That brave Fra Bastian was to paint | All power of speech. I only gaze at your portrait. JULIA. Well I remember it. VITTORIA. them In silent wonder, as if they were gods Or the inhabitants of some other planet. Enter MICHAEL ANGELO. Then chide me now, Come in. For I confess to something still more strange. Old as I am, I have at last consented VITTORIA. MICHAEL ANGELO. I fear my visit is ill-timed ; To the entreaties and the supplications I interrupt you. JULIA. VITTORIA. No; this is a friend To marry him? Of yours as well as mine,- the Lady VITTORIA. I pray you, do not jest with me! You know, Or you should know, that never such a thought Entered my breast. I am already married. The Marquis of Pescara is my husband, And death has not divorced us. Julia, The Duchess of Trajetto. MICHAEL ANGELO to JULIA. JULIA. Pardon me. Have I offended you? VITTORIA. No, but have hurt me. Unto my buried lord I give myself, Unto my friend the shadow of myself, My portrait. It is not from vanity, But for the love I bear him. JULIA. I rejoice To hear these words. Oh, this will be a portrait Worthy of both of you! [A knock. VITTORIA. You are kind To keep me in your memory. MICHAEL ANGELO. It is The privilege of age to speak with frank ness. You will not be offended when I say That never was your beauty more divine. JULIA. When Michael Angelo condescends to flatter Or praise me, I am proud, and not of fended. VITTORIA. Hark! he is coming. Now this is gallantry enough for one; But now your hour of martyrdom has The Tragedy of dipus Coloneus, The work of his old age. come. VITTORIA. MICHAEL ANGELO. And yet magnificent in all his ways; But from state policy, and certain rea sons Concerning the investiture of the duchy, JULIA. I should not like the Duke. These silent men, Who only look and listen, are like well That have no water in them, deep and empty. My dear Maestro! have you, then, for- How could the daughter of a king of gotten The story of Sophocles in his old age? MICHAEL ANGELO. • What story is it? VITTORIA. When his sons accused him, Before the Areopagus, of dotage, France Wed such a duke? MICHAEL ANGELO. The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world. VITTORIA. For all defence, he read there to his And then the Duchess, how shall I de Or tell the merits of that happy nature, | A marvellous child, who at the spinningWhich pleases most when least it thinks of pleasing? Not beautiful, perhaps, in form and feature, Yet with an inward beauty, that shines through Each look and attitude and word and gesture; A kindly grace of manner and behavior, A something in her presence and her ways That makes her beautiful beyond the reach Of mere external beauty; and in heart JULIA. She draws me to her As much as her Duke Ercole repels me. VITTORIA. Then the devout and honorable women That grace her court, and make it good to be there; Francesca Bucyronia, the true-hearted, Lavinia della Rovere and the Orsini, The Magdalena and the Cherubina, And Anne de Parthenai, who sings so sweetly; All lovely women, full of noble thoughts And aspirations after noble things. JULIA. wheel, And in the daily round of household Boccaccio would have envied you such The Duchess greatly praises, though some call it The Koran of the heretics. JULIA. And what poets Were there to sing you madrigals, and praise Olympia's eyes and Cherubina's tresses? VITTORIA. No; for great Ariosto is no more. ody Has long been hushed in death. JULIA. You should have made A pilgrimage unto the poet's tomb, And laid a wreath upon it, for the words He spake of you. PART SECOND. I. MONOLOGUE. A room in MICHAEL ANGELO's house. MICHAEL ANGELO. FLED to Viterbo, the old Papal city Where once an Emperor, humbled in his pride, Held the Pope's stirrup, as his Holiness Alighted from his mule! A fugitive From Cardinal Caraffa's hate, who hurls His thunders at the house of the Colonna, With endless bitterness! - Among the nuns In Santa Catarina's convent hidden, Herself in soul a nun! And now she chides me For my too frequent letters, that disturb Her meditations, and that hinder me And keep me from my work; now graciously She thanks me for the crucifix I sent her, And says that she will keep it: with one hand Inflicts a wound, and with the other heals it. [Reading. "Profoundly I believed that God would grant you A supernatural faith to paint this Christ; I wished for that which I now see fulfilled So marvellously, exceeding all my wishes. Nor more could be desired, or even so much. And greatly I rejoice that you have made The angel on the right so beautiful; For the Archangel Michael will place you, You, Michael Angelo, on that new day, Upon the Lord's right hand! And waiting that, How can I better serve you than to pray To this sweet Christ for you, and to beseech you To hold me altogether yours in all things." Well, I will write less often, or no more, But wait her coming. No one born in Rome |