Painted by hand of artist, dead or living,

With such divine perfection.

TITIAN.

I am grateful

For so much praise from you, who are a master; While mostly those who praise and those who

blame

Know nothing of the matter, so that mainly

Their censure sounds like praise, their praise like

censure.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Wonderful! wonderful! The charm of color
Fascinates me the more that in myself
The gift is wanting. I am not a painter.

Two nephews of the Cardinal Farnese

Have made me umpire in dispute between them
Which is the greater of the sister arts,
Painting or sculpture. Solve for me the doubt.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Sculpture and painting have a common goal,
And whosoever would attain to it,

Whichever path he take, will find that goal
Equally hard to reach.

GIORGIO.

No doubt, no doubt;

But

you

evade the question.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

When I stand

In presence of this picture, I concede
That painting has attained its uttermost ;
But in the presence of my sculptured figures
I feel that my conception soars beyond
All limit I have reached.

GIORGIO.

You still evade me.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Giorgio Vasari, I have often said

That I account that painting as the best

Which most resembles sculpture. Here before us
We have the proof. Behold these rounded limbs!
How from the canvas they detach themselves,
Till they deceive the eye, and one would say,
It is a statue with a screen behind it!

TITIAN.

Signori, pardon me; but all such questions
Seem to me idle.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Idle as the wind.

And now, Maestro, I will say once more
How admirable I esteem your work,
And leave you, without further interruption.

TITIAN.

Your friendly visit hath much honored me.

Farewell.

GIORGIO.

MICHAEL ANGELO to GIORGIO, going out. If the Venetian painters knew But half as much of drawing as of color,

They would indeed work miracles in art,
And the world see what it hath never seen.
January 14, 1874.]

VI.

PALAZZO CESARINI.

SCENE I. VITTORIA COLONNA, seated in an arm-chair: Julia Gonzaga, standing near her.

JULIA.

It grieves me that I find you still so weak

And suffering.

VITTORIA.

No, not suffering; only dying.

Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn;
We shudder for a moment, then awake

In the broad sunshine of the other life.

I am a shadow, merely, and these hands,

These cheeks, these eyes, these tresses that my hus band

Once thought so beautiful, and I was proud of
Because he thought them so, are faded quite, -
All beauty gone from them.

JULIA.

Ah, no, not that.

Paler you are, but not less beautiful.

VITTORIA, folding her hands.

O gentle spirit, unto the third circle

Of heaven among the blessed souls ascended,
Who living for the faith and dying for it,
Have gone to their reward, I do not mourn
For thee as being dead, but for myself
That I am still alive. A little longer

Have patience with me, and if I am wanting
To thy well-being as thou art to mine,
Have patience; I will come to thee ere long.

JULIA.

Do not give way to these foreboding thoughts.

VITTORIA.

Hand me the mirror. I would fain behold

What change comes o'er our features when we

die.

Thank you.

And now sit down beside me here.]

How glad I am that you have come to-day,

Above all other days, and at the hour

When most I need you.

JULIA.

Do you ever need me?

VITTORIA.

Always, and most of all to-day and now.
Do you remember, Julia, when we walked,
One afternoon, upon the castle terrace
At Ischia, on the day before you left me?

JULIA.

Well I remember; but it seems to me
Something unreal that has never been,
Something that I have read of in a book,
Or heard of some one else.

VITTORIA.

Ten years and more

Have passed since then; and many things have

happened

In those ten years, and many friends have died:
Marco Flaminio, whom we all admired

And loved as our Catullus; dear Valdesso,
The noble champion of free thought and speech:
And Cardinal Ippolito, your friend.

JULIA.

Oh, do not speak of him! His sudden death
O'ercomes me now, as it o'ercame me then.
Let me forget it; for my memory

Serves me too often as an unkind friend,
And I remember things I would forget,
While I forget the things I would remember.

VITTORIA.

Forgive me; I will speak of him no more.
The good Fra Bernardino has departed,
Has fled from Italy, and crossed the Alps,
Fearing Caraffa's wrath, because he taught
That He who made us all without our help
Could also save us without aid of ours.
Renée of France, the Duchess of Ferrara,
That Lily of the Loire, is bowed by winds
That blow from Rome; Olympia Morata

Banished from court because of this new doctrine.
Therefore be cautious. Keep your secret thought
Locked in your breast.

JULIA.

I will be very prudent.

But speak no more, I pray; it wearies you.

VITTORIA.

Yes, I am very weary. Read to me.

JULIA.

Most willingly. What shall I read ?

VITTORIA.

Petrarca's

Triumph of Death. The book lies on the table,

Beside the casket there.
The leaf turned down.

reading.

Read where you find

"T was there I left off