(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Children's Library | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us)
Upload
See other formats

Full text of "Book of words; a pageant of the Italian renaissance"



UC-NRLF 



B 3 3ME Dflh 



LIBRARY 



UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 



Gl FT OF 



C/iss 





OF THE ITALIAN 
RENAI S SANCE 




BOOK OF WORDS 




PRODUCED 

AT THE ART INSTITUTE 
CHICAGO, JANUARY 26 AND 27, J909 

UNDER THE AUSPICES OF 

THE ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY 

OF THE ART INSTITUTE 




COPYRIGHT 1909 

BY 

THE SOCIETY OF THE ANTIQUARIANS 

OF THE 

ART INSTITUTE 




ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY OF THE 
ART INSTITUTE 

OFFICERS 

President Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson. 

Vice-President Mrs. Henry Robbins. 

Secretary Mrs. Noble B. Judah. 

Treasurer Miss Nellie Carpenter. 

RECEPTION COMMITTEE 

Mesdames : 

Benjamin F. Ayer. 
Edward E. Ayer. 
Samuel E. Barrett. 
Henry Blair. 
Watson Blair. 
Isabelle F. Blackstone. 
Ralph Clarkson. 
Stanley Field. 
John J. Glessner. 
Charles L. Hutchinson. 
Harry Pratt Judson. 
Bryan Lathrop. 
Harold McCormick. 
Alexander F. Stevenson. 
Lorado Taft. 
Moses J. Wentworth. 



179798 



THE FOLLOWING ARE THE COMMITTEES 

FOR THE PAGEANT OF THE ITALIAN 

RENAISSANCE 

Author and Director ........... Thomas Wood Stevens. 

Assistant Director ............. Dudley C. Watson. 

Musical Director ............... Frank E. Barry. 

Executive Director ............. Ralph Holmes. 

Treasurer ..................... W. F. Tuttle. 

Historian ...................... Mary Van Home. 

Scenic Setting ................. Allen Philbrick. 

Publisher ...................... Ralph Fletcher Seymour 

Director of Costuming ......... Caroline D. Wade. 

Costume Executor ............. Julia O Brien. 

Property Manager ............. Harry L. Gage. 

Lighting ...................... Stacey Philbrick. 

Decorative Setting ............. Frederick C. Walton. 

( Martin Thon. 
Stage Trappings ............... J Timothy McCue. 

( John Pirard. 
Advisory Council .............. j W. M. R. French. 

( N. H. Carpenter. 
Seating Arrangements ......... \ Thomas E. Tallmadge. 

( Grace Williams. 
Publicity Manager ............. Richard F. Babcock. 

Allen Philbrick. 



Chicago Society of Artists 



Art Students League 



Anna Stacey. 
Pauline Palmer. 
Alfred Juergens. 
C. F. Browne. 
Ralph Clarkson. 
Lucy Hartrath. 
Edgar Cameron. 
Bessie P. Lacey. 
Edna Crampton. 





C. Bertram Hartman. 
Enoch Vognild. 

Palette and Chisel Club ......... \ * r * d Bertch. 

1 Wilson Irvine. 

Henry Thiede. 
Alumni Association of Decorative n ^ MacDona] 

Designers ................... J re ? e k C * Walton - 

1 Essie Myers. 

I Bessie Bennett. 



Men s Life Class Association . 

Evening School, Art Institute 
School of Decorative Design. 



Normal Department 



School of Architecture 

Ceramic Department, Art Insti 
tute . 



Atlan Club 

Robertson Players 



( Frank Dillon. 

j Chas. Mullen. 

Geo. Weisenberg. 

( Chas. Scheffler. 

j Antonin Sterba. 

( Johanna S. Alexander. 

j Florence Cohen. 

(.Lucille Comley. 

Grace Conard. 

Laura Van Pappelendam. 

Lillian Mathias. 

S. Jourdan. 

Esther Olmstead. 

Flora M. Shrader. 

Walter Shattuck. 

Evelyn Beachey. 
Mrs. A. Barothy. 
Mrs. Le Roy Steward, 
Mrs. E. S. Humphrey. 
Donald Robertson. 





DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

The Herald of the Pageant Donald Robertson. 

Giotto Jessie Arms. 

Cimabue Enoch Vognild. 

Margaritone Harry F. Winebrenner. 

Dante Dudley C. Watson. 

Beatrice Portinari Margaret Hittle. 

Piccarda Donati Gertrude Spaller. 

Signora Donati Clare Stadeker. 

Mosca Fred V. Sampson. 

Lambertuccio Charles Mullen. 

Oderigo Geo. Weisenberg. 

Sciatta , Oscar Yampolsky. 

Buondelmonte Frank Dillon. 

Petrarch Arthur Deering. 

Boccaccio Ralph Bradley. 

Fiametta Alice John. 

Burleigh Withers. 

Maurice Gunn. 

Marie Lockwood. 

Grace Bradshaw. 

The Group of the Decamerone J Harriett Keene. 
Prologue I Alma Hewes. 

Matie Akeley. \ 

Ethel Moore. 

Helen Goodrich. 
I Alice John. 

Fra Angelico Harry L. Gage. 

Fra Lippo Lippi Fred. J. Cowley. 

A Prior Howard R. Weld. 

Lurezia Buti Edith Emerson. 

A Nun lone Dovey. 

A Prioress Belle Kinney. 

Domenico De Veneziano Arthur Bowen. 

Andrea Dal Castagno Caroll Kelly. 



Leonardo Da Vinci Jane Heap. 

Verrochio Chas. Scheffler. 

A Bird Seller Harry Bailey. 

Lorenzo De Medici John Bowers. 

Giuliano De Medici Frank Hardin. 

Poliziano Vida Sutton. 

Botticelli William Owen. 

Simonetta Vespucci Anna Titus. 

Savonaralo Rockaway. 

Ghirlandajo Margraff. 

Michael Angelo, as a youth Katherine Maxey. 

Piero Di Cosimo Ralph Holmes. 

Andrea Del Sarto as a youth Irma Kohn. 

A Bride Lucille Comley. 

A Groom C. A. Reid. 

The Bride s Father J. Manne. 

The Groom s Father John P. Jackson. 

The Bride s Mother Florence Cohen. 

Lorenzo Di Credi C. Bertram Hartman. 

Bernardetto De Medici Ralph Pearson. 

A Dancer Virginia Brooks. 

Rafael Ronald Hargrave. 

Cellini Chas. Mulligan. 

Michael Angelo Albert Sterner. 

Pope Julius Richard F. Babcock. 

Titian Oliver Dennett Grover. 

Tintoretto Chas. Francis Browne. 

Paolo Veronese as a youth Allen Philbrick. 

Don Diego de Mendoza Ralph Clarkson. 

Duke of Mantua Chas. Boutwood. 

Delia Casa Geo. Schultz. 

Pietro Aretino Adam Emery Albright. 

Giovanni Verdezotti F. De Forrest Schook. 

Vittoria Colonna Miss Marion Redlich. 

Cardinal Farnese Alfred Juergens. 

Doge of Venice John F. Stacey. 

Vasari Chester Brown. 

Bramante R. H. Salisbury. 

A Girl Friend of the Bride Mrs. Ralph Holmes. 

Giovanni Tournabuoni Ralph Harris. 

Jacopo L Indaco Jo Gibson Martin. 

Monica Laura H. Watson. 

Cosa Claire Sutherland. 

A Prioress Miss Elsie Earle. 

A Nun Kathleen Connery. 




A PAGEANT OF THE RENAISSANCE 

THE ARGUMENT 

HE HERALD ENTERS; HE AN 
NOUNCES THE TIME AND THE 
SCENE FLORENCE, IN THE LATE 
THIRTEENTH CENTURY; SPEAKS 
OF THE BIRTH OF FLORENCE, 
AND OF HER GLORY; ANNOUNCES 
THE TRIUMPH OF CIMABUE S MA 
DONNA; AND FORETELLS THE 
TRAGEDY OF BUONDELMONTE S 
DEATH. . 

The procession of Cimabue s Madonna enters, bearing the 
picture aloft amid great rejoicing. Cimabue, clad in white fes- 




tal garments, walks with King Charles of Anjou, and is fol 
lowed by the Priors of Florence, among them Dante, and by 
the artists Memmi and Taddeo Gaddi. The Herald watches 
the passing of the procession into the church. 

Giotto enters, attired as a shepherd, and carrying a green 
staff. He inquires for Cimabue, and the Herald tells him the 
master is coming; the Herald then goes on into the church. 
Cimabue comes out, wondering at his triumph ; he meets Giot 
to and welcomes him into his service. Margaritone appears as 
an old man; he laments the passing of the Byzantine school, 
and predicts that painting shall be a curse to Florence; which 
Cimabue disputes, foretelling the greatness of Giotto s future 
fame. 

Dante enters, meets Giotto, and speaks with him and Cim 
abue; the three then follow Beatrice Portinari into the church. 

Men of the Uberti and Amedei enter Mosca the One- 
Eyed, Sciatta, Lambertuccio, Oderigo, and others; they con 
ceal themselves in ambush to wait for Buondelmonte. Pic- 
carda Donati and her mother also await Buondelmonte on the 
steps. He comes, is attacked and slain, and a battle between 
the Uberti and the Donati ensues. Night falls while Piccarda 
is weeping for the slain Buondelmonte, as the tumult is quelled 
by Dante. 

The lights come on, and the place is empty; the Herald 
again speaks, telling of the passing of sixty years, of the great 
plague that has fallen upon the city, and of the coming of Boc 
caccio and Petrarch. 

The procession of the Brothers of the Misericordia comes 
out of the church; at their passing Petrarch and Boccaccio 
speak together, and with Fiametta. With the Ten of the De- 
camerone, Boccaccio goes out to Fiesole, leaving Petrarch to 
take his way to Avignon. The scene changes to Fiesole, and 
the Ten dance. 

The Herald enters, and speaks of the New Learning, of 
the wars that have rent Italy in the intervening century, and 
of the sculptors, Donatello, Brunelleschi, and Ghiberti, who 
have adorned Florence. 

Fra Angelico enters with Fra Filippo Lippi, Lippi speak 
ing of the art of Massaccio, Angelico of his own illuminations. 
An ecclesiastical procession enters, bringing Angelico s ap 
pointment as archbishop of Florence; he refers the matter to 
his prior, refusing the appointment. Lippi goes off wondering 
at the simplicity of the man. The Herald appears, and the 
scene changes back to Florence. 

10 



The curtain withdrawn discloses Lippi painting for the 
nuns, the tableau of the picture before him; night closes in, 
and Lippi persuades the novice, Lucrezia, who was posing for 
the madonna, to run off with him ; the prioress, coming to look 
for her, finds the picture but no model. 

Enter Bernardetto de Medici and Andrea dal Castagno. 
The secret of Antonello de Messina. The murder of Domeni- 
co; the guard comes and finds Andrea wailing over his dead 
friend. 

