed the
figure wholly nude, so that the heavy bronze drapery which now
surrounds the loins, and bulges drooping from the left hip, breaks the
intended harmony of lines. Yet, could this brawny man have ever
suggested any distinctly religious idea? Christ, victor over Death and
Hell, did not triumph by ponderosity and sinews. The spiritual nature
of his conquest, the ideality of a divine soul disencumbered from the
flesh, to which it once had stooped in love for sinful man, ought
certainly to have been emphasised, if anywhere through art, in the
statue of a Risen Christ. Substitute a scaling-ladder for the cross,
and here we have a fine life-guardsman, stripped and posing for some
classic battle-piece. We cannot quarrel with Michelangelo about the