Human judgments change and are modified with the passage of time. A man who was considered a poor soul during his life is sometimes taken for a hero after he is dead; a work that was once acclaimed is now neglected. It can even happen that, from morning to night, without waiting for the days to pass, people will burn what they once adored. But when judgments on men or things withstand the years and perpetuate themselves through the centuries, it is presumable that they represent justice and truth. The verdict rendered by historians or critics, and accepted by the crowd, is likely the one that Solomon himself would have pronounced, had he been charged with formulating the sentence. These judgments and assessments thus acquire the force of law and become almost mathematical axioms that are no longer open to discussion.
However, it must be recognized that in many cases they are accompanied by certain facts or discourses which, while relating to the general character of the man or thing, introduce a bit of legend into the truth and romance into history. Almost all illustrious men have this legendary component, which is now part of their personality, and it must be admitted that this is not their least charm. Although every day numerous writers tear away the elegant and poetic veils of tradition to try to bring the truth to light—alas, to the detriment of the artistic grace of convention—many judgments still remain in which legend persists, thus giving more force, vivacity, and color to these consecrated subjects.
Perhaps we should regret that these traditions, beloved by artists and dreamers, are gradually eroding and that naive faith is weakening in these repeated autopsies. Yet, he who has the opportunity to correct an error and combat a false doctrine must not shrink from the thankless mission. He must conscientiously fulfill his role as a witness, swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
The Uneven Genius of a Colossus
This is what I will attempt to do with regard to Michelangelo, that Italian colossus who dominates the world with his powerful genius, but who, precisely because he is a genius, must be uneven in his thoughts and his works. Monotonous perfection, if not in idea, at least in execution, belongs only to people of simple talent. It is also they alone who can be authorized to have wit (esprit), that human invention which, far from serving art, is rather its ruin:
O detestable wit! The most fatal gift
That heavenly vengeance can bestow upon the arts!
Fearing this gift, all the great painters, all the great sculptors, all the great writers, and the great dramatists have disdained to be witty, preferring to remain simply superior. I mean witty in their works, for it is not absolutely forbidden for artists to be lively and sparkling in their private lives. If wit is running in the streets, they can perfectly well chase it like everyone else, but if they catch it, they are careful not to put it on their canvases or their statues. It even cuts a rather poor figure in monuments, and I know more than one architect who, wanting to make the rock of Cliquart recite madrigals and the frost-stone of Saint-Leu engage in flirtatious banter, ended up turning a family tomb into a music box and a column into a kazoo.
