Chapter 27 die at the end

"How much I want to die so slowly—" "Because, for the unfortunate, death is lazy..." (Volume 73, No. 30 of the Anthology of Poems) finally came. Although his monk-like life supported his solid body, it was not immune to the erosion of disease.His health never recovered after two malignant fevers in 1544 and 1546; bladder stones, March 1549: he was advised to drink water from the Viterbe spring, which made him feel better. —but in July, 1559, he was still suffering from stones.Gout, July, 1555, and all kinds of ailments wore him out.In a tragic burlesque in his later years, he wrote of his crippled body: "Lonely and wretchedly I live like a core wrapped in bark...my voice is like a claustrophobic wasp ... My teeth are shaken like the keys of a musical instrument ... My face is an ugly mask to frighten off birds ... My ears are buzzing incessantly: in one ear a spider is weaving a web; In the other, the crickets chirped all night long... My cold kept me awake... The art that gave me honor brought me to this end. Poor old man, if I don't die quickly come and save me, I will Annihilated... Fatigue has torn me apart, disintegrated, and the only dwelling place is death..." Poetry Collection Volume 81.

In June 1555, he wrote to Vasari: "Dear Mr. Giorgio, you can recognize me in my handwriting at the twenty-fourth hour..." 1555 Letter to Vasari on June 22, 2009.In 1549 he wrote to Varchi: "I am not only old, I count myself among the dead. Vasari visited him in the spring of 1560 and found him extremely weak.He hardly ever went out, and hardly slept at night; everything gave the impression that he was not long.The older he gets, the more tender he becomes, and he cries easily. "I went to see Michelangelo," Vasari wrote. "He didn't expect me to go, so when he saw me, he was as happy as a father who finds his lost son. He put his arms around my neck, kissed me again and again, and wept with joy." 156 Letter to Cosme Te Medici from Vasari on April 8, 2000.

Yet he had not lost his clear mind and energy.That is, at this meeting, he had a long talk with Vasari about artistic issues, about instructing Vasari about his work, and then he accompanied him on horseback to St. Peter's.He was eighty-five then. In August, 1561, he came down with a cold.He had worked barefoot for three hours, when suddenly he fell to the ground, convulsed all over.His servant Antonio found him unconscious.Cavalieri, Bandini, and Calcani ran over immediately.At that time, Michelangelo had already woken up.A few days later, he began to go out on horseback again, and continued to make drawings for Piamen.

The eccentric old man would never allow others to take care of him anyway.It was with difficulty that his friends learned that he had another cold, and that he was accompanied only by careless servants. His successor, Leonardo, who had been severely reprimanded by him for coming to Rome, dared not come here even because of his uncle's health. In July, 1563, he asked Daniele de Voltaire to ask Michelangelo if he would like to see him; Therefore, a statement was added, saying that his business was improving, that he was rich and needed nothing.The cunning old man answered him that he was glad that it was so, and that he would give to the poor what little money he had saved.

A month later, Leonardo, dissatisfied with that answer, repeated what he was told, saying that he was worried about his health and his servants.This time, Michelangelo replied him with an angry letter, expressing that the eighty-eight-year-old man—only six months away from his death—had such strong vitality: “From your letter, I see you believe the lies of the crooks who can't steal me or put me where they want. These are scoundrels, and you're foolish enough to believe them. Let them go: they'll only annoy you , I only know how to envy others, but I live a life like a wanderer. You said in your letter that you were worried about my servants; and I, I told you about the servants, they all served me faithfully and respected me. As for your letter I will tell you that the people in my family can put me at ease, and I can completely trust them. So, you only need to care about yourself; I know how to defend myself when necessary, I Not a child. Cherish yourself!" to Leonardo, August 21, 1563.

