All dead by violence.Baccio Valori Has been beheaded; Guicciardini poisoned;Philippo Strozzi strangled in his prison.
Is Florence then a place for honest men To flourish in? What is there to prevent My sharing the same fate?
BENVENUTO.
Why this: if all Your friends are dead, so are your enemies.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
Is Aretino dead?
BENVENUTO.
He lives in Venice, And not in Florence.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
'T is the same to me This wretched mountebank, whom flatterers Call the Divine, as if to make the word Unpleasant in the mouths of those who speak it And in the ears of those who hear it, sends me A letter written for the public eye, And with such subtle and infernal malice, I wonder at his wickedness.'T is he Is the express great devil, and not you.
Some years ago he told me how to paint The scenes of the Last Judgment.
BENVENUTO.
I remember.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
Well, now he writes to me that, as a Christian, He is ashamed of the unbounded freedom With which I represent it.
BENVENUTO.
Hypocrite!
MICHAEL ANGELO.
He says I show mankind that I am wanting In piety and religion, in proportion As I profess perfection in my art.
Profess perfection? Why, 't is only men Like Bugiardini who are satisfied With what they do.I never am content, But always see the labors of my hand Fall short of my conception.
BENVENUTO.
I perceive The malice of this creature.He would taint you With heresy, and in a time like this!
'T is infamous!
MICHAEL ANGELO.
I represent the angels Without their heavenly glory, and the saints Without a trace of earthly modesty.
BENVENUTO.
Incredible audacity!
MICHAEL ANGELO.
The heathen Veiled their Diana with some drapery, And when they represented Venus naked They made her by her modest attitude, Appear half clothed.But I, who am a Christian, Do so subordinate belief to art That I have made the very violation Of modesty in martyrs and in virgins A spectacle at which all men would gaze With half-averted eyes even in a brothel.
BENVENUTO.
He is at home there, and he ought to know What men avert their eyes from in such places;From the Last Judgment chiefly, I imagine.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
But divine Providence will never leave The boldness of my marvellous work unpunished;And the more marvellous it is, the more 'T is sure to prove the ruin of my fame!
And finally, if in this composition I had pursued the instructions that he gave me Concerning heaven and hell and paradise, In that same letter, known to all the world, Nature would not be forced, as she is now, To feel ashamed that she invested me With such great talent; that I stand myself A very idol in the world of art.
He taunts me also with the Mausoleum Of Julius, still unfinished, for the reason That men persuaded the inane old man It was of evil augury to build His tomb while he was living; and he speaks Of heaps of gold this Pope bequeathed to me, And calls it robbery;--that is what he says.
What prompted such a letter?
BENVENUTO.
Vanity.
He is a clever writer, and he likes To draw his pen, and flourish it in the face Of every honest man, as swordsmen do Their rapiers on occasion, but to show How skilfully they do it.Had you followed The advice he gave, or even thanked him for it, You would have seen another style of fence.
'T is but his wounded vanity, and the wish To see his name in print.So give it not A moment's thought; it soon will be forgotten.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
I will not think of it, but let it pass For a rude speech thrown at me in the street, As boys threw stones at Dante.
BENVENUTO.
And what answer Shall I take back to Grand Duke Cosimo?
He does not ask your labor or your service;Only your presence in the city of Florence, With such advice upon his work in hand As he may ask, and you may choose to give.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
You have my answer.Nothing he can offer Shall tempt me to leave Rome.My work is here, And only here, the building of St.Peter's.
What other things I hitherto have done Have fallen from me, are no longer mine;I have passed on beyond them, and have left them As milestones on the way.What lies before me, That is still mine, and while it is unfinished No one shall draw me from it, or persuade me, By promises of ease, or wealth, or honor, Till I behold the finished dome uprise Complete, as now I see it in my thought.
BENVENUTO.
And will you paint no more?
MICHAEL ANGELO.
No more.
BENVENUTO.
'T is well.
Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, That fashions all her works in high relief, And that is sculpture.This vast ball, the Earth, Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire;Men, women, and all animals that breathe Are statues, and not paintings.Even the plants, The flowers, the fruits, the grasses, were first sculptured, And colored later.Painting is a lie, A shadow merely.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
Truly, as you say, Sculpture is more than painting.It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live.The most majestic Of the three sister arts is that which builds;The eldest of them all, to whom the others Are but the hand-maids and the servitors, Being but imitation, not creation.
Henceforth I dedicate myself to her.
BENVENUTO.
And no more from the marble hew those forms That fill us all with wonder?
MICHAEL ANGELO.
Many statues Will there be room for in my work.Their station Already is assigned them in my mind.
But things move slowly.There are hindrances, Want of material, want of means, delays And interruptions, endless interference Of Cardinal Commissioners, and disputes And jealousies of artists, that annoy me.
But twill persevere until the work Is wholly finished, or till I sink down Surprised by death, that unexpected guest, Who waits for no man's leisure, but steps in, Unasked and unannounced, to put a stop To all our occupations and designs.
And then perhaps I may go back to Florence;This is my answer to Duke Cosimo.
VI
MICHAEL ANGELO'S STUDIO
MICHAEL ANGELO and URBINO.
MICHAEL ANGELO, pausing in his work.
Urbino, thou and I are both old men.
My strength begins to fail me.
URBINO.
Eccellenza.
