lorence. The one easel
picture of which Vasari makes any mention, the _tondo_ in the Uffizi, is
the only one besides those already noted which is known to exist. "The
Florentine citizen, Angelo Doni," Vasari says, "desired to have some
work from his hand as he was his friend; wherefore Michelangelo began a
circular painting of Our Lady for him. She is kneeling, and presents the
Divine Child to Joseph. Here the artist has finely expressed the delight
with which the Mother regards the beauty of her Son, as is clearly
manifest in the turn of her head and fixedness of her gaze; equally
evident is her wish that this contentment shall be shared by that pious
old man who receives the babe with infinite tenderness and reverence.
Nor was this enough for Michelangelo, since the better to display his
art he has grouped several undraped figures in the background, some
upright, some half recumbent, and others seated. The whole work is
executed with so much care and finish that of all his pictures, which
indeed are but few, this is considered the best."

After relating the story of the artist's quarrel with his friend over
the price of this masterpiece (for which he at first only asked sixty
ducats), Vasari goes on to describe the now lost cartoons for the great
fresco in the Council Hall at Florence, in substance as follows:--

"When Leonardo was painting in the great hall of the Council, Piero
Soderini, who was then Gonfaloniere, moved by the extraordinary ability
which he perceived in Michelangelo [he calls him in a letter a young man
who stands above all his calling in Italy; nay, in all the world],
caused him to be entrusted with a portion of the work, and our artist
began a very large cartoon representing the Battle of Pisa. It
represented a vast number of nude figures bathing in the Arno, as men do
on hot days, when suddenly the enemy is heard to be attacking the camp.
The soldiers spring forth in haste to arm themselves. One is an elderly
man, who to shelter himself from the heat has wreathed a garland of ivy
round his head, and, seated on the ground, is labouring to draw on his
hose, hindered by his limbs being wet. Hearing the sound of the drums
and the cries of the soldiers he struggles violently to get on one of
his stockings; the action of the muscles and distortion of the mouth
evince the zeal of his efforts. Drummers and others hasten to the camp
with their clothes in their arms, all in the most singular attitudes;
so