ern art. Not only did she furnish the incentive, but she supplied the
means. She gave security from the eternal grind of material wants and
offered men undying fame as reward for noble effort.

The letter of religion was nothing to Michelangelo, but the eternal
spirit of truth that broods over and beyond all forms and ceremonies
touched his soul. His heart was filled with the poetry of pagan times.
The gods of ancient Greece on high Olympus for him still sang and
feasted, still lived and loved.

But to the art of the Church he devoted his time and talents. He
considered himself a priest and servant to the cause of Christ.

Established at Rome in the palace of the Pope, Michelangelo felt secure.
He knew his power. He knew he could do work that would for generations
move men to tears, and in his prophetic soul was a feeling that his name
would be inseparably linked with Rome. His wanderings and buffetings were
things of the past--he was necessary to the Church, and his position was
now secure and safe. The favor of princes lasts but for a day, but the
Church is eternal. The Church should be his bride; to her and to her
alone would he give his passionate soul. Thus mused Michelangelo, aged
twenty-two. His first work at Rome was a statue of Bacchus, done it seems
for an exercise to give Cardinal Giorgio a taste of his quality, just as
he had drawn the human hand on the wall for his Bologna protector; for
this fine and lofty pride in his power was a thing that clung to
Michelangelo from rosy youth to hoary age.

The "Bacchus," which is now in the National Museum at Florence, added to
his reputation; and the little world of art, whose orbit was the Vatican,
anxiously awaited a more serious attempt, just as we crane our necks when
the great violinist about to play awakens expectation by a few
preliminary flourishes.

His first great work at Rome was the "Pieta." We see it today in Saint
Peter's at the first chapel to the right as we enter, in a long row of
commonplace marbles, in all its splendid beauty and strength. It
represents the Mother of Christ, supporting in her arms the dead body
just after it was lowered from the cross. In most of Michelangelo's work
there is a heroic quality in the figures and a muscular strength that in
a degree detracts from the spirit of sympathy that might otherwise come
over us. It is admiration that seizes us, not sympathy. But this early
work is the flower of Michelangelo's genius, round