he revolted and spoke up proudly, but he always gave way. Up to the day of his death he disputed, without strength for struggling. Clement VII., who—contrary to current opinion—was, of all the Popes, the one who showed most kindness towards him, knew his weakness and pitied him.[1]
In love he was wanting in all sense of dignity. He humiliated himself in the presence of rogues such as Febo di Poggio.[2] He treated an amiable but mediocre person like Tommaso de’ Cavalieri as a “powerful genius.”[3]
Love, at any rate, makes these weaknesses touching. But they are nothing less than sadly painful—one dare not say shameful—when they are inspired by fear. He was seized, from time to time, with sudden terrors, and would then, tracked by fear, flee from one end of Italy to the other. In 1494, terrified by a vision, he fled from Florence. He fled again in 1529 when Florence, with the defence of which he was charged, was besieged. He went as far as Venice and was on the point of escaping to France. Later he became ashamed of this mistake and
- ↑ See his letters and those which he had written by Sebastiano del Piombo after the taking of Florence. He inquires after his health and troubles. In 1531 he published a brief to defend him against the importunities of those who abused his kindness.
- ↑ Compare Michael Angelo’s humble letter to Febo, of December 1533, to Febo’s begging and vulgar reply of January 1534.
- ↑ “… If I do not possess the art of navigating on the sea of your powerful genius, you will excuse and not despise me, because I cannot compare myself to you. He who is unique in everything can have no equal.” (Michael Angelo to Tommaso de’ Cavalieri, January 1, 1533.)
Medici (the future Clement VII.), on February 2, 1518, in which he expresses the suspicion that Michael Angelo has been bribed by the Carrarais. Michael Angelo bends the knee and replies “that the only thing in the world he cares for is to please him.”
