h could not be improved in beauty and
variety; and there, in the frieze, is the story of Niobe causing herself
to be worshipped, with the people bringing tribute, vases, and various
kinds of gifts; which story was depicted by them with such novelty,
grace, art, force of relief and genius in every part, that it would
certainly take too long to describe the whole. Next, there follows the
wrath of Latona, and her terrible vengeance on the children of the
over-proud Niobe, whose seven sons are slain by Phoebus and the seven
daughters by Diana; with an endless number of figures in imitation of
bronze, which appear to be not painted but truly of metal. Above these
are executed other scenes, with some vases in imitation of gold,
innumerable things of fancy so strange that mortal eye could not picture
anything more novel or more beautiful, and certain Etruscan helmets; but
one is left confused by the variety and abundance of the conceptions, so
beautiful and so fanciful, which issued from their minds. These works
have been imitated by a vast number of those who labour at that branch
of art. They also painted the courtyard of that house, and likewise the
loggia, which they decorated with little grotesques in colour that are
held to be divine. In short, all that they touched they brought to
perfection with infinite grace and beauty; and if I were to name all
their works, I should fill a whole book with the performances of these
two masters alone, since there is no apartment, palace, garden, or villa
in Rome that does not contain some work by Polidoro and Maturino.

Now, while Rome was rejoicing and clothing herself in beauty with their
labours, and they were awaiting the reward of all their toil, the envy
of Fortune, in the year 1527, sent Bourbon to Rome; and he gave that
city over to sack. Whereupon was divided the companionship not only of
Polidoro and Maturino, but of all the thousands of friends and relatives
who had broken bread together for so many years in Rome. Maturino took
to flight, and no long time passed before he died, so it is believed in
Rome, of plague, in consequence of the hardships that he had suffered in
the sack, and was buried in S. Eustachio. Polidoro turned his steps to
Naples; but on his arrival, the noblemen of that city taking but little
interest in fine works of painting, he was like to die of hunger.
Working, therefore, at the commission of certain painters, he executed a
S. Peter in the principal ch