NOTES

INTRODUCTION, pp. 1-8

Linda Murray, Michelangelo, His Life, Work and Times, London 1984, p. 57

Ross King, Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling, London 2002, p. 212

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 66

Andrew Graham-Dixon, Renaissance, London 1999, p. 201

Sir Joshua Reynolds, Discourses on Art, ed. Robert R. Wark, New Haven 1975, pp. 278-82

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 9

The best-known examples are Irving Stone’s novel The Agony and the Ecstasy, which was subsequently made into a film starring Charlton Heston as the variously agonised and ecstatic artist.

Ascanio Condivi, The Life of Michelangelo, trans. Alice Sedgwick Wohl, Pennsylvania 1999, p. 58

PART ONE

Michelangelo Buonarroti and His World, pp. 9-66

Condivi, Life, p. 10

Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Painters, Sculptors and Architects, trans. Gaston du C. de Vere, ed. David Ekserdjian, London 1996, II, p. 643

Condivi, Life, p. 9

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 9

Quoted in Robert S. Liebert, Michelangelo, A Psychoanalytic Study of His Life and Images, Yale 1983, p. 35

Vasari, Lives, II, pp. 646-7

James Fenton, Leonardo’s Nephew: Essays on Art and Artists, London 1998, p. 38, remarks: ‘It must have been a bit like a garden, a bit like a stonemason’s yard and a bit like a school – but a school where members of the ruling elite dropped in to observe the pupils at their studies.’

Condivi, Life, p. 12

Condivi, Life, pp. 12-13

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 649

Condivi, Life, p. 15

Condivi, Life, p. 17

Condivi, Life, p. 18

Eamon Duffy, Saints and Sinners: A History of the Popes, London 1997, p. 151

George L. Hersey, High Renaissance Art in St Peter’s and the Vatican: An Interpretive Guide, Chicago 1993, p. 12

Damian Thompson, The End of Time: Faith and Fear in the Shadow of the Millennium, London 1996, p. 76

Hersey, High Renaissance Art, p. 12

The sculpture, now lost, is believed to have been owned by Cesare Borgia and Isabella d’Este, and then the dukes of Mantua, before passing into the collection of King Charles I of England. It was probably destroyed in the fire at Whitehall Palace in 1698.

Condivi, Life, pp. 21-3; it has also been suggested that this work was commissioned by Cardinal Riario, who refused it on the grounds of indecency, and that it was only then purchased by Galli.

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 651

Michelangelo, Complete Poems and Selected Letters, trans. Creighton Gilbert, ed. Robert N. Linscott, Princeton 1980, poem no. 18, pp. 11—12

The remark, reputedly made by Michelangelo to a priest whom he knew in Rome, is quoted in Michelangelo, Complete Poems, p. xxxv

Vasari, Lives, II, pp. 653—4

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 655

Vasari, Lives, II, pp. 654—5

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 22

Duffy, Saints and Sinners, p. 147

Loren Partridge, The Renaissance in Rome, London 1996, p. 19

Duffy, Saints and Sinners, p. 139

André Chastel, in The Sack of Rome, Princeton 1983, p. 78, notes that Giles of Viterbo passionately argued the case for continuing the sale of indulgences to Julius II’s successor, Leo X.

Lauro Martines, in Power and Imagination, London 1980, pp. 416— 17, argues that it was Julius II’s uncle, Sixtus IV, who set the course for the division of Christian Europe. The point can be debated, but the broader thesis — that the style of the papacy was a direct cause of the Reformation and its discontents — is powerfully argued by the author: ‘With the pontificate of Sixtus IV (1471—84), the Renaissance papacy went over to sanguinary nepotism, worldly splendour and power politics in a manner that was to contaminate the whole hierarchy of the Church in Italy for nearly a century. The glaring disparities between doctrine and conduct, between responsibility and the neglect of parishes, generated confusion and dismay, and if the Protestant Reformation was one of the consequences in parts of Northern Europe, the fragmented outcome for Italy was in mysticism, prudent silence, tiny pockets of fervent reform, extremes of cynicism and hypocrisy, and finally in the backlash of the Inquisition and Counter Reformation.’

Graham-Dixon, Renaissance, p. 205

Condivi, Life, pp. 33—4

Condivi, Life, pp. 29—30. Condivi adds that Michelangelo was inspired by ‘the wish to emulate the ancients’. According to legend, Dinocrates, a Greek architect of the fourth century BC, planned to carve Mount Athos into the likeness of a human figure.

Condivi, Life, p. 30

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 52

Condivi, Life, p. 35

Murray, Michelangelo, p. 55

Condivi, Life, p. 38

See John Shearman, ‘The Chapel of Sixtus IV’, in André Chastel et al., The Sistine Chapel: Michelangelo Rediscovered, London 1986, pp. 23—4

A fascinating account of the papal conclaves and the superstitions surrounding them is given by D. S. Chambers in a brief essay: ‘Papal Conclaves and Prophetic Mystery in the Sistine Chapel’, JWCI, 41 (1978), pp. 322—6

James Hall, Michelangelo and the Reinvention of the Human Body, London 2005, p. 107

Sydney Freedberg puts it well in Painting in Italy 1500—1600, London 1970, p. 36: ‘the conception and the making of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, which followed on the first design for the tomb and which Michelangelo was compelled to undertake instead of it, was affected essentially by his thinking for the tomb design ... that design was not abandoned with the suspended project for the tomb, it became the basis from which Michelangelo evolved his design for the vast fresco, transposing the major elements from one to the other, as if the scheme intended for the tomb should be unfolded flat upon the ceiling space.’

