Francesco died on S. Martin's Day, the 11th of November, in the year 1563, and was buried in S. Gieronimo, a church near the house where he lived. The death of Francesco was a very great loss to art, seeing that, although he was fifty-four years of age and weak in health, he was continually studying and working, cost what it might; and at the very last he had set himself to work in mosaic. It is evident that he was capricious, and would have liked to do many things; and if he had found a Prince who could have recognized his humour and could have given him works after his fancy, he would have achieved marvellous things, for, as we have said, he was rich, fertile, and most exuberant in every kind of invention, and a master in every field of painting. He gave great beauty and grace to every kind of head, and he understood the nude as well as any other painter of his time. He had a very graceful and delicate manner in painting draperies, arranging them in such a way that the nude could always be perceived in the parts where that was required, and clothing his figures in new fashions of dress; and he showed fancy and variety in headdresses, foot-wear, and every other kind of ornament. He handled colours in oils, in distemper, and in fresco in such a manner, that it may be affirmed that he was one of the most able, resolute, bold, and diligent craftsmen of our age, and to this we, who associated with him for so many years, are well able to bear testimony. And although there was always between us a certain proper emulation, by reason of the desire that good craftsmen have to surpass one another, none the less, with regard to the claims of friendship, there was never any lack of love and affection between us, although each of us worked in competition in the most famous places in Italy, as may be seen from a vast number of letters that are in my possession, as I have said, written by the hand of Francesco. Salviati was affectionate by nature, but suspicious, acute, subtle, and penetrative, and yet ready to believe anything; and when he set himself to speak of some of the men of our arts, either in jest or in earnest, he was likely to give offence, and at times touched them to the quick. It pleased him to mix with men of learning and great persons, and he always held plebeian craftsmen in detestation, even though they might be able in some field of art. He avoided such persons as always speak evil, and when the conversation turned on them he would tear them to pieces without mercy. But most of all he abhorred the knaveries that craftsmen sometimes commit, of which, having been in France, and having heard something of them, he was only too well able to speak. At times, in order to be less weighed down by his melancholy, he used to mingle with his friends and force himself to be cheerful. But in the end his strange nature, so irresolute, suspicious, and solitary, did harm to no one but himself.