Scene II

JULIUS.Come forward, dear Maestro! In these gardensAll ceremonies of our court are banished.Sit down beside me here.

MICHAEL ANGELO, sitting down.How graciouslyYour Holiness commiserates old ageAnd its infirmities!

JULIUS.Say its privileges.Art I respect. The building of this palaceAnd laying out these pleasant garden walksAre my delight, and if I have not askedYour aid in this, it is that I forbearTo lay new burdens on you at an ageWhen you need rest. Here I escape from RomeTo be at peace. The tumult of the cityScarce reaches here.

How beautiful it is,And quiet almost as a hermitage!

JULIUS.We live as hermits here; and from these heightsO'erlook all Rome and see the yellow TiberCleaving in twain the city, like a sword,As far below there as St. Mary's bridge.What think you of that bridge?

I would adviseYour Holiness not to cross it, or not oftenIt is not safe.

JULIUS.It was repaired of late.

Some morning you will look for it in vain;It will be gone. The current of the riverIs undermining it.

JULIUS.But you repaired it.

I strengthened all its piers, and paved its roadWith travertine. He who came after meRemoved the stone, and sold it, and filled inThe space with gravel.

JULIUS.Cardinal SalviatiAnd Cardinal Marcello, do you listen?This is your famous Nanni Baccio Bigio.

MICHAEL ANGELO, aside.There is some mystery here. These CardinalsStand lowering at me with unfriendly eyes.

JULIUS.Now let us come to what concerns us moreThan bridge or gardens. Some complaints are madeConcerning the Three Chapels in St. Peter's;Certain supposed defects or imperfections,You doubtless can explain.

This is no longerThe golden age of art. Men have becomeIconoclasts and critics. They delight notIn what an artist does, but set themselvesTo censure what they do not comprehend.You will not see them bearing a MadonnaOf Cimabue to the church in triumph,But tearing down the statue of a PopeTo cast it into cannon. Who are theyThat bring complaints against me?

JULIUS.DeputiesOf the commissioners; and they complainOf insufficient light in the Three Chapels.

Your Holiness, the insufficient lightIs somewhere else, and not in the Three Chapels.Who are the deputies that make complaint?

JULIUS.The Cardinals Salviati and Marcello,Here present.

MICHAEL ANGELO, rising.With permission, Monsignori,What is it ye complain of?

We regretYou have departed from Bramante's plan,And from San Gallo's.

Since the ancient timeNo greater architect has lived on earthThan Lazzari Bramante. His design,Without confusion, simple, clear, well-lighted.Merits all praise, and to depart from itWould be departing from the truth. San Gallo,Building about with columns, took all lightOut of this plan; left in the choir dark cornersFor infinite ribaldries, and lurking placesFor rogues and robbers; so that when the churchWas shut at night, not five and twenty menCould find them out. It was San Gallo, then,That left the church in darkness, and not I.

Excuse me; but in each of the Three ChapelsIs but a single window.

Monsignore,Perhaps you do not know that in the vaultingAbove there are to go three other windows.

How should we know? You never told us of it.

I neither am obliged, nor will I be,To tell your Eminence or any otherWhat I intend or ought to do. Your officeIs to provide the means, and see that thievesDo not lay hands upon them. The designsMust all be left to me.

Sir architect,You do forget yourself, to speak thus rudelyIn presence of his Holiness, and to usWho are his cardinals.

MICHAEL ANGELO, putting on his hat.I do not forgetI am descended from the Counts Canossa,Linked with the Imperial line, and with Matilda,Who gave the Church Saint Peter's Patrimony.I, too, am proud to give unto the ChurchThe labor of these hands, and what of lifeRemains to me. My father BuonarottiWas Podesta of Chiusi and Caprese.I am not used to have men speak to meAs if I were a mason, hired to buildA garden wall, and paid on SaturdaysSo much an hour.

CARDINAL SALVIATI, aside.No wonder that Pope ClementNever sat down in presence of this man,Lest he should do the same; and always bade himPut on his hat, lest he unasked should do it!

If any one could die of grief and shame,I should. This labor was imposed upon me;I did not seek it; and if I assumed it,'T was not for love of fame or love of gain,But for the love of God. Perhaps old ageDeceived me, or self-interest, or ambition;I may be doing harm instead of good.Therefore, I pray your Holiness, release me;Take off from me the burden of this work;Let me go back to Florence.

JULIUS.Never, never,While I am living.

Doth your HolinessRemember what the Holy Scriptures sayOf the inevitable time, when thoseWho look out of the windows shall be darkened,And the almond-tree shall flourish?

JULIUS.That is inEcclesiastes.

And the grasshopperShall be a burden, and desire shall fail,Because man goeth unto his long home.Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher; allIs vanity.

JULIUS.Ah, were to do a thingAs easy as to dream of doing it,We should not want for artists. But the menWho carry out in act their great designsAre few in number; ay, they may be countedUpon the fingers of this hand. Your placeIs at St. Peter's.

I have had my dream,And cannot carry out my great conception,And put it into act.

JULIUS.Then who can do it?You would but leave it to some Baccio BigioTo mangle and deface.

Rather than thatI will still bear the burden on my shouldersA little longer. If your HolinessWill keep the world in order, and will leaveThe building of the church to me, the workWill go on better for it. Holy Father,If all the labors that I have endured,And shall endure, advantage not my soul,I am but losing time.

JULIUS, laying his hands on MICHAEL ANGELO'S shoulders.You will be gainerBoth for your soul and body.

Not eventsExasperate me, but the funest conclusionsI draw from these events; the sure declineOf art, and all the meaning of that word:All that embellishes and sweetens life,And lifts it from the level of low caresInto the purer atmosphere of beauty;The faith in the Ideal; the inspirationThat made the canons of the church of SevilleSay, "Let us build, so that all men hereafterWill say that we were madmen." Holy Father,I beg permission to retire from here.

JULIUS.Go; and my benediction be upon you.

My Cardinals, this Michael AngeloMust not be dealt with as a common mason.He comes of noble blood, and for his crestBear two bull's horns; and he has given us proofThat he can toss with them. From this day forthUnto the end of time, let no man utterThe name of Baccio Bigio in my presence.All great achievements are the natural fruitsOf a great character. As trees bear notTheir fruits of the same size and quality,But each one in its kind with equal ease,So are great deeds as natural to great menAs mean things are to small ones. By his workWe know the master. Let us not perplex him.