We may assume that the subsequent reports regarding Lodovico’s health were satisfactory; for on the 5th of December Michelangelo set out for Rome.  The executors of Julius had assigned him free quarters in a house situated in the Trevi district, opposite the public road which leads to S. Maria del Loreto.  Here, then, he probably took up his abode.  We have seen that he had bound himself to finish the monument of Julius within the space of nine years, and to engage “in no work of great moment which should interfere with its performance.”  How this clause came to be inserted in a deed inspired by Leo is one of the difficulties with which the whole tragedy of the sepulchre bristles.  Perhaps we ought to conjecture that the Pope’s intentions with regard to the facade of S. Lorenzo only became settled in the late autumn.  At any rate, he had now to transact with the executors of Julius, who were obliged to forego the rights over Michelangelo’s undivided energies which they had acquired by the clause I have just cited.  They did so with extreme reluctance, and to the bitter disappointment of the sculptor, who saw the great scheme of his manhood melting into air, dwindling in proportions, becoming with each change less capable of satisfactory performance.

Having at last definitely entered the service of Pope Leo, Michelangelo travelled to Florence, and intrusted Baccio d’Agnolo with the construction of the model of his facade.  It may have been upon the occasion of this visit that one of his father’s whimsical fits of temper called out a passionate and sorry letter from his son.  It appears that Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo’s trusty henchman at this period, said something which angered Lodovico, and made him set off in a rage to Settignano:—­

“Dearest Father,—­I marvelled much at what had happened to you the other day, when I did not find you at home.  And now, hearing that you complain of me, and say that I have turned you out of doors, I marvel much the more, inasmuch as I know for certain that never once from the day that I was born till now had I a single thought of doing anything or small or great which went against you; and all this time the labours I have undergone have been for the love of you alone.  Since I returned from Rome to Florence, you know that I have always cared for you, and you know that all that belongs to me I have bestowed on you.  Some days ago, then, when you were ill, I promised solemnly never to fail you in anything within the scope of my whole faculties so long as my life lasts; and this I again affirm.  Now I am amazed that you should have forgotten everything so soon.  And yet you have learned to know me by experience these thirty years, you and your sons, and are well aware that I have always thought and acted, so far as I was able, for your good.  How can you go about saying I have turned you out of doors?  Do you not see what a reputation you have given me by saying I have turned you out?  Only this was wanting to complete my