PART THIRD.

I.

MONOLOGUE.

Macello de' Corvi. A room in MICHAEL ANGELO's house.

MICHAEL ANGELO, standing before a model of St. Peter's.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

BETTER than thou I cannot, Brunelleschi,
And less than thou I will not! If the thought
Could, like a windlass, lift the ponderous stones
And swing them to their places; if a breath
Could blow this rounded dome into the air,
As if it were a bubble, and these statues
Spring at a signal to their sacred stations,
As sentinels mount guard upon a wall,
Then were my task completed. Now, alas!
Naught am I but a Saint Sebaldus, holding
Upon his hand the model of a church,

As German artists paint him; and what years,
What weary years, must drag themselves along,
Ere this be turned to stone! What hindrances.
Must block the way; what idle interferences
Of Cardinals and Canons of St. Peter's,
Who nothing know of art beyond the color
Of cloaks and stockings, nor of any building
Save that of their own fortunes! And what then?
I must then the short-coming of my means

Piece out by stepping forward, as the Spartan
Was told to add a step to his short sword.

[A pause.

And is Fra Bastian dead? Is all that light
Gone out? that sunshine darkened? all that music
And merriment, that used to make our lives
Less melancholy, swallowed up in silence
Like madrigals sung in the street at night
By passing revellers? [It is strange indeed
That he should die before me. 'T is against
The laws of nature that the young should die,
And the old live; unless it be that some
Have long been dead who think themselves alive,
Because not buried.] Well, what matters it,
Since now that greater light, that was my sun,
Is set, and all is darkness, all is darkness!
Death's lightnings strike to right and left of me,
And, like a ruined wall, the world around me
Crumbles away, and I am left alone.

I have no friends, and want none. My own

thoughts

Are now my sole companions,

thoughts of her,

That like a benediction from the skies

Come to me in my solitude and soothe me.

When men are old, the incessant thought of Death
Follows them like their shadow; sits with them
At every meal; sleeps with them when they sleep;
And when they wake already is awake,
And standing by their bedside. Then, what folly
It is in us to make an enemy

Of this importunate follower, not a friend!
To me a friend, and not an enemy,

Has he become since all my friends are dead.

II.

VIGNA DI PAPA GIULIO.

SCENE I.- POPE JULIUS III. seated by the Fountain of Acqua Vergine, surrounded by Cardinals.

JULIUS.

Tell me, why is it ye are discontent,
You, Cardinals Salviati and Marcello,
With Michael Angelo? What has he done,
Or left undone, that ye are set against him?
When one Pope dies, another is soon made;
And I can make a dozen Cardinals,
But cannot make one Michael Angelo.

CARDINAL SALVIATI.

Your Holiness, we are not set against him;
We but deplore his incapacity.

He is too old.

Are an old man.

JULIUS.

You, Cardinal Salviati,

Are you incapable?

'Tis the old ox that draws the straightest furrow.

CARDINAL MARCELLO.

Your Holiness remembers he was charged
With the repairs upon St. Mary's bridge;
Made cofferdams, and heaped up load on load
Of timber and travertine; and yet for years
The bridge remained unfinished, till we gave it
To Baccio Bigio.

JULIUS.

Always Baccio Bigio!

Is there no other architect on earth?

Was it not he that sometime had in charge
The harbor of Ancona ?

CARDINAL MARCELLO.

Ay, the same.

JULIUS.

Then let me tell you that your Baccio Bigio
Did greater damage in a single day

To that fair harbor than the sea had done

And him you think

Or would do in ten years. And him

To put in place of Michael Angelo,
In building the Basilica of St. Peter!
The ass that thinks himself a stag discovers
His error when he comes to leap the ditch.

CARDINAL MARCELLO.

He does not build; he but demolishes

The labors of Bramante and San Gallo.

JULIUS.

Only to build more grandly.

CARDINAL MARCELLO

But time

passes;

Year after year goes by, and yet the work

Is not completed. Michael Angelo
Is a great sculptor, but no architect.
His plans are faulty.

JULIUS.

I have seen his model,

And have approved it.

artist.

But here comes the

Beware of him. He may make Persians of you, To carry burdens on your backs forever.

March 16, 1872.]

SCENE II.-The same: MICHAEL ANGELO.

JULIUS.

In these gardens

Come forward, dear Maestro.

All ceremonies of our court are banished.

Sit down beside me here.

MICHAEL ANGELO, sitting down.
How graciously

Your Holiness commiserates old age

And its infirmities!

JULIUS.

Say its privileges.

Art I respect. The building of this palace And laying out of these pleasant garden walks Are my delight, [and if I have not asked

Your aid in this, it is that I forbear

To lay new burdens on you at an age

When you need rest.] Here I escape from Rome To be at peace. The tumult of the city

Scarce reaches here.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

How beautiful it is,

And quiet almost as a hermitage!

JULIUS.

We live as hermits here; and from these heights

O'erlook all Rome and see the yellow Tiber

Cleaving in twain the city, like a sword,
As far below there as St. Mary's bridge.
What think you of that bridge?

MICHAEL ANGELO.

I would advise

Your Holiness not to cross it, or not often ;

It is not safe.