The day gradually comes up, and the scene discloses a 
street in Florence on a market day. Lionardo da Vinci enters, 
followed by Verrochio, who vows he will paint no more since 
he has seen Lionardo s angels. Lorenzo the Magnificent crosses 
the stage with his train, setting out for Fiesole. 

The scene again changes to Fiesole, Lorenzo and Giuliano 
holding a court of love. Botticelli and Simonetta. 

The Herald. Florence again. Savonarola enters, fol 
lowed by Botticelli and others ; he inveighs against the Medici. 
Lorenzo appears, saying he is near to death, and demanding 
that Savonarola come to give him absolution. The Fra makes 
his three conditions. The procession of young men, and the 
burning of the Vanities. 

A scene in the shop of Ghirlandajo, the Garland Maker. 
A wedding party comes in, ordering the various equipment 
which the artist can provide ; and being served by Michael An- 
gelo as a boy; also by Andrea del Sarto and the pupils of 
Piero de Cosimo ; the haggling over the gifts ; the bridal party 
goes out, and a messenger comes in for Michael Angelo calling 
him to the house of the Medici; his parting with Ghirlandajo. 

The Herald speaks of the discovery of America, of the 
death of Lorenzo and the like. 

The Herald comes on, and his speaking is followed by a 
dance which symbolizes the Renaissance. After this the scene 
changes to Rome. 

Then Michael Angelo, Pope Julius, Rafael, Bramante, and 
others appear, the Pope visiting Michael Angelo. 

After this, a pageant of Venice in its glory ; Titian, about 
to set out for Rome, receives the farewells of his townsfolk, 
and greetings from the Emperor, Francis the First, and other 
great ones of earth. 

Titian and Michael Angelo the two old men, about whom 

11 



the art of the world goes down. And at the last the supreme 
wisdom of Buonarroti. 

NOTE The scenes of the pageant represent, in a com 
posite fashion, Florence, Fiesole, Rome and Venice ; but as the 
action may be imagined to take place in various parts of each 
city, it has been thought proper to omit all mention of the spe 
cial place of each scene. Thus, the arch represents a square 
in Florence, and all the Florentine incidents take place in the 
same setting. For a similar convenience, and to avoid a mul 
tiplicity of separate scenes, episodes are sometimes conven 
tionally represented as happening in one day, when their actual 
occurrence may have covered a considerable period. The main 
chronology of the pageant is strictly historical. 

Many of the incidents are, of course, purely imaginary, be 
ing based on traditional rather than historical authority. For 
the bulk of the work, Vasari s Lives will furnish the material; 
some of the chronicle histories have also been drawn upon, the 
Buondelmonte episode being taken from Machiavelli. Sym- 
ond s history of the period has, of course, been invaluable ; and 
Cellini s Autobiography has been a suggestive aid in some of 
the lighter scenes. The episode of Botticelli and Simonetta is 
founded upon Maurice Hewlett s delightful story, "Quattro- 
centisteria" ; and the scene before Ghirlandajo s Shop was sug 
gested by the Blashfields intimate essay, "The Florentine Ar 
tist." Numerous other works have been consulted, but the 
effort has been to make the pageant eloquent of the spirit and 
tradition of the Renaissance, rather than faithful to the letter 
of the more modern and less picturesque historians. 



12 



A PAGEANT OF THE 

ITALIAN 

RENAISSANCE 




A PAGEANT OF THE 
ITALIAN RENAISSANCE 



j^^^SET 7Z<t**i*&Si 




SCENE I 
THE HERALD OF THE PAGEANT 




IME, WHO DOTH BIND MEN WITH 
HIS CHAIN OF YEARS, 
FATE, WHO DOTH MAKE ALL 
LIFE TO BLOOM AND CLOSE, 
DEATH, WHO DOTH REAP FOR 
TIME AND FATE: THESE THREE 
WAGE WAR AGAINST THE STAR 
RY CROWN OF SONG, 
AND STAND IN DREADED 



leaguer, with drawn swords, 

Before the garden where the Rose of Art, 

Like a blown flame, hath being and delight. 



But here, behold, a miracle; Time sleeps; 

Fate nods; and Death hath had his will. To-night, 

The centuries, like pages of a book, 

Turn backward, and the Rose of Art doth breathe, 

With a new perfume, springtides long forgot. 

Behold, the world awakes again from sleep, 

And the long darkness of the middle age 

Doth break and flee before the coming dawn. 

Here tread we now the paths that Dante knew 

In Florence ; the Novella Church is this, 

And these six hundred years of war and song, 

Six hundred years of glory and of shame, 

Are all to be as they had never been, 

All magically blotted out; and here 

We see as in a darkened glass the town 

The Lily Town of Florence in the spring. 

Behold, Our City ! From Imperial Rome 

And proud Fiesole she takes descent, 

And strife was in her blood ere she was born; 

Strife, and the seed of an immortal flower 

Blown here amid the quickening mists of war, 

The flower of art that withers not nor fades. 

And ere the sun of this one day go down 

The first unfading petal shall unfold, 

And the first messenger from the high hills 

Shall come to seek the garden of delight. 

[Trumpets heard far off, blowing 

joyously. 

The trumpets sound. The royal banners wave; 
The guest of Florence walks in festival. 
And from his house beyond the walls they bring 
Our Cimabue s first Madonna home. 

[The trumpets nearer. 
The city cries aloud for solemn joy, 
Along the streets the blessed folk do kneel, 
And weep with wonder as the picture passes. 
But my foreseeing heart doth leap with dread, 
For this day yet another burden hath, 
And deadly feuds are folded in its hours, 
For this day Buondelmonte to his bride 
Comes home, and by the dark Siena gate 
Hatred in scarlet mask doth wait for him. 
Ah, Florence ! Beauty luring Hope to death ! 
City of Lilies ! Art, and Love and Song 



Giotto, Buondelmonte, Dante: Time 

Before these three shall stay his pitiless hand, 

[The trumpets sound nearer, and the 
procession enters, passing into the 
church, Cimabue walking with 
Charles of Anjou. The Herald 
keeps his place beside the entrance. 
Following the procession comes 
Giotto attired as a shepherd boy, 
bearing a green staff. 

GIOTTO 

I seek for Cimabue. 

HERALD 
Lad, thy name. 

GIOTTO 

Giotto Bondone. Is the master there? 
HERALD (Passing into the church) 

He comes. 

[Enter Cimabue, from the church. 
Giotto starts at the sight of him, 
not having recognized the traveler 
of the day before as the honored 
figure of the procession. 

CIMABUE 

[Speaking as one in vision. 
How like a conqueror home from war 
I walk to-day; kings bear me company; 
I hear men speak ; I see the festival, 
But as one dreaming. What is this I do, 
That kings should condescend, the people praise? 
I have but wrought as best I knew, and men, 
Seeing I strive to make Our Lady live 
Pardon the wrong I do Her holy face, 
And praise me for it. But the vision flies. 

GIOTTO 

[Kneeling beside him. 

Forgive me, master. I have come. Forgive. 
I did not know, up there along the hills, 
That thou wert lord of Florence. 

CIMABUE 

I am not lord of Florence. (Sees Giotto.) Ha, the lad 
I found among his flocks. A welcome, boy. 

1C 



GIOTTO 

My father bade me come. He gives me to thee. 

CIMABUE 
Gives thee? 

GIOTTO 
Master, to mould as thou dost choose. 

CIMABUE 

I take thee, lad, and by Our Lady s help, 
And by the favor of Saint Luke, I ll strive 
That thou shalt be a master in thy time. 

[Enter Margaritone, as an old man, 

MARGARITONE 

Ah, Cimabue, what new thing is this? 
The people clamour of a miracle, 
And say that thou hast painted it. 

CIMABUE 

No miracle, my master, but a thing 
I know too well to praise. Yet it is new. 

MARGARITONE 

I ask no more. The light from mine old eyes 

Fails fast, and I shall soon be dark ; and yet 

Too well I see the strange new thing ye do, 

The tinseled trifles made to stand instead 

Of all the rich mosaics we have wrought, 

Faithfully, piece by piece, full count, 

And circling golden round the heads of saints, 

Eternal from the great Byzantine source, 

Held in traditions that Saint Luke himself 

Framed while the Caesars still were throned in Rome. 

And this new thing ye do this painted thing, 

Shall prove a curse to Florence, and to Art 

A final doom and black forgetfulness. 

CIMABUE 

Margaritone, when I came to thee, 
I took thy words, and humbly honored them; 
Thou knowest I am humble still in heart. 
But this new, wondrous thing shall not drag down 
The high tradition of our holy Saint, 
But raise it to a height we dare not dream. 

17 



Thy day is past. Mine passes. But one comes 
Who shall be greater than we twain have been. 
A dawn-fire burns among us. 

[Margaritone shrinks away from him. 

[Dante enters from the church. 

GIOTTO [Seeing Dante. 
What man is that? 

CIMABUE 
Dante Alighieri. What of him? 

GIOTTO 

I never saw before a face so sad 
Master, when I have learned thine art, may I 
Draw him? 

CIMABUE 
If so he please to sit for thee. 

GIOTTO 
I shall not need him then. I ll not forget. 

DANTE 

I wonder, Cimabue, while the town 
Throngs to thy picture, thou shouldst walk aside, 
And while the king of Anjou and his peers 
Applaud thee, thou shouldst seek a shepherd lad 
And here hold converse in the street. Men say 
This quarter shall be named anew for thee 
Borgo Allegri Street of Joy. 

CIMABUE 
Signore, 

This lad is no mere shepherd. He is one 
Who shall surpass me, when his art is ripe. 
Giotto, Signore Dante shall be friend to thee. 

DANTE 
I can deny thee nothing. 

GIOTTO 

[Eagerly, 

Tell men then, Signore, 

What brings the mighty sorrow to thy face, 
And makes it seem like thunder, and deep grief, 
And winds that weep along the hills at night. 
I pardon me, Signore I presume 

18 



DANTE 
Is it so plainly writ, then, in my look? 

GIOTTO 

I have no skill in reading, sir. But thou 

Dost somehow move me strangely. I am young 

And had not known such things; a lamb that s lost, 

And little sorrows, such as shepherds know, 

And songs that make one laugh and weep at once 

These only have I known. But thou dost weep 

Down in thy soul, as for a world aflame. 

DANTE 

And what if that be so? There is a world 
Boy, let it pass. I think on Florence. Here 
Is cause enough for grief. And on our world- 
Can I find joy in this? But most of all 
On the strange fate of my awakened soul 
That may not sleep again ; and on the love 
That did arouse me fill me with great light 
Dim songs and echoes of a voice divine, 
And visions and desires more chaste than tears, 
And the new life 

[He pauses, as Beatrice Portinari en 
ters; she passes on into the church, 
looking straight before her. Dante 
looks after her; Giotto goes over to 
him and touches his hand, gently, 
and Dante grasps the boy s hand 
eagerly. Together, following Cima- 
bue, they also pass into the church, 
Dante hesitating, and Giotto leading 
him on. 