Michelangelo, Poems, pp. 5—6

PART TWO

The Sistine Chapel Ceiling, pp. 67—157

See Charles Seymour, ed., Michelangelo: The Sistine Chapel Ceiling, London 1972, p. 83

According to Giorgio Vasari, ‘Michelangelo complained at times that on account of the haste that the Pope imposed on him he was not able to finish it in his own fashion, as he would have liked; for his Holiness was always asking him importunately when he would finish it. On one occasion, among others, he replied, “It will be finished when I shall have satisfied myself in the matter of art.” “But it is our pleasure,” answered the Pope, “that you should satisfy us in our desire to have it done quickly”; and he added, finally, that if Michelangelo did not finish the work quickly he would have him thrown down from the scaffolding.’ (Vasari, Lives, II, p. 668) Both Vasari and Condivi tell of the Pope becoming so infuriated with the artist, another time, that he actually hit him with a stick. In Condivi’s account, ‘when the Pope demanded when he would finish the chapel, Michelangelo answered in his usual way, “When I can.” The Pope, who was precipitate by nature, struck him with a staff which he had in his hand, saying, “When I can, when I can.” ’ (Condivi, Life, p. 59)

See Murray, Michelangelo, pp. 6—7

See Seymour, Sistine Chapel Ceiling, pp. 93—5

Condivi, Life, p. 42

John Milton, Paradise Lost, ed. Alastair Fowler, London 1971, p. 496n

Quoted in Kenneth Clark, The Nude, London 1976

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 746

Condivi, Life, p. 105

Eugène Delacroix, The Journal of Eugène Delacroix, Oxford 1951, p. 181

See Erich Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, Princeton 1968

Charles de Tolnay, The Sistine Ceiling, II, London 1945, p. 45

See Edgar Wind, ‘The Crucifixion of Haman’, Journal of the Warburg Institute, I, no. 3 (January 1938), pp. 245—8

See, for example, Charles de Tolnay, Michelangelo, New York 1945— 60, II, p. 64; Clark, The Nude, pp. 198—9; Seymour, Sistine Chapel Ceiling, passim.

Condivi, Life, p. 48; Vasari, Lives, II, p. 670

See Partridge, The Renaissance in Rome, p. 89

Condivi, Life, p. 48

See Loren Partridge, Michelangelo, The Sistine Chapel Ceiling, Rome, London 1996. This is a particularly helpful guide to the iconography of the ceiling.

Quoted in King, Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling, p. 171

Condivi, Life, p. 48

Condivi, Life, p. 9

Michelangelo, Complete Poems, p. 6

Vasari, Lives II, p. 669

PART THREE

The Last Judgement, and Other Endings, pp. 159—75

Duffy, Saints and Sinners, pp. 158—9; Hersey, High Renaissance Art, p. 27; Christopher Hibbert, The House of Medici, Its Rise and Fall, New York 1975, p. 245

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 292

Condivi, Life, p. 84

Vasari, Lives, II, p. 692. The frequently told story that Michelangelo gave his own features to the flayed skin held by Saint Bartholomew is a myth. None of the painter’s contemporaries refer to it as a self-portrait. If it really had been a likeness of Michelangelo they might have been expected both to notice and to comment on the fact.

These details are closely derived from Luca Signorelli’s fresco of The Resurrection in Orvieto Cathedral, a work which Michelangelo knew well. The apocalyptic theme and urgent, animated style of Signorelli’s work seem to have exerted a powerful and lifelong influence on Michelangelo, although — perhaps characteristically — he chose never to mention it.

Quoted in Anthony Hughes, Michelangelo, London 1997, p. 254

For an extended discussion of these pictures, see chapter 4 of my book on the Renaissance: Renaissance, pp. 213—17

The Rondanini Pietà provoked Kenneth Clark to write one of his most penetrating remarks about the artist’s late style: ‘in the humility of his last years, Michelangelo has pared away everything which could suggest the pride of the body, till he has reached the huddled roots of a Gothic wood carving.’ Clark, The Nude, p. 249

Although the poem is directly inspired by the ceiling, hence the allusions to the almost touching fingers of God and Adam, it seems to me to evoke the sombre piety of Michelangelo in his later years. It is printed here for the first time.

CONCLUSION, pp. 177—86

Vasari, Lives, II, pp. 662—3

Condivi, Life, p. 27

This aspect of the experience of the chapel has been altered by the rearrangement of entrances and exits to accommodate the vast number of tourists visiting every day. The pope and his entourage would not have experienced it in the way that I describe — they entered and left the chapel from the side — but the laity would have done so. In any case, although we no longer perform the same choreography in paying a visit to the chapel, the experience is fundamentally the same. We enter and we leave, and in leaving we are reabsorbed into the continuum of fallen, human time — taking up and re-enacting the story told in the chapel, so to speak, at the point where it leaves off.