remain in your good grace, and if I had only this in the world, it would suffice me.”  He begs to be remembered to Pietro Urbano, and requests his pardon if he has offended him.  Another set of letters, composed in the same tone by a man who signs himself Silvio di Giovanni da Cepparello, was written by a sculptor honourably mentioned in Vasari’s Life of Andrea da Fiesole for his work at S. Lorenzo, in Genoa, and elsewhere.  They show how highly the fame of having been in Michelangelo’s employ was valued.  He says that he is now working for Andrea Doria, Prince of Melfi, at Genoa.  Still he should like to return, if this were possible, to his old master’s service:  “For if I lost all I had in the world, and found myself with you, I should think myself the first of men.”  A year later Silvio was still at work for Prince Doria and the Fieschi, but he again begs earnestly to be taken back by Michelangelo.  “I feel what obligations I am under for all the kindness received from you in past times.  When I remember the love you bore me while I was in your service, I do not know how I could repay it; and I tell you that only through having been in your service, wherever I may happen now to be, honour and courtesy are paid me; and that is wholly due to your excellent renown, and not to any merit of my own.”

The only letter from Ascanio Condivi extant in the Buonarroti Archives may here be translated in full, since its tone does honour both to master and servant:—­

“Unique lord and my most to be observed patron,—­I have already written you two letters, but almost think you cannot have received them, since I have heard no news of you.  This I write merely to beg that you will remember to command me, and to make use not of me alone, but of all my household, since we are all your servants.  Indeed, my most honoured and revered master, I entreat you deign to dispose of me and do with me as one is wont to do with the least of servants.  You have the right to do so, since I owe more to you than to my own father, and I will prove my desire to repay your kindness by my deeds.  I will now end this letter, in order not to be irksome, recommending myself humbly, and praying you to let me have the comfort of knowing that you are well:  for a greater I could not receive.  Farewell.”

It cannot be denied that Michelangelo sometimes treated his pupils and servants with the same irritability, suspicion, and waywardness of temper as he showed to his relatives and friends.  It is only necessary to recall his indignation against Lapo and Lodovico at Bologna, Stefano at Florence, Sandro at Serravalle, all his female drudges, and the anonymous boy whom his father sent from Rome.  That he was a man “gey ill to live with” seems indisputable.  This may in part account for the fact that, unlike other great Italian masters, he formed no school.  The frescanti who came from Florence to assist him in the Sistine Chapel were dismissed with abruptness,