[As they go off, men of the Uberti 
enter, armed, and conceal themselves 
behind the statue pedestal and along 
the front of the church. Then Pic- 
carda Donati enters, with her moth 
er, and they go up the church steps, 
loitering. 

PICCARDA 

Here, mother, pause a while. 
Here Buondelmonte said that he would come. 

19 



SIGNORA DONATI 

Aye, he will come, for he hath looked on thee. 
What matter if the child of the Uberti weep, 
She is not fair as thou. And he will come, 
For Buondelmonte, if I read him right, 
Is one to love, and win, and have his way. 

[Lights go down; sunset glow. 

PICCARDA 

And yet my mother, there s a fear that stirs 
Deeper than all the marvel of my joy. 
He comes. But as we passed along, I saw 
Dark men of the Uberti, Amedei, 
And such as hate my lord and all his house. 
Why gather they? And last night as I gazed 
Out toward Siena, praying for my lord, 
A star fell red from Heaven. Mother, I fear. 

SIGNORA DONATI 
A maid s fear. Be thou still. He comes. 

[Even as she speaks, Buondelmonte 
draws near. He is followed by two 
servants. As the servants pass the 
statue, men of the Uberti follow, 
touch them on the shoulder, and as 
they turn, stab them; one of the 
servants falls; the other, wounded, 
breaks away, crying, "Buondelmonte 
thy foes." Then he too i s cut 
down. Buondelmonte turns on the 
step, catching Piccarda in his arms. 
The Uberti move forward, deliber 
ately, to surround him. As they draw 
nearer, Piccarda returns to her moth 
er, and Buondelmonte draws his 
sword, shouting, "Buondelmonti, 
your swords !" 

[Even as he speaks the Uberti close 
in. He resists, but falls, as the Buon 
delmonti troop out of the church. 
The fight rages around the church 
door ; Buondelmonte struggles to his 
feet, and fights his way out, at the 
head of his men, dying at the foot 



20 



of the statue. There is a pause. Pic- 
carda darts out from the doorway, 
and throws herself down by the 
body. The lights go down; Dante 
appears in the doorway, a torch in 
his hand, commanding peace. All 
the lights go out, except Dante s 
torch; for a moment Piccarda is 
heard, sobbing. Then the music 
takes up a solemn strain. The light 
appears again, and the stage is clear, 
save for the Herald, who advances 
and speaks. 





SCENE II 
THE HERALD 

RIEF IS THE SPAN OF GLORY AND 
OF LIFE, 

AND THE SWIFT YEARS, LIKE 
SWALLOWS IN THE AUTUMN, 
TAKE FLIGHT AND PASS WITH 
RUSHING OF KEEN WINGS. 
THE NIGHT THAT FELL ON 
BUONDELMONTE S DOOM 
SYMBOLS THE PASSING OF 
THREE SCORE OF YEARS, 

And this returning day in Florence brings 

The summer of deep woe, of the great plague. 

Giotto and Dante simple and august 

These mighty twain have passed beyond the tomb, 

And Italy hath mourned them; but the grief 

For their exalted souls grows pale, and Death 

Hooded and grey, with pestilential step 

Doth walk our streets, and man and maid and child 

He touches fatefully with unseen hands, 

And at the touch they die. This mortal plague 

Hath made light-hearted Florence like a grave, 

And filled our houses where the music swelled 

With sorrow and with lamentation. 

The Brothers of the Misericordia 

These only dare to lift the stricken dead 

And give them back to earth disconsolate. 

The dirge of their dark mercy draweth near ; 

And after them doth come Boccaccio ; 

For here he meets the daughter of a king, 

Sicilian Fiametta, bloom of love. 

And wise Petrarca, come from Avignon 



With an immortal passion in his soul 

That day by day drips down in golden song. 

The picture changes, and the morning wind 

Blows on the hill top of Fiesole. 

[A dirge is heard, and the Brothers 
of the Misericordia appear in pro 
cession, coming out of the church. 
Petrarch and Boccaccio enter as the 
procession passes. 

PETRARCH 

What men are these? The city swoons with death, 
And everywhere I meet these masks at work. 

BOCCACCIO 

They are the few who dare to love mankind, 

The few who serve the desperate need of Florence. 

And some of these in masks are princes ; some 

Are men of little worth. This holy toil 

They share. We call them Misericordia. 

PETRARCH 
Great hearts are these, in direful occupation. 

[As he speaks, the last of the proces 
sion pass off. 

BOCCACCIO 

I, too, have served my turn. But here I wait 
For certain ladies, merry friends of mine, 
And others gentlemen of Florence ; we 
Having well served the city and gone free 
Plan to fare forth up to Fiesole, 
And there in entertainment pass some days. 
Wilt thou not come, my Petrarch? 

[Enter, Fiametta, as he speaks. 

FIAMETTA 
Nay, not so cold 

Messer Francesco surely goes with us. 
How shall we learn, we folk of baser strain, 
The ancient high philosophy he sings? 
What shall we know of Vergil, or of Troy, 
Or of Queen Helen and Odysseus, 
And how she gave him a great clew of silk 
To guide him to the monster; and how Greece 
In the Republic s time, kept Caesar out? 
What shall we learn, if Messer Petrarch sulk, 

23 



Like the great Hector, in his tent at home? 
I warn thee, sir, our tales will all be told 
About light matters, love, and pleasantries, 
And all the telling will not mend one jot 
The lamentable ignorance of the world. 
But if thou comest, we shall all grow wise. 

PETRARCH 

Wiser and sadder, lady. For I, too, 
Have thought and sung on love, but not so light 
As thou dost hold it. 

FIAMETTA 
Lightly do I then 
Hold love that is the sum of my desire. 

PETRARCH 

Lightly, for thou dost touch thy bliss. 

BOCCACCIO 

Petrarch, 

Thou art a prayer, and not a man at all, 
Lifting thy love unto a cold white star 
While we do walk in lanes where roses lean 
And life s as warm and free and musical 
As was the old Corinthian ecstacy. 
Horace, and Vergil, and the Greeks we love- 
Have they not sung of beauty and delight? 

PETRARCH 

Aye, sung and so have I, Boccaccio. 

[Looking at the locket he wears. 

FIAMETTA 
What hast thou there? 

PETRARCH 
A picture that Simone 
In Avignon hath painted. 

FIAMETTA 
Let me look. 

PETRARCH 

[Concealing the locket as she looks 

at it. 
Forgive me, lady this is not for laughter. 

FIAMETTA 
A face I saw a lady with deep eyes. 

24 



PETRARCH 

Silence. I will not have thee mock at it. 

FIAMETTA 

I mock at love ! Nay, nor at learning neither, 
Boccacce hath such joy in ancient books. 
That thou dost love a maid in Avignon 
Bringeth thee nearer to my wayward heart 
Than all the epics, Greek and Latin script 
Thou hast recovered from the night of time. 

PETRARCH 
A lady Princess back in Avignon. 

FIAMETTA 
A lady? 

BOCCACCIO 
Fiametta, press him not. 
He hath no cold words for this inward fire. 

FIAMETTA 
And hath he made no songs for her? 

BOCCACCIO 
Such songs 

As only once in the deep heart of man 
Love and his sorrow hath made audible. 

FIAMETTA 

Signore, I ll not be denied. If this 
Be some great deathless love that breathes in song 
Like that Achilles bore Hyppolyta, 
Or Jason burned for Ariadne with 
(Thou seest, Boccacce, my learning grows apace,) 
I ll have thee sing, and on the wings of it, 
We all shall drift up to Fiesole. 

[A song is heard. 
What song is that? 

BOCCACCIO 

Tis Petrarch s song, for her 
In Avignon. 

[A girl enters, singing. 

[Petrarch sings. The others of the 
Ten come out and group themselves 
around Boccaccio and Fiametta. As 
the song closes, they all rise and 
pass off stage, leaving Petrarch, and 
singing the refrain of his song. Fi- 

25 



ametta, going last, runs back to 
Petrarch, gives him a flower from 
her hair, and follows the rest. 

PETRARCH S SONG. 

A glove from thy white hand, O queen, 

I found, and that was destiny. 
A glove from thy white hand, O queen, 

I stole, and by the flowery lea 
I bore my prize, and in my heart 

The perfume of it breathed a flame 
And lo ! I sang, until mine art 

Aroused my soul unto my shame. 

The glove from thy white hand, my fair 

I could not keep, I could not give ; 
The glove from thy white hand, my fair 

I sent it back, and now I live 
In honour shorn of all delight. 

And thoughts of thee, and of the glove 
They bring me through the lonely night 

These fiery songs of grief and love. 

The glove from thy white hand, O queen, 

It tangled in my heart strings there ; 
The glove from thy white hand, O queen, 

I gave thee back, and now I dare 
To face the days that follow me, 

But though my songs with praises glow, 
The songs I make can never be 

A solace to this golden woe. 

[The scene changes to Fiesole, and 
the Ten dance. 




INTERMISSION 
SCENE III 

[Enter the Herald 
THE HERALD 




AN- 



But 
And 



HE MIGHTY POETS OF THE 
TIQUE WORLD, 

THE SAGES AND THE ORATORS, 
ALL WERE FORGOT, 
AND ONLY THINGS OF HOLY 
FAME, AND DEEDS 
THRICE LETTERED IN TRADI 
TIONS OF THE CHURCH, 
CAME TO US FROM THAT 
BRIGHT ANTIQUITY. 

Petrarch caught some faintly echoed strain, 

made it live again in scholar s hearts; 



Boccaccio, wise amid his amorous mirth, 

Proclaimed the grace of Grecian song, and spoke, 

When he so willed, with high Latinity. 

And these two have aroused an endless train 

Of thirsty souls that drink the classic age. 

But Art, who woke with Cimabue, and who smiled 

For a brief season upon Giotto s fame 

Art sleeps again. And all through Italy 

The thunder and swift lightning of the wars 

Have never ceased. And so a hundred years 

Pass by, and men who in the Holy Land 

Fought out the perils of the last Crusade, 

Homeward returning, found no great new thing 

Save as the perfume of Augustan times 

Hath breathed into the books of Italy, 

And the old learning slowly comes to light ; 

And that the sculptors, Donatello s friends, 

Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, Delia Robbia, 

Have wrought, in Florence, beauty out of stone. 

But here, in still Fiesole, the seasons creep 

Slowly around the years, and no change comes. 

And one, a holy man, Angelico, 

Here prayerfully doth emulate Saint Luke, 

And when he paints a crucifix, he weeps, 

And when a saint doth smile beneath his hand, 

A rapture fills him, and immediate 

From God he holds the blessed stroke. 

Now with this worthy friar another comes, 

Fra Lippo Lippi, careless of his soul, 

And filled with all the blithe desires of earth. 

And him, since he is bent on some diverting deed, 

We ll follow, and it please you, sirs, to Florence. 

[Exit the Herald. 

[Enter, Fra Angelico, carrying a 

book, and Fra Lippo Lippi, carrying 

a branch of flowers. 

