In August 1518 he writes to a friend at Florence that the road is now as good as finished, and that he is bringing down his columns.  The work is more difficult than he expected.  One man’s life had been already thrown away, and Michelangelo himself was in great danger.  “The place where we have to quarry is exceedingly rough, and the workmen are very stupid at their business.  For some months I must make demands upon my powers of patience until the mountains are tamed and the men instructed.  Afterwards we shall proceed more quickly.  Enough, that I mean to do what I promised, and shall produce the finest thing that Italy has ever seen, if God assists me.”

There is no want of heart and spirit in these letters.  Irritable at moments, Michelangelo was at bottom enthusiastic, and, like Napoleon Buonaparte, felt capable of conquering the world with his sole arm.

In September we find him back again at Florence, where he seems to have spent the winter.  His friends wanted him to go to Rome; they thought that his presence there was needed to restore the confidence of the Medici and to overpower calumniating rivals.  In reply to a letter of admonition written in this sense by his friend Lionardo di Compagno, the saddle-maker, he writes:  “Your urgent solicitations are to me so many stabs of the knife.  I am dying of annoyance at not being able to do what I should like to do, through my ill-luck.”  At the same time he adds that he has now arranged an excellent workshop, where twenty statues can be set up together.  The drawback is that there are no means of covering the whole space in and protecting it against the weather.  This yard, encumbered with the marbles for S. Lorenzo, must have been in the Via Mozza.

Early in the spring he removed to Serravezza, and resumed the work of bringing down his blocked-out columns from the quarries.  One of these pillars, six of which he says were finished, was of huge size, intended probably for the flanks to the main door at S. Lorenzo.  It tumbled into the river, and was smashed to pieces.  Michelangelo attributed the accident solely to the bad quality of iron which a rascally fellow had put into the lewis-ring by means of which the block was being raised.  On this occasion he again ran considerable risk of injury, and suffered great annoyance.  The following letter of condolence, written by Jacopo Salviati, proves how much he was grieved, and also shows that he lived on excellent terms with the Pope’s right-hand man and counsellor:  “Keep up your spirits and proceed gallantly with your great enterprise, for your honour requires this, seeing you have commenced the work.  Confide in me; nothing will be amiss with you, and our Lord is certain to compensate you for far greater losses than this.  Have no doubt upon this point, and if you want one thing more than another, let me know, and you shall be served immediately.  Remember that your undertaking a work of such magnitude will lay our city under the deepest obligation, not only to yourself, but also to your family for ever.  Great men, and of courageous spirit, take heart under adversities, and become more energetic.”