ver, we hope that it may
turn out to be no serious affair, God willing. In another letter I
told you that, if you stayed away long, I meant to come to see you.
This I repeat; for now that I have lost the Piacenza ferry, and cannot
live at Rome without income, I would rather spend the little that I
have in hostelries, than crawl about here, cramped up like a penniless
cripple. So, if nothing happens, I have a mind to go to S. James of
Compostella after Easter; and if you have not returned, I should like
to travel through any place where I shall hear that you are staying.
Urbino has spoken to Messer Aurelio, and will speak again. From what
he tells me, I think that you will get the site you wanted for the
tomb of Cecchino. It is nearly finished, and will turn out handsome."

Michelangelo's project of going upon pilgrimage to Galicia shows that
his health was then good. But we know that he soon afterwards had
another serious illness; and the scheme was abandoned.

This long and close friendship with Luigi comes to a sudden
termination in one of those stormy outbursts of petulant rage which
form a special feature of Michelangelo's psychology. Some angry words
passed between them about an engraving, possibly of the Last Judgment,
which Buonarroti wanted to destroy, while Del Riccio refused to
obliterate the plate:--

"Messer Luigi,--You seem to think I shall reply according to your
wishes, when the case is quite the contrary. You give me what I have
refused, and refuse me what I begged. And it is not ignorance which
makes you send it me through Ercole, when you are ashamed to give it
me yourself. One who saved my life has certainly the power to
disgrace me; but I do not know which is the heavier to bear, disgrace
or death. Therefore I beg and entreat you, by the true friendship
which exists between us, to spoil that print (_stampa_), and to burn
the copies that are already printed off. And if you choose to buy and
sell me, do not so to others. If you hack me into a thousand pieces, I
will do the same, not indeed to yourself, but to what belongs to you.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti.

"Not painter, nor sculptor, nor architect, but what you will, but not
a drunkard, as you said at your house."

Unfortunately, this is the last of the Del Riccio's letters. It is
very probable that the irascible artist speedily recovered his usual
tone, and returned to amity with his old friend. But Del Riccio