ANGELICO 

Say what thou wilt, I can not alter it ; 
The thing once done, is done by Heaven s will, 
And what are we to change it? 

LIPPI 
Ah, but how 
Are we to know what Heaven s will may be? 

28 



ANGELICO 

I would not paint a Savior but with prayer, 
And then I know it must be done aright. 

LIPPI 

I m not so sure ; Massaccio, now, doth paint, 
Youth that he is, more wondrously than thou. 
And yet he never prays before he works. 

ANGELICO 

Brother, thine are perilous words. This youth 
May be inspired by some special saint. 
Since, as thou sayest, he excels us all. 

LIPPI 
Inspired by good wine and women more. 

ANGELICO 

Now doth some evil spirit speak in thee. 
And not the artist, but the world s desire 
Hath utterance. If this mine art be good, 
It must be so because the Holy Church 
In its high purpose under God, hath use 
And warrant for its being. For myself, 
I am as dust along the trodden way ; 
My pictures, brother, wrought with patient prayer, 
Must testify the will of Heaven shown 
Through me. I serve the Church, and am content. 

LIPPI 

I serve it also, when the pay is good. 

But never have I painted half so ill 

As after absolution, when my soul 

Is clear of sin. What brothers follow us? 

[Enter the Prior, with a procession 
of people and monks. 

THE PRIOR 

Angelico, we bring thee joyful word 

Of thy preferment, from His Holiness. 

Thou are to-day in Florence, dubbed Archbishop. 

ANGELICO 
I, an Archbishop? 

THE PRIOR 
So the Pope s decree 
But now delivered unto us, commands. 



He hears but good repute of all thy works, 
That thou art studious and devout, and livst 
According to our order s rigid law. 
And so, he suits the honor to thy worth. 

ANGELICO 

Father, thou knowest I am weak and frail ; 
In this high office I should be as wax 
To every undeserver. Go thou, father, 
And pray the Pope to choose a better man. 

THE PRIOR 

I know thee, Fra Giovanni, to the heart. 
He could not find a better. 

ANGELICO 
I am filled 

With fears. I have a hand to paint, but not 
To govern. 

THE PRIOR 
Dost thou doubt the Pope, 
And his strong wisdom in electing thee? 

ANGELICO 
I know not what to say. 

LIPPI 

I ll tell thee, then. 

Take thou this office, and its benefice, 
And thy lean body shall grow fat ; thy soul 
Shall turn to things more human. For thine art 
What need of that, so thou dost serve the Church? 
And better painters shall rejoice in thee 
When thou dost buy their pictures. Take the place, 
And loose a little money to the craft. 

ANGELICO 

I thank thee, brother, for this heedless word. 
Father, I now do know the will of Heaven. 
I can not take the place. In humbleness 
I pray that it be given to a man 
More worthy, and more apt in government. 

LIPPI 

The doddering fool doth babble. Age and fast 
Have broken him, and he s no more a man. 
Give me the place, since good men scorn it so, 
And I will try the might of mirth and wine 

30 




To bring the folk of Florence into Heaven. 

[The Prior makes a gesture of dis 
may, and all the monks move away 
from him. 

You will not? Fare ye well. I scarcely hoped 

My merit could be recognized so young. 

[Fra Lippi runs off right; the pro 
cession goes off, left; the Prior with 
Fra Angelico. 




SCENE IV 

The scene changes back to Florence, 
and Fra Lippo Lippi is seen paint 
ing a picture for the nuns; the pic 
ture is seen in tableau, Lucrezia 
Buti posing as the Virgin and the 
Prioress with other nuns kneeling in 
adoration. The Prioress and the 
other nuns grow restless, while Lip- 
pi makes eyes at Lucrezia. 



THE PRIORESS 

Fra Lippo, does thy precious panel carry 
All of the blue I bought for thee, and all 
The gold? 

LIPPI 

Not yet, mother. 

PRIORESS 
It must all be there. 

LIPPI 
I doubt not thcu wilt seek it sharply out. 

PRIORESS 

We must be watchful over what we own, 
Since we are poor, and gold and blue expensive. 

LIPPI 

I know not where to put it, mother. Still 
Since thou desirest, it shall all appear. 

PRIORESS 

My weariness, Fra Lippo, overcomes me. 
May I rest now. 

32 



LIPPI 

[Without looking at her. 
Move, and the picture fails. 

PRIORESS 

I can endure this task no longer, Lippo. 
LIPPI 

Yet thou art often on thy knees for days 

And saintly vigils thou dost keep, and fasts ; 

Ah, thou shouldst mortify the ravening flesh, 

Mother, and live a hard and holy life. 

[Lucrezia moves uneasily. 

But if thy fasting makes thy body faint, 

I would not have thee suffer. Rest thou, mother. 

[The tableau is broken up, the nuns 
resting from their pose. Lucrezia 
moves as if to rise. 

Nay, sit thou still. I must see more of thee. 

[The vesper bells ring, and the nuns 
go in, except the Prioress, and one 
other. Lucrezia keeps her place. 

PRIORESS 

Fra Lippo, this thy task is slowly done. 

How many hours must we so serve thee, man? 

LIPPI 

Art, blessed mother, hath no birth nor end, 
But grows in grace as patience counsels it. 
For five and fifty scudi I have pledged 
This panel shall be done. It is so little 

PRIORESS 

And I to find the ultramarine, remember, 
And all the gold thereon. 

LIPPI 

True, true. 

Thou hast a generous heart. I had forgot. 
But I, a poor unworthy painter man, 
I long to make this panel marvelous, 
And so atone for some few casual sins 
I may have left behind me. For Our Lady 
Will surely hold that my delinquent life 
Is better spent, if She be glorified. 
So, mother, all the toil thou dost endure 

33 



Is registered in favor of my soul. 
For thee, a finer panel I admit that, too. 
But when thy body aches to bear the strain 
Of this, thine attitude of reverence, 
Remember how thou dost atone for me 
And this is surely Christian work, and sweet. 

PRIORESS 

How long, I asked thee, must I thus atone? 

[Lippi looks at Lucrezia, who leans 
toward him, smiling. 

LIPPI 

I think I shall not need thee any more. 

PRIORESS 
For this short quittance, thanks. Come with me, child. 

LUCREZIA 
The painter bade me sit a little while. 

PRIORESS 
I must be gone. Come in before the dusk. 

[The Prioress motions to the nun to 
stay, and goes out. 

LIPPI 

I need a sleeping angel to put here. 

A sleeping angel with a face like thine, 

So peaceful, and so eloquent of Heaven. 

[He poses the nun in a comfortable 
position, leaning against the throne; 
hums a refrain for a moment, moves 
about his canvas, and goes over to 
Lucrezia. He leans over her chair 
to satisfy himself that the nun is 
asleep, and pauses, looking down 
into Lucrezia s face. 

How shall mere paint and skill, madonna, breathe 

Into a picture this, thy loveliness. 

A music floating through some golden cloud, 

A dream of starry night-skies in the sea, 

And incantations deeper than the wells 

Of sleep enchant me; but these pallid nuns 

Smother thy witchery with their dross of death. 

Madonna, thou must come with me. My love 

Shall burn away their ashen durances, 

And give thee wings to soar unto delight. 

31 



LUCREZIA 

These are no words for thee a holy man. 
LIPPI 

To thee they are the words that must be said, 
Inevitable words from me to thee, 
Words that the constellations had decreed 
Before we two had birth into the world. 

LUCREZIA 

But thou dost wear this habit, and thy vows 
Do they not bind thee close? were they not ta en 
With vigils and with solemn meditation? 

LIPPI 

With meditation, surely. I was eight years old 
When first the brothers took me. What had I 
To meditate upon. When I renounced the world 
I did not dream that there were such as thou. 

LUCREZIA 

For me, too, there s a wrong in this. Name it 
Howe er thou wilt. 

LIPPI 

A sin? But man is made 
For sin, and for repentance. As for thee 
There is no sin for thee thou art not bound. 

LUCREZIA 
But thou art bound. 

LIPPI 

Bound, yea but we who serve 
Earn absolution. 

LUCREZIA 
Yet I cannot go. 

LIPPI 
Thou lovest me? 

LUCREZIA 
As I do live, I love thee. 

LIPPI 
Then come. 

LUCREZIA 

Thy habit frightens me. 

[He takes off his gown, and appears 
in the dress of a young Florentine 

35 



gentleman; he drops the gown over 
the sleeping nun, and Lucrezia 
rushes into his arms. They go out. 
The Prioress enters, with a candle, 
finds the picture, and arouses the 
nun, who crawls out from under the 
monk s gown. The screams of the 
Prioress arouse the nuns, who come 
trooping out of the door. They take 
in the picture and the chair, clear 
ing the stage. 

THE PRIORESS 
A snake 

Hath harbored here among us. Get within. 
If Holy Church doth rule in Florence, I 
Will have her back. This by our Lady s girdle 
I vow. 

THE NUN 

I doubt it, mother. They are both 
Filled with deceit, and with the craft of sin. 
Better to go to bed, and wait till morning. 

PRIORESS 

Doormouse ! I ll penance thee anon. Begone. 

[The Prioress goes off, attended by 
two of the nuns. The others retire 
through the door. 




SCENE V 

[Night; Bernardetto de Medici and 
Andrea dal Castagno enter. 

BERNARDETTO 

Andrea, what strange craft of color s this 
Thou and Domenico dost paint withal? 
Men tell me everywhere how magical 
The tints do gleam, and flesh doth seem to live 
In these new frescoes in the Nuovo Church. 

ANDREA 

A craft, Ser Bernardetto, learned so hard 
That we are loath to make it known at all. 

BERNARDETTO 

But unto me, since I, by service done 
May merit something from thy courtesy, 
To me thou surely wilt reveal the thing. 
I am no painter, but a gentleman 
Who, coming of a house that loves the arts, 
Would know somewhat of this. 

ANDREA 
So thou dost claim, 

As though my gratitude were limitless, 
A secret known to only two in Florence? 

BERNARDETTO 

Andrea, as thou art a man, shake off 

This black suspicion. Tell me all. They say 

Domenico hath done a picture here 

More perfect than our city ever knew. 

37 



ANDREA 
Aye, aye Domenico! 

BERNARDETTO 
And for thee, too, 
The rumour of the city s warm with praise. 

ANDREA 
Only two men in Tuscany 

BERNARDETTO 

For the deep interest I do bear in thee, 
As one who found thee in the open fields, 
And gave thy youth fair opportunity, 
Making thee grow a painter, when thy fate 
Had written thee a peasant otherwise, 
I ask thee tell me of this secret craft. 

ANDREA 

Hear, then, and never, as thou art my friend, 
Disclose. This secret John of Bruges, a man 
High standing in the Flemish Guild of Luke, 
Found out by patience and experience. 
That paint may be, as our old masters knew, 
Laid on new-plastered walls, we all have known, 
But otherwise, the highest skill we use 
Is waste and wanton to the hand of time. 
But John of Bruges hath found another way, 
Mixing his colors with some certain oils, 
And lo, the colors live, and keep their hue. 
The secret of these oils he sometime gave 
To Antonello, the Messinian. 
And he, in Venice, told Domenico, 
Who, coming hither, for the love he bore me, 
Gave me to know the priceless mystery. 

