He would construct an ideal shape out of nine, ten and even twelve different heads, for no other purpose than to obtain a certain grace of harmony and composition which is not to be found in the natural form, and would say that the artist must have his measuring tools, not in the hand, but in the eye, because the hands do but operate, it is the eye that judges; he pursued the same idea in architecture also.”  Condivi adds some information regarding his extraordinary fecundity and variety of invention:  “He was gifted with a most tenacious memory, the power of which was such that, though he painted so many thousands of figures, as any one can see, he never made one exactly like another or posed in the same attitude.  Indeed, I have heard him say that he never draws a line without remembering whether he has drawn it before; erasing any repetition, when the design was meant to be exposed to public view.  His force of imagination is also most extraordinary.  This has been the chief reason why he was never quite satisfied with his own work, and always depreciated its quality, esteeming that his hand failed to attain the idea which he had formed within his brain.”

XI

The four greatest draughtsmen of this epoch were Lionardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raffaello, and Andrea del Sarto.  They are not to be reckoned as equals; for Lionardo and Michelangelo outstrip the other two almost as much as these surpass all lesser craftsmen.  Each of the four men expressed his own peculiar vision of the world with pen, or chalk, or metal point, finding the unique inevitable line, the exact touch and quality of stroke, which should present at once a lively transcript from real Nature, and a revelation of the artist’s particular way of feeling Nature.  In Lionardo it is a line of subtlety and infinite suggestiveness; in Michelangelo it compels attention, and forcibly defines the essence of the object; in Raffaello it carries melody, the charm of an unerring rhythm; in Andrea it seems to call for tone, colour, atmosphere, and makes their presence felt.  Raffaello was often faulty:  even in the wonderful pen-drawing of two nudes he sent to Albrecht Duerer as a sample of his skill, we blame the knees and ankles of his models.  Lionardo was sometimes wilful, whimsical, seduced by dreamland, like a god born amateur.  Andrea allowed his facility to lead him into languor, and lacked passion.  Michelangelo’s work shows none of these shortcomings; it is always technically faultness, instinct with passion, supereminent in force.  But we crave more of grace, of sensuous delight, of sweetness, than he chose, or perhaps was able, to communicate.  We should welcome a little more of human weakness if he gave a little more of divine suavity.