MICHAEL ANGELO.
                   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 Bigio
To mangle and deface.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
                      Rather than that
I will still bear the burden on my shoulders
A little longer.  If your Holiness
Will keep the world in order, and will leave
The building of the church to me, the work
Will 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 gainer
Both for your soul and body.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
                            Not events
Exasperate me, but the funest conclusions
I draw from these events; the sure decline
Of art, and all the meaning of that word:
All that embellishes and sweetens life,
And lifts it from the level of low cares
Into the purer atmosphere of beauty;
The faith in the Ideal; the inspiration
That made the canons of the church of Seville
Say, "Let us build, so that all men hereafter
Will say that we were madmen."  Holy Father,
I beg permission to retire from here.

JULIUS.
Go; and my benediction be upon you.

[Michael Angelo goes out.

My Cardinals, this Michael Angelo
Must not be dealt with as a common mason.
He comes of noble blood, and for his crest
Bear two bull's horns; and he has given us proof
That he can toss with them.  From this day forth
Unto the end of time, let no man utter
The name of Baccio Bigio in my presence.
All great achievements are the natural fruits
Of a great character.  As trees bear not
Their fruits of the same size and quality,
But each one in its kind with equal ease,
So are great deeds as natural to great men
As mean things are to small ones.  By his work
We know the master.  Let us not perplex him.

III

BINDO ALTOVITI

A street in Rome.  BINDO ALTOVITI, standing at the door of his
house.

MICHAEL ANGELO, passing.

BINDO.
Good-morning, Messer Michael Angelo!

MICHAEL ANGELO.
Good-morning, Messer Bindo Altoviti!

BINDO.
What brings you forth so early?

MICHAEL ANGELO.
                        The same reason
That keeps you standing sentinel at your door,--
The air of this delicious summer morning.
What news have you from Florence?

BINDO.
                       Nothing new;
The same old tale of violence and wrong.
Since the disastrous day at Monte Murlo,
When in procession, through San Gallo's gate,
Bareheaded, clothed in rags, on sorry steeds,
Philippo Strozzi and the good Valori
Were led as prisoners down the streets of Florence,
Amid the shouts of an ungrateful people,
Hope is no more, and liberty no more.
Duke Cosimo, the tyrant, reigns supreme.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
Florence is dead: her houses are but tombs;
Silence and solitude are in her streets.

BINDO.
Ah yes; and often I repeat the words
You wrote upon your statue of the Night,
There in the Sacristy of San Lorenzo:
"Grateful to me is sleep; to be of stone
More grateful, while the wrong and shame endure;
To see not, feel not, is a benediction;
Therefore awake me not; oh, speak in whispers."

MICHAEL ANGELO.
Ah, Messer Bindo, the calamities,
The fallen fortunes, and the desolation
Of Florence are to me a tragedy
Deeper than words, and darker than despair.
I, who have worshipped freedom from my cradle,
Have loved her with the passion of a lover,
And clothed her with all lovely attributes
That the imagination can conceive,
Or the heart conjure up, now see her dead,
And trodden in the dust beneath the feet
Of an adventurer!  It is a grief
Too great for me to bear in my old age.

BINDO.
I say no news from Florence: I am wrong,
For Benvenuto writes that he is coming
To be my guest in Rome.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
               Those are good tidings.
He hath been many years away from us.

BINDO.
Pray you, come in.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
               I have not time to stay,
And yet I will.  I see from here your house
Is filled with works of art.  That bust in bronze
Is of yourself.  Tell me, who is the master
That works in such an admirable way,
And with such power and feeling?

BINDO.
                          Benvenuto.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
Ah? Benvenuto? 'T is a masterpiece!
It pleases me as much, and even more,
Than the antiques about it; and yet they
Are of the best one sees.  But you have placed it
By far too high.  The light comes from below,
And injures the expression.  Were these windows
Above and not beneath it, then indeed
It would maintain its own among these works
Of the old masters, noble as they are.
I will go in and study it more closely.
I always prophesied that Benvenuto,
With all his follies and fantastic ways,
Would show his genius in some work of art
That would amaze the world, and be a challenge
Unto all other artists of his time.

[They go in.

IV

IN THE COLISEUM

MICHAEL ANGELO and TOMASO DE CAVALIERI

CAVALIERI.
What have you here alone, Messer Michele?

MICHAEL ANGELO.
I come to learn.

CAVALIERI.
              You are already master,
And teach all other men.

MICHAEL ANGELO.
                  Nay, I know nothing;
Not even my own ignorance, as some
Philosopher hath said.  I am a schoolboy
Who hath not learned his lesson, and who stands
Ashamed and silent in the awful presence
Of the great master of antiquity
Who built these walls cyclopean.