BERNARDETTO 

This is a fortunate tide for thee, Andrea. 
Only two men in Tuscany, and thou 
One of the two. They say Domenico 
Hath quite surpassed the ancient masters by it. 

ANDREA 

Ser Bernardetto, I have told thee all. 
Forgive me I am in an evil mood. 
Let s speak no further of it. Hark, who comes? 

[A lute is heard. 

38 



BERNARDETTO 

Some reveller, I warrant. I ll not stay. 
This fellow s music, and thine evil mood 
Are equally against my taste. Farewell. 

[Exit Bernardetto. 

ANDREA 

That lute is his. Domenico, thou art 

The only other man in Tuscany 

Who knows this secret, and so rivals me. 

Before thy picture all the motley, throng 

Cries out with praise of thee, and in the noise 

And roaring volume of this flattery 

I am forgotten, and my higher craft 

Neglected and despised. Aye, twang thy lute. 

My wrath doth bubble at the sound of it, 

And whelm me in a crimson wave of hate. 

[Silently he crosses and conceals 
himself, as Domenico enters, loiter 
ing and singing. 

DOMENICO 

[Sings. 

Flower of the thorn, 
Who shall kiss thy white throat, 
Who shall comfort thine eyes? 
Flower of the thorn. 
Flower of the rose, 
Who shall love a patched coat, 
Who shall make thee his prize- 
Flower of the rose? 

ANDREA 

Only we two in Tuscany. And from 

This hour Only one man in Tuscany. 

[He throws his cloak over his face, 
and rushing upon Domenico, stabs 
him. Domenico screams and falls. 
Andrea pounces upon him. A pause. 
Domenico dies. Andrea looks about 
him, rises, breaks the lute in a fury, 
and starts to go off. He hears the 
guard coming, and returns to the 
body, taking up the head in his 



arms. Enter Bernardetto, with the 
city guard at his heels. Andrea lifts 
up the body, crying out as if in 
frantic grief. 
My brother 

Ser Bernardetto, this my dearest friend, 

Domenico, my brother, here is slain. 

[They carry off the body, clearing 
the stage. 



1!) 





SCENE VI 
THE HERALD 

O DOTH BLACK ENVY TURN THE 

SOLEMN NIGHT 

TO HORROR, AND THE DAY TO 

EXECRATION. 

THIS MAN, THE JUDAS OF THE 

CRAFT, ESCAPED 

THE PENALTY AND JUSTICE OF 

HIS DEED 

IN THIS BLIND WORLD. BUT 

OTHERWHERE HE LIES 
Whelmed in the fires that his dark malice kindled 
And we, who know his bitter secret heart, 
Call him Andrea degli Impicatti 
Andrea of the Hanged Men. So fate 
Doth brand the names of those who hate their kind. 
The night of envy unimaginable 
Now passeth, and the misty morning stirs, 
Opes drowsy eyes, and smiles on Tuscany. 
The market-folk, with all their luscious fruits, 
The merchants with their gorgeous orient wares, 
Money-changers, and singers of the street 
Arouse themselves, and day grows musical 
With the clear joyous tumult of the town. 
Now mark you, through this fair doth wander one 
Whom Glory hath not kissed, but who shall be 
Among her best beloved ere he die. 
This Lionardo, young and vision-rapt, 
Follows his starry quest; and after him 
In state, Lorenzo of the Medici, 
Who passeth with his glittering train; and if 
In the uncertain light of this late year 









He seem not as he was, Magnificent, 

You must impute it to old jealous Time 

Who shears the plume of Splendour from the helm 

And rends the broidered robe of Circumstance. 

But this Lorenzo, in his company 

Hath Sandro Botticelli, in whose heart 

The sunrise of the world is immanent, 

Sandro, to whom the fluttering veils of girls, 

The lovely lines of limbs that flash and dance, 

The subtile, blossomy airs of spring and youth, 

Are all as provinces to their conqueror; 

And here this Sandro, if we watch him well, 

Shall gain the ring great Aphrodite Venus gave 

To wed her beauty with his deathless fame. 

[The lights come up gradually, 
showing a street in Florence on a 
market day; merchants and traders, 
dancers, beggars, and all manner of 
people appear, with all sorts of 
wares. 

[Enter Verrochio, Perugino, and 
Lorenzo di Credi. 

LORENZI DI CREDI 

Surely, my master, we shall find him here, 
For he is oft among the market folk, 
And studies the strange faces as they pass. 
Shall we await him? 

VERROCHIO 

Nay, I cannot wait, 
For there s a fever in my blood until 
I come upon him. 

LORENZI DI CREDI 
Is there mischief, master, 
And chastisement decreed for Lionardo? 

VERROCHIO 

Nay, lad; I scarce can tell thee. He hath brought 
A shame upon me, and a joy as well. 
Lorenzo, thou art very dear to me, 
And Perugino, thou no less I love. 
Ye serve me truly ; in your art you bring 
Some credit to your master; yet no fear 
Have I with you of mine authority. 

42 



Yesterday nay, I ll speak to him not you. 

[Lionardo enters, and walks along 
the market slowly, as if in thought; 
he stops at the stall of a bird seller. 

LORENZI DI CREDI 

Master, there stands our Lionardo. Call him, 
An thou wilt. 

VERROCHIO 
I have no haste to utter 
This bleak word. 

LORENZI DI CREDI 
What folly s this he does? 

VERROCHIO 

This is the folly makes him what he is, 
The whim that rules, that beggars him ; and yet 
Lorenzo, pray thou for such glorious whims, 
Since godlike follies have immortal ends. 

THE BIRD SELLER 

Nay, young sir, these birds must cost thee more 
Than seven scudi. For them all say ten. 

LIONARDO 

Ten scudi, and the freedom of the air 

I purchase for so little little enough 

For such enchantments. Take the silver, man, 

And throw the cage wide open. 

[Pays him. 

THE BIRD SELLER 
They will fly; 
They are not wing-clipped! 

LIONARDO 
I have paid the price: 

What if I choose that they should fly? For this 
I buy them, free them. Man, they carry me 
On wings aloft. I, too, am freed for flight ; 
And this my shard of heavy flesh and bone 
For one swift instant discreate, and shred 
The fetters of this foul confining earth ; 
For one clear flash when first these wings take hold 
On the rebellious air, my spirit soars, 
And in that moment I m not wing-clipped either. 

43 



[He opens the cage, and the birds 
soar upward ; as they circle, his eyes 
follow them; when they alight his 
gaze falls, and he finds himself eye- 
to-eye with Verrochio. 
My master! Now, my folly s done. 

VERROCHIO 

Da Vinci, 

Here my stubborn will doth bend; I come 
To seek thee as a pupil seeks his master. 
Thou knowest well my life ; I have been quick 
To choose and practice many an art ; to work 
Wood and tough gold, and carve in rigid stone ; 
To draw, to play the lute and, most divine 
Of all the crafts, to paint. And yester-eve 
I left thee as the merest prentice lad 
Before my panel of the Baptist John. 
To-day I came again, and found thy work. 
I was thy master, and I cried for joy; 
I was a painter, and I wept for shame. 
I came to seek thee, for my wonted life 
Must change because of this. Henceforth, 
I paint no more. 

LIONARDO 

Is it so perfect, then 
The kneeling, wondering angel in the corner? 

VERROCHIO 

Too perfect for my skill to strive against. 

LIONARDO 

Master, thy praise doth fire me with supreme 
And flaming rapture. 

[He moves toward the bird seller. 
I must have more birds. 

VERROCHIO 

Thou thinkest of my praise ; not of the pride 
I broke to tell thee. 

LIONARDO 

True ; that is my nature. 
I can not alter that. 



11 



VERROCHIO 

Then fare thee well. 

But when wide Italy doth come to praise 
Remember sometime who thy master was. 

LIONARDO 

I ll not forget. 

[Exit Verrochio with Lorenzi di 
Credi and Piero Perugino. 

The honour I would rear for one I love 

Doth topple in the air, and crush him down. 

Yet, ah the beating, lifting, soaring wings! 

[Lorenzo de Medici and his train, 
including Giuliano de Medici, Poli- 
ziano, Sandro Botticelli, and Simon- 
etta Vespucci, cross the stage on 
their way to Fiesole. 




SCENE VII 

The scene changes to Fiesole, and 
Lorenzo and his train enter ; Loren 
zo is seated on a throne, and the 
group arranges itself to suggest Bot 
ticelli s picture. 

LORENZO 

Now, while the spring s flushed whiteness on the hills 

Makes in the air a redolent ecstacy, 

And the sad face of nature smiles again, 

I bid you to a tourney of the arts ; 

A Court of Love, as in Provence they sung, 

And lo ! I give you this for your songs burden : 

Beauty. Now let the lutes be strung. 

46 



GIULIANO 
My brother, 

This is no theme for unrelated words; 
The poets should have time for phrasing it. 

LORENZO 

Time for it? Nay, say rather that they speak 
What they must long have conned, and know 
Even as they know to breathe and sing. How now, 
Poliziano? 

POLIZIANO 

For myself, my lord, 
I ask no better grace than to begin, 
For here s a theme full-fashioned to my hand. 

LORENZO 

Thou, Sandro? 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
T is a thing I see, but not 
To speak on. 

GUILIANO 

[Noticing his gaze at Simonetta, 
Messer Sandro sees. Take heed, 
Good painter, that thou art content therewith! 

LORENZO 

Poliziano, let me hear thy voice. 

POLIZIANO 

Beauty 

Because the lady Flora spills her flowers, 
And the fleet zephyrs with their fragrances 
Kiss all the cloudy hill-tops in the spring, 
Doth dwell among us. Flora, heedless grown 
From her long sovranty of each sweet year, 
Runs on, and leaves us the faint odorous breeze 
To tell where she hath been, and in her track 
The waving legions of the star-eyed flowers. 
But follow her, and lo! the Graces dance, 
Apollo strikes his lute to fiery song, 
And all the murmurous and Olympian shades 
Breathe out their paean of the Attic time. 
Follow her, and we pass the groves of Greece, 
The pools where Artemis in splendour clove 



The crystal deeps with her divine delight, 
And round upon her nymphs the silver drops 
Splashed, and like moonlight burning its cold flame 
Lighted the gloomy woods with chastity. 
Follow her, and the bourgeoning sea shall move, 
And the white foam shall gather, crest on crest, 
Till, formed beneath the grave eternal hand, 
The foam doth flutter with inspired life, 
And lo ! 
The Lady Venus treads the laughing wave. 

[A movement of applause among 

the group. 

LORENZO 

All this we knew. What of the might of her? 

