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Ah, to build, to build!

That is the noblest art of all the arts,
Painting and sculpture are but images,
Are merely shadows cast by outward things
On stone or canvas, having in themselves
No separate existence. Architecture,
Existing in itself, and not in seeming
A something it is not, surpasses them

As substance shadow. Long, long years ago,
Standing one morning near the Baths of Titus,
I saw the statue of Laocoön

Rise from its grave of centuries, like a ghost
Writhing in pain; and as it tore away
The knotted serpents from its limbs, I heard,
Or seemed to hear, the cry of agony
From its white, parted lips. And still I mar-
vel

At the three Rhodian artists, by whose hands
This miracle was wrought. Yet he beholds
Far nobler works who looks upon the ruins
Of temples in the Forum here in Rome.
If God should give me power in my old age
To build for Him a temple half as grand
As those were in their glory, I should count
My age more excellent than youth itself,
And all that I have hitherto accomplished
As only vanity.

VITTORIA.

I understand you.

Art is the gift of God, and must be used
Unto His glory. That in art is highest
Which aims at this. When St. Hilarion blessed
The horses of Italicus, they won
The race at Gaza, for his benediction
O'erpowered all magic; and the people shouted
That Christ had conquered Marnas. So that

art

Which bears the consecration and the seal Of holiness upon it will prevail

VITTORIA.

If not, it can be strengthened.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

I see no bar nor drawback to this building, And on our homeward way, if it shall please

you,

We may together view the site.

VITTORIA.

I thank you.

I did not venture to request so much.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Let us now go to the old walls you spake of, Vossignoria

VITTORIA.

What, again, Maestro?

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Pardon me, Messer Claudio, if once more
I use the ancient courtesies of speech.
I am too old to change.

IV.

CARDINAL IPPOLITO.

A richly furnished apartment in the Palace of CARDINAL IPPOLITO. Night.

JACOPO NARDI, an old man, alone.

NARDI.

I am bewildered. These Numidian slaves,
In strange attire; these endless antechambers;
This lighted hall, with all its golden splendors,
Pictures, and statues! Can this be the dwell-

ing

Of a disciple of that lowly Man

Who had not where to lay his head? These

statues

Are not of Saints; nor is this a Madonna,
This lovely face, that with such tender eyes
Looks down upon me from the painted canvas.
My heart begins to fail me. What can he
Who lives in boundless luxury at Rome
Care for the imperilled liberties of Florence,
Her people, her Republic? Ah, the rich
Feel not the pangs of banishment. All doors
Are open to them, and all hands extended.
The poor alone are outcasts; they who risked
All they possessed for liberty, and lost;
And wander through the world without a
friend,

Sick, comfortless, distressed, unknown, uncared for.

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Young as the young Astyanax into goblets As old as Priam.

NARDI.

Oh, your Eminence Knows best what you should wear.

IPPOLITO.

Dear Messer Nardi,
You are no stranger to me. I have read
Your excellent translation of the books
Of Titus Livius, the historian.

Of Rome, and model of all historians
That shall come after him. It does you honor;
But greater honor still the love you bear
To Florence, our dear country, and whose an-
nals

I hope your hand will write, in happier days.
Than we now see.

NARDI.

Your Eminence will pardon

The lateness of the hour.

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And worst of all his impious hand has broken
The Martinella, our great battle bell,
That, sounding through three centuries, has
led

The Florentines to victory, lest its voice
Should waken in their souls some memory
Of far-off times of glory.

NARDI.

What a change Ten little years have made! We all remember

Those better days, when Niccolà Capponi,

Of help is there from him. He has betrothed His daughter Margaret to this shameless Duke. What hope have we from such an Emperor?

IPPOLITO.

Baccio Valori and Philippo Strozzi,

Once the Duke's friends and intimates, are with us,

And Cardinals Salvati and Ridolfi.
We shall soon see, then, as Valori says,
Whether the Duke can best spare honest

men,

Or honest men the Duke.

NARDI.

We have determined To send ambassadors to Spain, and lay Our griefs before the Emperor, though I fear More than I hope.

IPPOLITO.

The Emperor is busy With this new war against the Algerines, And has no time to listen to complaints From our ambassadors; nor will I trust them, But go myself. All is in readiness For my departure, and to-morrow morning I shall go down to Itri, where I meet Dante da Castiglione and some others, Republicans and fugitives from Florence, And then take ship at Gaëta, and go To join the Emperor in his new crusade Against the Turk. I shall have time enough And opportunity to plead our cause.

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