ned her
liberties away to Clement by the peace of Barcelona (June 20,1529),
and the Republic was now destined to be the appanage of his
illegitimate daughter in marriage with the bastard Alessandro de'
Medici. It only remained for the army of the Prince of Orange to
reduce the city. When Michelangelo arrived, the Imperial troops were
leaguered on the heights above the town. The inevitable end of the
unequal struggle could be plainly foreseen by those who had not
Palla's enthusiasm to sustain their faith. In spite of Ferrucci's
genius and spirit, in spite of the good-will of the citizens, Florence
was bound to fall. While admitting that Michelangelo abandoned his
post in a moment of panic, we must do him the justice of remembering
that he resumed it when all his darkest prognostications were being
slowly but surely realised. The worst was that his old enemy,
Malatesta Baglioni, had now opened a regular system of intrigue with
Clement and the Prince of Orange, terminating in the treasonable
cession of the city. It was not until August 1530 that Florence
finally capitulated. Still the months which intervened between that
date and Michelangelo's return from Venice were but a dying close, a
slow agony interrupted by spasms of ineffectual heroism.

In describing the works at S. Miniato, Condivi lays great stress upon
Michelangelo's plan for arming the bell-tower. "The incessant
cannonade of the enemy had broken it in many places, and there was a
serious risk that it might come crashing down, to the great injury of
the troops within the bastion. He caused a large number of mattresses
well stuffed with wool to be brought, and lowered these by night from
the summit of the tower down to its foundations, protecting those
parts which were exposed to fire. Inasmuch as the cornice projected,
the mattresses hung free in the air, at the distance of six cubits
from the wall; so that when the missiles of the enemy arrived, they
did little or no damage, partly owing to the distance they had
travelled, and partly to the resistance offered by this swinging,
yielding panoply." An anonymous writer, quoted by Milanesi, gives a
fairly intelligible account of the system adopted by Michelangelo.
"The outer walls of the bastion were composed of unbaked bricks, the
clay of which was mingled with chopped tow. Its thickness he filled in
with earth; and," adds this critic, "of all the buildings which
remained, this alone survived the siege." It was o