l his work somber--it does not depress--for it carries with it a
poise and a strength that is sufficient unto itself. It is all heroic,
and there is in it a subtle quality that exorcises fear and bids care
begone.

No man ever portrayed the human figure with the same fidelity that Angelo
has. The naked Adam, when the finger of the Almighty touched him into
life, gives one a thrill of health to look upon, even after these four
hundred years have struggled to obliterate the lines.

His figures of women shocked the artistic sense of his time, for instead
of the Greek idealization of beauty he carved the swelling muscles and
revealed the articulations of form as no artist before him had ever
dared. His women are never young, foolish, timid girls--they are Amazons;
and his men are the kind that lead nations out of captivity. The soft,
the pretty, the yielding, were far from him. There is never a suggestion
of taint or double meaning; all is frank, open, generous, honest and
fearless. His figures are nude, but never naked.

He began his artistic work when fourteen years old, and he lived to be
eighty-nine; and his years did not outlast his zeal and zest. He was
above the medium size, an athlete in his lean and sinewy strength, and
the whipcord quality of his body mirrored the silken strength of his
will.

In his old age the King arose when Michelangelo entered the
Council-Chamber, and would not sit until he was seated at the right hand
of the throne; the Pope would not allow him to kneel before him; when he
walked through the streets of Rome the people removed their hats as he
passed; and today we who gaze upon his work in the Eternal City stand
uncovered.

* * * * *

Michelangelo was the firstborn in a large family. Simone Buonarroti, his
father, belonged to an ebbtide branch of the nobility that had lost
everything but the memory of great ancestors turned to dust. This father
had ambitions for his boy; ambitions in the line of the army or a snug
office under the wing of the State, where he might, by following closely
the beck and nod of the prince in power, become a magistrate or a keeper
of customs.

But no boy ever disappointed a proud father more.

When great men in gilt and gold braid, with scarlet sashes across their
breasts, and dangling swords that clicked and clanged on the stone
pavement, strode by, rusty, dusty little Michel refused to take off his
cap and wish them "Long l