Leonard was not alone in his concerns about legacy.All Italy was Michelangelo's heir,--especially the Duke of Tuscany and the Pope, who were concerned that nothing should be lost of the architectural drawings and drawings of San Lorenzo and St. Peter.In June 1563, following the advice of Vasari, the Archduke Cosme ordered his ambassador in Rome, Abelardo Ceristori, to report secretly to the Pope on account of Michelangelo's growing old age. , To secretly guard his daily life and all those who come and go in his house.In the case of sudden death, all his possessions should be entered at once; sketches, manuscripts, papers, money, etc., and care should be taken so that nothing may be stolen in the confusion of the afterlife.Of course, these are completely unknown to Michelangelo himself.Vasari records.

These precautions are not useless.The time has come. Michelangelo's last letter was dated December 28, 1563.After a year, he almost did not write by himself; he read, he only signed; Danielle de Voltaire presided over the correspondence for him. He is always working.On February 12, 1564, he stood all day doing Lamentation for Christ.This image is not finished.On the 14th, he developed a fever.Calcani learned of it and ran to him immediately, but he was not found in his house.Although it was raining, he went for a walk in the suburbs.When he returned, Calcarni said he shouldn't have been out in the weather.

"What do you want of me?" replied Michelangelo, "I am sick and shall have no rest anywhere." The impreciseness of his words, his gaze, and his countenance disturbed Calcani greatly.He immediately wrote to Leonardo and said: "Although the end may not be at present, it is not far away." Calcani wrote to Leonardo on February 14, 1564. On the same day, Michelangelo asked Daniele ter Voltere to stay by his side.Daniele sent for the doctor; on February 15th, at the behest of Michelangelo, he wrote to Leonardo that he could come and see him, "but be very careful, because the roads are rough. ” Letter to Vasari from Daniele ter Voltere, March 17, 1564.Voltere appends the following lines: "I left him a little after eight o'clock, when he was lucid and quite quiet, but afflicted with paralysis. Sometimes he wanted to go out on horseback, as it seemed to him a habit he had to perform on sunny days. But the cold of the weather and the weakness of his head and legs prevented him: he came back and sat in an easy chair by the mantel, which was a better place for him than lying in bed. A more pleasant place to sit."

He also has the faithful Cavalieri by his side. It was not until the day before his death that he agreed to lie in bed, and read his will, surrounded by friends and servants, with perfect sanity.He gave "his soul to God, and his body to the dust".He asked "at least to return after death" to his dear Emerald. —Then he "turned from the dreadful tempest into the sweet and peaceful stillness." Poems, vol. 152. It's five o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday in February.Friday, February 18, 1564.Cavalieri, Daniele ter Voltere, Leoni, two doctors, and Antonio the servant sent him to his end.Leonardo did not arrive in Rome until three days later.It was just at sunset... "The last day of his life, the first day of a peaceful kingdom of heaven!

Finally he rested.He achieves the goal of his wish: he is detached from time. "Happy soul, for whom time passes no more!" Poems, vol. 59. This is the life of holy pain At the close of this tragic history, I feel tormented by a thought.I ask myself whether, in wishing to give sufferings in general some companionship of their sufferings, to sustain them, I do not inflict upon those only the sufferings of these.Should I, then, as so many others have done, reveal only the heroic part of the hero, and cast a veil over the abyss of their misery? —but no!This is the truth!I do not promise my friends the happiness that lies to them, the happiness that is earned at all costs.What I promise them is the truth—whether it be bought by happiness, the magnificent truth carved into the eternal soul.Its breath is bitter, but pure: bathe our anemic hearts in it for a while.

A great soul is like a high mountain, which is blown by wind and rain and surrounded by clouds, but when people breathe there, they are more free and powerful than elsewhere.The pure atmosphere can cleanse the filth of the soul; and when the clouds are broken, he threatens the human beings. So this lofty mountain stands in Renaissance Italy, and from a distance we see its precipitous silhouette disappearing in the boundless blue sky. I'm not saying that ordinary humans can survive on peaks.But once a year they should go up to pay homage.There, he can alter the breath in the lungs and the blood flow in the vessels.There they will feel ever closer to eternity.Later, they returned to the Guangyuan of life, filled with the courage of daily fighting in their hearts.