On September 23, 1534, Michael Angelo returned to Rome, where he was to remain until his death. It was twenty-one years since he had left it. In these twenty-one years he had made three statues for the uncompleted mausoleum of Julius II., seven unfinished statues for the uncompleted monument of the Medici, the unfinished vestibule of the "Laurenziana," the unfinished "Christ" of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, the unfinished "Apollo" for Baccio Valori. He had lost his health, his energy, his faith in art and in the fatherland. He had lost his favourite brother.[1] He had lost the father whom he adored.[2] To the memory of both he had addressed a poem (unfinished, like everything he did) admirable for its note of sorrow and its passionate yearning after death.
"… Heaven has snatched you from our wretchedness. Have pity on me, I who live, like a dead man. … You are dead to death and have become divine. You no longer feel the fear of a change of being and desire. I can hardly write of it without envy. Destiny and Time, which bring us but doubtful joy and sure misfortune, no longer dare to cross your threshold. No cloud obscures your light; the course of the hours lays not violent hands upon you; necessity and chance guide not your steps. Night obscures not your splendour; Day, however bright, heightens it not … By thy death, dear father, I learn how to die … Death is not, as people believe, the worst thing, for the last day is the