POLIZIANO 

Her beauty hath a might more deep than song, 
And sovran Venus, in her beauty clad 
Can quell the fervent heart to reverences. 
Nay, more; 

The body which doth robe the lovely soul, 
Itself thrice robed, the garment of a garment, 
Still rules men with a law delectable. 
As Plato says, the Golden Age returns 
When shame is fled, and we, its prisoners, 
Are free inheritors of beauty s realm, 
Partakers with Endymion in bliss. 

LORENZO 

[Rising and ironically kissing the 

poet s hand. 

Thus much of beauty, but no word to say 
For such as have not Plato by the book 
Where she exists? Our Sandro here could tell, 
If he were pleased. A Star from Genoa 
(If that my brother will permit me) burns 
Among our constellations, queen. How now, 
My Sandro? 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 

The poet speaks, and from his stream of words, 
As they flash by, I gather this and that. 
Beauty doth thus and so. The lady Flora, 
Artemis, and the goddess from the foam 
All these are words, and beauty dwells in them. 

48 



But tis my trade to draw her otherwise. 
I must find something more immediate 
Than "Artemis" a word to conjure with. 
And beauty such as perfect pictures need 
Is not so often found, nor easily won. 

GUILIANO 

The painter hath some strangely daring quest 
Behind this pale complaint. 

SIMONETTA 

What if he has? 

The soul of Artemis, of beauty chaste 
As snow, must still be living in the world. 

LORENZO 

Truly, madonna, when I see thee so, 
I can believe it. 

SIMONETTA 
Messer Sandro, speak. 
Why doth the painter of his art complain? 
If it be rare, so much the greater gift 
To fix it for eternity. 

SANDRO 

So rare 

A thing is beauty, to mine eyes, 
That only once in all my seeking years 
Have I beheld its utter perfectness. 
I choose to make a picture, let us say, 
Such as our poet spoke of. Shall it be 
A Venus rising from the refluent deep, 
And Flora walking in her robe of flowers, 
The Graces dancing, and Apollo girt 
For visiting the world with amber light? 
I first must see all this, not as a dream, 
Or pallid vision called to life with words, 
But in the moving flesh. Apollo, say, 
From Messer Giuliano I might frame, 
And fall but little short. The Graces, too, 
I might by shift accomplish. But the Queen 
Of Spring, and Aphrodite s face 
What of these two? 

SIMONETTA 

And yet this beauty lives? 

49 



SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
She lives, for I have looked on her. 

SIMONETTA 
Not for all eyes doth beauty burn alike. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
Nay, but for mine, this star doth live and blaze. 

SIMONETTA 

She liveth? Why then should thine art 
Enshrine her? 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
Because if this mine art doth fault, 
She soon shall bloom within the dismal grave. 

SIMONETTA 
And so thou offerest immortality. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
If my hand fail not. For mine art hath power 
To keep her young and fadeless through the years. 

SIMONETTA 

We speak in riddles, for a maiden shame 
Sometimes doth overcome me. Yet, you say 
Great Plato calls us prisoners of shame. 
I break my bonds then. Sandro, look on me. 

SANDRO. 

Thy pardon, lady. Thy gracious heart doth turn 
In charity upon my lowliness, 
So kind art thou. 

SIMONETTA 
And thou dost offer me 
Immortal honour; for the sacred garment 
Of my clear soul thou askest. It is thine. 
I ll be thy Lady Venus. For this power 
Of beauty s mine inheritance. Not long 
I keep it. Thou shalt touch with art 
The brief and fragile wonder of my being. 

GIULIANO 
Nay, love, I will not have it so. 

SIMONETTA 
And thou 
Who speak st of love, hast nought to say of this. 



I do this for art s sake. A priestess now, 
At some forgotten shrine, some temple dim 
In the far morning of the world, I lay 
This maiden sacrifice. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
This cannot be. 
Thou knowest that this cannot be. 

SIMONETTA 
Come thou 
In the morning. Fare you well. 

[Exit Simonetta. 

[Giuliano and Sandro left facing 

each other. 

GIULIANO 
Some spiteful witchcraft hath been set upon her. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
A spell of truth, that dares to be itself. 

GIULIANO 
This will I ne er endure. Thou lovest her. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
My lord, such love as I do bear to her 
Pulses with reverent worship, not desire. 

LORENZO 

Peace, brother ! There s a wind from down the vale 
That pierces me. A strange, perspicuous thing 
Doth knock upon my heart as on a gate. 
Break off. I must begone from hence. 
The morrow threatens. Let the lutes be still. 

[Lorenzo goes off with his train, 
and the scene changes to Florence. 



51 




SCENE VIII 

THE HERALD. 

As driven clouds that flee before the wind, 
The lustrous days and stormy nights go by ; 
And Simonetta, flower of Genoa, 
Is withered, with the hopes of yester-year. 
Sandro still lives, and follows in the train 
Of that pale prophet in whose flaming speech 
The sins of men are scourged as with a rod, 
And he, Savonarola, the Dominican, 
Turns all the city to his rigid rule, 
And in unyielding battle with the flesh, 
Conquers, and quakes, and at the last goes down. 
But ere he fall we shall have sight of him 
In that strange year when the Magnificent 
Crept to his foe for peace and final shrift. 
Strange year : in far-off Spain, Granada falls ; 
And farther still, across the utter deep, 
The mariner of Genoa dares, and finds 
A star-shown marvel of the ancient sea 
Where stainless waves, from immemorial time 
Had lapped a virgin shore that no keels ploughed. 
But here in Florence, only whispers sound 
Of these far ventures. 

Ere the prophet comes, 
We ll put on festal raiment, and set forth 
Along the streets, and see among his lads, 
Domenico the Garland-Maker s son. 
While the keen bargaining is hot, we ll glimpse 
The quaint fantastic, Piero Cosimo, 
And two young branches who already bear 
The glistering promise of their future fame 
Del Sarto, and the lonely Angelo. 

52 



[Before the Shop of Domenico 
Ghirlandajo, at the sign of the Gar 
land, in Florence. 

[Giovanni Tournabuoni comes 
knocking at the door of the shop; 
he is followed by a servant carrying 
a bag of money. 
GIOVANNI 
Ho, there, Domenico. It s I, Messer Tournabuoni. 

[Enter Jacopo 1 Indaco, from the 
shop. 

JACOPO 

Ay, Signore; serve you, sir? 

GIOVANNI 
Send me your master, lad. 

JACOPO 

My master is making a ring for a lady, Signore, and he has to 
day to finish a picture for an abbess ; and what with these mat 
ters for ladies, he will never have time to see you, Signore. 
May I serve you in his place? 

GIOVANNI 

Be off, and say I have come to pay him for the paintings in the 
Ricci chapel. 

JACOPO 
I ll serve as well for that. 

[Enter Ghirlandajo. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Back to your task, you rogue. 

JACOPO 

I like it not, master, when you speak to me so. Fm minded to 
leave your service. How shall I ever learn to get their money 
from the gentlemen who come, if you never give me leave to 
try? And it s something you never teach me, and a very im 
portant part of the trade, too. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Get within, boy. Signore, the pictures please you? 

GIOVANNI 

Remind me, Domenico, what were the terms of our bargain? 
I was to pay you twelve hundred gold ducats for the three pic 
tures ; and a good price, too. And if you pleased rne well, two 

53 



hundred ducats more ; which was an odd way to leave the mat 
ter, as you ll admit. 

GHIRLANDAJO 
And do they please you, signore ? 

GIOVANNI 

To be perfectly frank with you, they do not ; and yet they are 
such wonderful pictures, and in them you have outdone all the 
old masters, and I have never in my life seen such color, nor 
such style, as yours. And of all the painters in Florence, I 
hold you are the best, and the most to be shown favor. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Save in the matter of the two hundred odd ducats, then, they 
please you? 

GIOVANNI 
Well, that s a way of putting it yes. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

But all the praise you have spoken of them, otherwise, is from 
the heart? 

GIOVANNI 
From the bottom of my heart, Domenico. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

I would rather hear your praise, signore, than have the two 
hundred ducats. 

GIOVANNI 

There s a discreet man, as well as a great artist. And these 
are truly marvelous works ; but having this to say, I would add 
further, that I have need of the odd ducats myself, and if you 
will not mention it, we ll say no more about the matter. And 
here are the twelve hundred. 

[Takes the purse from the servant, 

and pays him. 
Fare you well, Messer Domenico. 

[Exit Giovanni. 

GHIRLANDAJO 
Ho, there, Monica, Jacopo, Cosa all of you. 

[Enter Jacopo, Monica and Cosa 
from the shop. 

The Signore Tournabuoni has just paid me my money for the 
frescoes, and he has so praised me that I am minded to leave 

54 



everything to you, and set myself to painting for the rest of 
my days. Trouble me with nothing about the house. Take 
all orders which come to you, and execute them if you can ; let 
nothing pass, if it be no more than the painting of a basket 
handle for a market woman. 

MONICA 

And what if the lads can not do the works? 

JACOPO 
I I ll not paint the handle of a market woman s basket ! 

COSA 
Not if she wanted it done the same day. 

JACOPO 
I ll never stoop to such employments. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Take the work, and I ll do it myself. But never trouble me 
with household affairs, for now that I have found the way to 
practice this art, I wish the whole circuit of the walls of Flor 
ence were given me to cover with pictures. 

[Enter a prioress, with nuns. 

THE PRIORESS 

Domenico, is the panel done? 

GHIRLANDAJO 
Virtually, mother, it is done. 

THE PRIORESS 
Have them bring it forth. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

I would, mother, but for a small matter of finish. It is done, 
but it is not dry, and I fear me you will not like it so well as 
the panel I made for the brothers of Santa Croce. 

THE PRIORESS 
Why not? 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Well, in that picture, mother, they gave me some good red 
wine; for you must know that to make good faces, with red 
cheeks and lips, very good red wine must be mixed with the 
colors; and what with the poverty of my trade, and the ill 
quality of the last vintage, I am nigh distracted. 

55 



THE PRIORESS 

[Aside to the nuns. 
I never heard of this matter before ; mixing wine with colors. 

A NUN 

I ve heard of it, and that it is the only way to make the faces 
glow. 

ANOTHER NUN 
We might send him a butt from our cellar. 

THE PRIORESS 
We ll no nothing of the sort. 

[To Domenico. 
Show me the panel. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

In truth, mother I can not; what with the bad quality of the 
wine, I have still some painting to do with it. Ah, if I only had 
some of the older vintage for it ! 

THE PRIORESS 
Domenico, are you quite honest with us? 

GHIRLANDAJO 

Mother, you wrong me. I am cut to the heart by your sus 
picions. I never knew one of your order to be so heartless. 

THE PRIORESS 

I do not understand these matters, but if this be one of the 
mysteries of your art, I must even help you out. I will send 
you a butt of our oldest wine. 

[She turns back to the nuns. 

See to it that the price of the wine be taken out of the 
price of the panel when we pay the painter. Fare you well, 
Domenico. 

[Exeunt the prioress and nuns. 

JACOPO 

Master, I have changed my mind. I will stay in your service, 
since I see that I am learning the necessary things about the 
craft from you. 

MONICA 
Oho, here s a wedding afoot! 

