Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.

Michael Angelo: A Fragment

Part Third. II. Vigna di Papa Giulio

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.

Your Holiness, we are not set against him;

We but deplore his incapacity.

He is too old.

You, Cardinal Salviati,

Are an old man. Are you incapable?

’T is the old ox that draws the straightest furrow.

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.

Always Baccio Bigio!

Is there no other architect on earth?

Was it not he that sometime had in charge

The harbor of Ancona?

Ay, the same.

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

Or would do in ten years. And him you think

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.

He does not build; he but demolishes

The labors of Bramante and San Gallo.

Only to build more grandly.

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.

I have seen his model,

And have approved it. But here comes the artist.

Beware of him. He may make Persians of you,

To carry burdens on your backs forever.

SCENE II.—The same: MICHAEL ANGELO.

Come forward, dear Maestro. In these gardens

All ceremonies of our court are banished.

Sit down beside me here.

How graciously

Your Holiness commiserates old age

And its infirmities!

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.

How beautiful it is,

And quiet almost as a hermitage!

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?

I would advise

Your Holiness not to cross it, or not often;

It is not safe.

It was repaired of late.

Some morning you will look for it in vain;

It will be gone. The current of the river

Is undermining it.

But you repaired it.

I strengthened all its piers, and paved its road

With travertine. He who came after me

Removed the stone and sold it, and filled in

The space with gravel.

Cardinal Salviati

And Cardinal Marcello, do you listen?

This is your famous Nanni Baccio Bigio.

There is some mystery here. These Cardinals

Stand lowering at me with unfriendly eyes.

Now let us come to what concerns us more

Than bridge or gardens. Some complaints are made

Concerning the Three Chapels in St. Peter’s;

Certain supposed defects or imperfections,

You doubtless can explain.

This is no longer

The golden age of art. Men have become

Iconoclasts and critics. They delight not

In what an artist does, but set themselves

To censure what they do not comprehend.

You will not see them bearing a Madonna

Of Cimabue to the church in triumph,

But tearing down the statue of a Pope

To cast it into cannon. Who are they

That bring complaints against me?

Deputies

Of the Commissioners; and they complain

Of insufficient light in the Three Chapels.

Your Holiness, the insufficient light

Is somewhere else, and not in the Three Chapels.

Who are the deputies that make complaint?

The Cardinals Salviati and Marcello,

Here present.

With permission, Monsignori,

What is it ye complain of?

We regret

You have departed from Bramante’s plan,

And from San Gallo’s.

Since the ancient time

No greater architect has lived on earth

Than Lazzari Bramante. His design,

Without confusion, simple, clear, well-lighted,

Merits all praise, and to depart from it

Would be departing from the truth. San Gallo,

Building about with columns, took all light

Out of this plan; left in the choir dark corners

For infinite ribaldries, and lurking places

For rogues and robbers; so that when the church

Was shut at night, not five and twenty men

Could 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 Chapels

Is but a single window.

Monsignore,

Perhaps you do not know that in the vaulting

Above 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 other

What I intend or ought to do. Your office

Is to provide the means, and see that thieves

Do not lay hands upon them. The designs

Must all be left to me.

Sir architect,

You do forget yourself, to speak thus rudely

In presence of his Holiness, and to us

Who are his Cardinals.

I do not forget

I 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 Church

The labor of these hands, and what of life

Remains to me. My father Buonarotti

Was Podestà of Chiusi and Caprese.

I am not used to have men speak to me

As if I were a mason, hired to build

A garden wall, and paid on Saturdays

So much an hour.

No wonder that Pope Clement

Never sat down in presence of this man,

Lest he should do the same; and always bade him

Put 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 age

Deceived 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.

Never, never,

While I am living.

Doth your Holiness

Remember what the Holy Scriptures say

Of the inevitable time, when those

Who look out of the windows shall be darkened,

And the almond-tree shall flourish?

That is in

Ecclesiastes.

And the grasshopper

Shall be a burden, and desire shall fail,

Because man goeth unto his long home.

Vanity of Vanities, saith the Preacher; all

Is vanity.

Ah, were to do a thing

As easy as to dream of doing it,

We should not want for artists. But the men

Who carry out in act their great designs

Are few in number; aye, they may be counted

Upon the fingers of this hand. Your place

Is at St. Peter’s.

I have had my dream,

And cannot carry out my great conception,

And put it into act.

Then who can do it?

You would but leave it to some Baccio Bigio

To mangle and deface.

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.

You will be gainer

Both for your soul and body.

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.

Go; and my benediction be upon you.

SCENE III.—POPE JULIUS and the CARDINALS.

My Cardinals, this Michael Angelo

Must not be dealt with as a common mason.

He comes of noble blood, and for his crest

Bears 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.