Peter's at the first chapel to the right as we enter, in a long row of
commonplace marbles, in all its splendid beauty and strength. It
represents the Mother of Christ, supporting in her arms the dead body
just after it was lowered from the cross. In most of Michelangelo's work
there is a heroic quality in the figures and a muscular strength that in
a degree detracts from the spirit of sympathy that might otherwise come
over us. It is admiration that seizes us, not sympathy. But this early
work is the flower of Michelangelo's genius, round and full and complete.
The later work may be different, but it is not better.

When this group was unveiled in Fourteen Hundred Ninety-eight it was the
sensation of the year. Old and young, rich and poor, learned and
unlearned, flocked to see it, and the impression it made was most
profound. If the Catholic Church has figured on the influence of statuary
and painting on the superstitious, as has been tauntingly said, she has
reckoned well. The story of steadfast love and loyalty is masterly told
in that first great work of Michelangelo. The artist himself often
mingled with the crowds that surrounded his speaking marble, and the
people who knelt before it assured him by their reverence that his hand
had wrought well. And once he heard two able doctors disputing as to who
the artist was. They were lavish in their praise, and one insisted that
the work was done by the great sculptor at Bologna, and he named the
master who had befriended Michelangelo. The artist stood by and heard the
argument put forth that no mere youth could conceive such a work, much
less execute it.

That night he stole into the church and by the wan light of a lantern
carved his name deep on the girdle of the Virgin, and there do we read it
today. The pride of the artist, however, afterward took another turn, for
he never thereafter placed his name on a piece. "My work is unlike any