[Enter the wedding party the bride, the 

groom, and the parents of both, with 

others. 

55 



THE FATHER OF THE BRIDE 
Is this the shop of Messer Ghirlandajo, the goldsmith? 

GHIRLANDAJO 

At your service. 

[Aside, to Jacopo. 

Here s a rich picking ; go you and bring Piero di Cosimo. The 
man s Flemish, and we shall all grow rich from him. 

[Exit Jacopo 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 

We have come to order the chest, for my daughter s wedding. 
And we desire that it shall be painted with a triumph of love, 
all the way about. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

It will be enough if it be painted on the top. 

THE BRIDE S FATHER 

That s a very ill sort of chest, painted only on the top ; what 
of the sides ; must they be plain wood ? 

THE BRIDE 
I think I might have the triumph painted also inside the lid. 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 
Sides of plain wood ! 

THE GROOM 

Let her have it, father, I pray you. Let her have all the love 
she likes on it. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

As you will, but I hold it will be ill done, if it be painted all 
over; and it will cost me a farm in Flanders. 

[Enter Piero di Cosimo 

GHIRLANDAJO 

I pray you, submit it to this man, who is an excellent artist. 
Shall the bridal chest be painted on all sides, or merely across 
the lid. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 
Who is to paint the chest? 

GHIRLANDAJO 
I am. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Then across the lid will be enough. 

57 



GHIRLANDAJO 

What do you mean? This is an ill jest, Piero. Tell them to 
have it painted all over, and you and Andrea shall paint the 
sides. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Let me paint the lid, and I ll arrange the matter. You may do 
the sides. 

GHIRLANDAJO 

As you will, but do not lose me the work. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Gentles, let me explain this mystery. If it be a thing to be 
be painted by this great master, Messer Ghirlandajo, the lid 
alone would be a rare gift ; but if it be painted all over by him, 
it will be a masterwork, and such as a most generous man 
might well give his love; such a gift as the first families of 
Florence would choose. And so, though the cost is small, I 
leave it to your generosity to determine which it shall be. 

THE GROOM 

Let her have it as she likes it, father. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

I ll agree, though it s a pernicious thing for a woman to have 
her own way, and a thing never tolerated in Flanders. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Now, signore, let me have a word with you. I am much called 
upon in such matters, and I can help you. Let me make you 
a list of such things as a generous man should give his bride, 
that they may be married in handsome style, and never regret 
it after. 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 
Here s a piece of good fortune, cur finding this man. 

THE BRIDE S FATHER 

Ay, let him tell us, and we ll get the things he names. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

Sir, you are interfering in a matter which does not concern 
you. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

It will concern me enough, signore, before you have done 
with it. 
It is plain that you must give her a shrine of Our Lady, with 

58 



a Saint John on one side, and a Saint George on the other, 
since he is much favored in Flanders, and I observe that your 
father, signore, has something of the Fleming about him. And 
inside the shutters I will paint for you a portrait of you both, 
that she may be reminded of her husband when she is at 
prayer which is a very excellent thing for a woman. And 
my lad, Andrea, will paint the saints for us, which will make 
the cost less, and the pictures as good, almost, as though they 
were done by my own hand. 

A GIRL 

And here s the mirror, from Venice. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Aha a mirror from Venice. For this you must have a frame 
of silver. A good piece of work, nicely wrought. Ghirlan- 
dajo, you may make the frame for the mirror. Ah, a good 
steel. But this is a vanity I look into it, but it likes me not. 
For you, madonna, this is for you ; you shall bloom in it. And 
you, madame. 

[To the Bride s Mother. 

How kindly a friend is a mirror to one of your countenance; 
in truth, I fear me it will never be able to tell your face from 
the damigella s. Wonderful, wonderful. You have a daughter 
about to be married! Wonderful, how the beauty of some 
women makes them young so long. 

THE BRIDE 

Messer Domenico, do you make books of hours? 
PIERO DI COSIMO 

[Interrupting. 
Surely, madonna; and that s another thing you must have. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 
Come with me, son. I will not listen to this fellow any longer. 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 

[Holding him by the sleeve. 
Here s the penury of the Flemish blood. Come back, sir. 

THE BRIDE 

He has never said a word about a book, nor a garland, nor a 
girdle, nor a ring. 

THE GROOM 

I fear, my love, for my father s sake it might be better to come 
again another day. 



PIERO DI COSIMO 

Foresight foresight! An excellent thing in a young bride. 
I commend you. A girdle; a silver girdle? 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 

[Scornfully. 
A silver girdle! 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

[In agony. 
A silver girdle! 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Silver will do very well, but it must have a sonnet engraved 
on it. Ho, there Andrea. You will set to work at once to 
draw me a Saint John and a Saint George for the shutters to 
the shrine. And you, Angelo, come forth. 

[Andrea del Sarto comes out of the 

shop. 

ANDREA DEL SARTO 
One for each shutter, master? 

PIERO DI COSIMO 
Of course. 

ANDREA DEL SARTO 
May I color them as I choose? 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Color them as I bid you, to save the ultramarine. Make them 
yellow, so to use lots of ochre. 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 
What s that you say? 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

I bade him make it golden, that it may look rich, for I see the 
young man is a generous soul. 

[Enter Michael Angelo, as an ap 
prentice. 

Michael, do you write me a sonnet for the lady s girdle; and 
see that it be a sweetly flowing one, and of good round num 
bers. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

I will, master, but I must rhyme it as I like and no one in 
terfering. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

I ll not pay for all this ; say what you will, I ll not pay. 



PIERO DI COSIMO 

Signore, I never meant you should pay for this. Pay for a 
sonnet! No, signore. This boy is good for little else, so I 
bade him write it. But we should never think of your paying 
for it. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 
Ay, but all these other things? 

PIERO DI COSIMO 
For them, of course, Signore, we should expect you to pay. 

THE GROOM S FATHER 
The chest with the lid painted that I agree to. Nothing else. 

THE GROOM 
And the shrine of Our Lady? 

THE GROOM S FATHER 
Not another thing. 

[He starts to go off, but is restrained 
by the others, who all hang upon his 
coat tails. 

THE BRIDE 
Not the book of hours! 

THE BRIDE S MOTHER 
Not the girdle with the sonnet! 

THE GIRL 
Not the frame for the mirror? 

THE BRIDE S FATHER 

Not the ring, even? 

THE GROOM S FATHER 
This is a den of thieves. I will leave it a beggar. 

THE BRIDE 
Not even the chest with the lid painted inside? 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Will you have your son wed like a penniless fellow from the 

wars? 

THE GROOM S FATHER 

Begone, all of you. 

[Exit the entire party, hanging on 
to the groom s father, and all wail 
ing in wrath. 

61 



GHIRLANDAJO 

Piero, ruin stares me in the face. Look what you have lost 

me. 

PIERO DI COSIMO 

Nonsense, man. Take this to your philosophy. A Fleming 

boy a Fleming! And from such, may the gracious saints 

preserve us all. 

[Ghirlandajo retires into his shop, 
and Piero di Cosimo, somewhat 
crestfallen, but still confident, re 
turns to his. 




SCENE IX 

[A Market Place in Florence. Citi 
zens and market people assembled. 
Sandro Botticelli, attired as a lay 
brother, moves among them. 

A CITIZEN 

Tis said the Friar will preach again today 
Against the Medici. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 

Ay, and the walls 
Of this proud city tremble at his words. 

A WOMAN 
Why does he thus revile the Medici? 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 
Because through them is the Republic slain. 
Through them the canker feeds upon the heart, 
And Florence staggers with iniquity. 



ANOTHER CITIZEN 
We ll hear him, for his fearful prophecies 
Have one and all come true. 

A VENETIAN 
Is this the place 

Where the great prophet of Saint Dominic 
Doth speak? 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 

Ay, and behold along the streets 

The people thronging. In yon open square, 

To-day, by his command, the Vanities, 

The evil images and pictures, gems, 

And books unholy, like Boccaccio s, 

And all the works of lure and luxury 

There shall be builded in one reeking pyre 

And burnt to light the glory of the Cross. 

See, where the father comes. 

[Enter Savonarola, followed by a 
great crowd; he mounts the plat 
form and addresses the people. 

SAVONAROLA 

Men of Florence, 

This day I speak not of your guilty past, 
Nor of the crimes that break your city down, 
The sins that have now fallen upon your limbs 
Like chains. But of the silken luxury, 
The greed of power and lust and fatal ease 
That make you slaves. And for the flaming truth 
I here have uttered, he who holds the seal 
But never held the spirit of the Church, 
Proclaims me excommunicate, accursed. 
For what? Because I called you from your sins, 
And bade you flock unto the sinless Cross? 
What need of cursing for all this? Because 
In love for me you have shut close your streets 
From evil men, and vain displays, and lived 
According to the dictates of the Word? 
Is this my crime? No, men of Florence, no ! 
But I have spoken of the Medici 
In open terms, and called upon their house 
To give you back your ancient freedoms, arts, 
And all the liberties your fathers knew. 

64 



For this, they brand me excommunicate. 

[Enter Lorenzo de Medici and his 
train. 

A FRIAR 

Father, there comes the base Magnifico. 
Better we held our preaching otherwhere. 

SAVONAROLA 
Nay, he is one I most desire should hear. 

LORENZO 

[To his people. 

There s one who comes to live among us here, 
Homing within my city and my house, 
Who never yet hath paid me courtesy. 

SAVONAROLA 

Lord of the Medici, what bringeth thee 
Into the street where men do preach God s law? 

LORENZO 

I came to seek for thee, Girolamo. 

SAVONAROLA 
So much I had foretold. 

LORENZO 
Father, thou art 

Though I have little cause to love thee else, 
The only honest priest in Florence. So, 
I seem to flatter thee. My desperate need 
Drives me to thee. Father, I have come to feel 
About my head the beating of black wings ; 
Death chills me with his grisly iron clutch, 
And I would be, ere my last breath go out, 
At peace. 

SAVONAROLA 

I come not here to bring thee peace. 

LORENZO 

Yet do I trust thee, and thou art a priest. 
Hear my confession, name my penances, 
And send my soul upon its lonely flight. 
I come to thee, as one who dies, in ruin. 

SAVONAROLA 
As I am son and seed of Holy Church, 



I answer. But since he who rules in Rome 
Hath cast me off, I make my own conditions. 

LORENZO 

Name them, and be brief. My mortal weakness 
Overcomes me. 

SAVONAROLA 
That thou are quick in faith. 

LORENZO 

Else I had sought thee not. 

SAVONAROLA 
Thou shalt give back 
Unto the city and the poor, all gains 
Taken by indirection or injustice. 

LORENZO 

If I refused thee, it were plain to all, 
I am not truly penitent. This, too, 
I grant. 

SAVONAROLA 

And last, thou shalt decree the end 
Of thine unlawful lordship over Florence ; 
Restore the old republic to its own, 
And make the city free of all thy house 
Endlessly and irrevocably free. 

LORENZO 

Without this thing thou lt not absolve me? 

