block was restored in 1530 to Bandinelli, who produced the misbegotten
group which still deforms the Florentine Piazza.

Michelangelo had some reason to be jealous of Bandinelli, who
exercised considerable influence at the Medicean court, and was an
unscrupulous enemy both in word and deed. A man more widely and worse
hated than Bandinelli never lived. If any piece of mischief happened
which could be fixed upon him with the least plausibility, he bore the
blame. Accordingly, when Buonarroti's workshop happened to be broken
open, people said that Bandinelli was the culprit. Antonio Mini left
the following record of the event: "Three months before the siege,
Michelangelo's studio in Via Mozza was burst into with chisels, about
fifty drawings of figures were stolen, and among them the designs for
the Medicean tombs, with others of great value; also four models in
wax and clay. The young men who did it left by accident a chisel
marked with the letter M., which led to their discovery. When they
knew they were detected, they made off or hid themselves, and sent to
say they would return the stolen articles, and begged for pardon." Now
the chisel branded with an M. was traced to Michelangelo, the father
of Baccio Bandinelli, and no one doubted that he was the burglar.

The history of Michelangelo's Leda, which now survives only in
doubtful reproductions, may be introduced by a passage from Condivi's
account of his master's visit to Ferrara in 1529. "The Duke received
him with great demonstrations of joy, no less by reason of his eminent
fame than because Don Ercole, his son, was Captain of the Signory of
Florence. Riding forth with him in person, there was nothing
appertaining to the business of his mission which the Duke did not
bring beneath his notice, whether fortifications or artillery. Beside
this, he opened his own private treasure-room, displaying all its
contents, and particularly some pictures and portraits of his
ancestors, executed by masters in their time excellent. When the hour
approached for Michelangelo's departure, the Duke jestingly said to
him: 'You are my prisoner now. If you want me to let you go free, I
require that you shall promise to make me something with your own
hand, according to your will and fancy, be it sculpture or painting.'
Michelangelo agreed; and when he arrived at Florence, albeit he was
overwhelmed with work for the defences, he began a large piece for a
saloon, representing the congre