SAVONAROLA 
Without this pledge, I will not succor thee. 

LORENZO 

And though I die unshriven, thou art firm? 

SAVONAROLA 

And though thou die unshriven, this I hold : 
Florence must shake thee off, and all thy house. 

LORENZO 

My friends, the prophet dooms me, judges me. 
So be it. Take me home again for rest. 

(Exit Lorenzo and his train.) 



SAVONAROLA 

In yonder open square, devoted brothers, 

Let the fires be lit. 

[Exit Savonarola with the Domini 
cans, many of the people following 
him. A procession of young people, 
carrying all manner of Vanities 
books, pictures, gems and trinkets of 
all sorts moves across the stage 
toward the fires, from which a glow 
is seen shining upon the faces of the 
youths, and on Sandro Botticelli, 
who stands watching them, lost in 
meditation. 

SANDRO BOTTICELLI 

So do the evils of the world burn down ; 

A blessed glow is this the flames ray out, 

More sweet than many candles round a shrine, 

Since lures of hell here turn to lights of peace, 

And sin doth furnish fires for chastening. 

See where the books of tales unholy burn, 

Tales of Morganti and Boccaccio, 

Volumes of sorcery and magic arts. 

Ah, these are well destroyed, though for myself, 

Boccaccio might be saved. He s not all sin. 

And pictures, too; I had not thought on this. 

How deep in shame the unawakened man 

May delve and know it not. Before he came, 

I looked on beauty as a heavenly thing, 

And blindly courted its delusive grace. 

[An artist passes, bearing a Venus 
to the fires. 

Yon Venus hath a wondrous art in her, 

And must the plundering fires consume her? Lo! 

She is a shadow but a shadow of delight, 

So beautiful. Yon fragment of pale stone 

A heathen chisel shaped ere Christ was born 

Must it go too into the ruining flame ? 

Ah, this is bitter to mine eyes. 

[A man carrying a picture of Botti 
celli s goes by. 
My work! 

How shall I suffer this! From mine own hand 

Yon fluttering shape of girlhood, dancing, girt 

67 



With flowers about her maiden breast and hair 

From mine own hand! And she was lovelier 

Than the pale image shows her ; and the stars 

Are not more pure than she was. Pause, I say. 

I will not have her burn. 

[He starts after the bearer of the 
picture, but turns back with a cry of 
anguish as the picture is cast upon 
the fire. 
A tongue of flame 

Doth lick my naked heart. 

[He looks again and finds Savon 
arola confronting him. Sandro falls 
on his knees. 
Master, do thou 

Pray for me. I am lost in desperate sin. 




SCENE X 

INTERMISSION 

THE HERALD 

OW IS THE TIDE FULL FLOOD, 
AND GLORIUS NAMES 
SOUND ON THE TONGUES OF 
MEN INNUMERABLE; 
NOW TIME DOTH BOURGEON, 
AND ALL ITALY 

HUMS LIKE A HIVE WITH 
MIGHTY CONSUMMATIONS. 
OLYMPIAN SOULS ARE THESE, 
AND WHAT ARE WE 

That we should rouse their glories from their sleep, 

And in the vesture of their vanished state 

Tread through the masque of their mortality? 

So, I beseech you, let your eyes behold 

Not the dull poverty of our regard, 




But the imperial splendours of their life, 

And clothe us, as we pass, with their renown. 

So shall they live the moment in your minds, 

And we, their lowliest heritors, give due 

And seemly honour with humility. 

But few, of all the swarming genius-brood, 

Can we illume. Some lofty names our play, 

Though from no lack of diligence, must pass. 

Our scene, from Florence, where the flower of art 

Was nourished to the summer of its life, 

Shifts now to Rome, and to the stately town 

Where, throned upon her myriad isles, the Queen 

Of Commerce weds the immemorial sea. 

At Parma, now, Correggio toils alone, 

And great Mantegna, up in Mantua, 

Spreads on his canvas the triumphant march 

Of Caesar. But these both, reluctantly, 

We pass, their eminence forever safe 

From the marauding years. And here we pause 

In reverence ere we speak the golden names 

Of Rafael, Titian, Michael Angelo. 

[A dance follows, symbolic of the 
entire movement of the Renaissance ; 
after which the scene changes to 
Rome. 

[A garden in Rome. Bramante dis 
covered looking over some plans, 
which are held by two apprentices; 
Pope Julius II with several car 
dinals, and secretaries; also a num 
ber of artists. 

POPE JULIUS 

Bramante, these are my desires ; that thou 
Shalt straightway plan, tear down, and build anew 
Saint Peter s Church. This vast design is none 
Too glorious to house, when I am gone, 
The tomb that Buonarroti builds for me. 

BRAMANTE 

Your Holiness, to hear is to obey. 
But for this tomb it seems to threaten thee. 

POPE JULIUS 
To threaten me? What meanest thou? 

70 



BRAMANTE 
They say 
That he who builds his tomb invites his death. 

POPE JULIUS 

I like not that. For premonitions come, 

Sometimes, of words like those. Build thou 

The Church. The tomb shall wait. 

(Enter Rafael, followed by Giulio 
Romano, and many other artists.) 

A welcome, Rafael. Look Bramante s plan 

For the rebuilding of Saint Peter s Church. 

And I have changed my mind. Our Angelo 

Shall paint the frescoes on the Sistine walls. 

The tomb must not be done till I am gone. 

RAFAEL 

Your Holiness, this is not Angelo s work. 
He is a sculptor. 

POPE JULIUS 
He can paint as well. 

RAFAEL 

He is a sculptor, in the heart of him ; 

In this he doth surpass all living men, 

But if thou dost command that he shall paint 

His art must suffer change from thy coercion. 

POPE JUILUS 

I say that he shall paint. Thou dost not fear 
The plow of Buonarroti in thy field. 

RAFAEL 

I welcome him; and yet it does him wrong. 

[The Pope turns to despatch a mes 
senger, and Rafael speaks aside to 
Bramante. 

Bramante, if this be a strategem 

To bring to shame a man I do not love, 

I will not have it so. 

BRAMANTE 
No plot of mine, 
But the Pope s whim. 

POPE JULIUS 
I ve sent for Angelo. 

71 



RAFAEL 

Your Holiness, forgive mine open speech, 

But unto every artist is his art, 

His single scutcheon in the war of time ; 

Change thou the art the shield s reversed and danger 

He else avoided, strikes him unaware. 

I am not jealous of this mighty man 

But as I do revere his mastership, 

I hold his art is sacred to his choice. 

POPE JULIUS 

Let him serve me well, and I will choose 
The clay or color of his mastership. 
See, now, the hermit from his cave comes forth. 

RAFAEL 

The dreamer from his dream with blinking eyes. 

[Enter Michael Angelo. 

POPE JULIUS 

I called thee, Michael Angelo, to say 
The tomb must wait. When Death has taken me 
Then build the tomb. I ll not invite him here, 
Nor open a rich chamber to his gaunt 
And fearful presence. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
The tomb must wait? 

[Enter Vittoria Colonna, unob 
served. 

POPE JULIUS 
Even so. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Then thou dost take my work away, 
Out of my hands. That leaves me desolate. 

POPE JULIUS 

I take away one task to give another 
Thou shalt adorn the Sistine Chapel walls. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

I am no painter, Holy Father. Give me work 
More suited to my heavy hand. The chisel 
Is the tool fits best. 



POPE JULIUS 

Thou servest me? Indeed? 
Then thou shalt do my will. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
There s Rafael 

Could spread a greater glory on those walls. 
I am a sculptor. 

POPE JULIUS 
Nay, my Angelo, 
Thou art far greater than thy sculpture is. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

Father, I would not serve thee ill. Nor grace 
Nor glozing words can change me utterly. 

POPE JULIUS 
[In anger. 

Then hear my mandate; if thou servest me 

Thy task is mine to choose and to appoint. 

I will it so, and thou shalt bend to it. 

Now, Rafael, to thy works. Lead on. This man 

For all the wonder of his art, is strange. 

Sometimes I scarcely understand him. 

[Exeunt Pope Julius, Rafael, Bra- 
mante, and the others, leaving 
Michael Angelo and Vittoria Co- 
lonna. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

The tomb shall wait? And what of me? The years 
Run on, and waste, and nothing comes of them. 
In Rome, in Florence still the tale s the same. 
The mighty work must have majestic stone, 
And Princes shift with every breeze of fear. 

VITTORIA 

Signore, I have something heard of this, 
And feeling, as thou dost, a subtile wrong 
Unto thine art, I think I understand. 
And yet, signore, is the hope so pale, 
The future day so blackened with despair? 
The Sistine walls are thine. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Ah, gracious lady, 
But to what end ? The walls may stand or fall, 

73 



The storm may wreck them, or the labouring earth 
May shake them down to dust. What s that to me? 
For now the great design, the vision vast 
Wherein I held the centuries in awe, 
Must gather mould amid the useless years, 
And all the adoration and the power 
Must waste beneath the ruin of my dream. 

VITTORIA 

Signore, might I speak with thee plain words? 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Princess, I am thy subject. Pardon me. 

VITTORIA 

Thou art a master, and thy steadfast soul 
Holds to the course of its appointed star. 
But in the storm why shun the haven light? 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
There is no haven for the stormy soul. 
The rage is all within. 

VITTORIA 

Nay, then the haven lies within as well. 
The urge, the tempest of thy fiery heart 
Must have its center, and the vortex there 
Is calm. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

Madonna, thou art strangely versed 
In the deep life that underflows the being. 

VITTORIA 

Angelo, though I am not wise, as men 
In this world reckon wisdom, yet some gleam 
I have of thee some light to see thee by 
As thou canst never see thyself. I know 
That thou art lonely ; and because my life 
Has given loneliness and surcease therefrom 
In blest communion with a human love, 
I know thine isolation ; and thy soul 
Moves in its own too fervent circle, closed 
To the warm radiance of the kindly sun, 
To lightening laughter and the rich repose 
Of those who find a respite after toil 
In the caressing voice of one they love, 
Or in the babbling of a little child. 

74 



MICHAEL ANGELO 
I have a wife already, in this art 
Who kindles me incessantly, and makes 
My world a home for me through loving her. 
And all my works are children, and shall live 
A little while when I am gone. 

VITTORIA 

Then if thou art not lone nor childless left, 
Why dost thou rail at princes? Angelo, 
Thy love here wears an unaccustomed gown, 
Smiles as she is not wont, and sings . . 
A song that s new. But her deep heart s the same. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Princess, a light doth break upon me. 

VITTORIA 
Then am I content. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
I had not thought 

Mine art may change as colors change in fire, 
Yet never melt away the metal s form. 

VITTORIA 

A woman smiles, or frowns; and scarlet wears, 
Or grey. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
I see the pictures growing on the walls. 

VITTORIA 
I see thee master of thine own. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

Princess, 

A Fate hath written some unfathomed word 
Of thee and me. 

VITTORIA 

A word inscrutable, 
But we shall read it yet my friend. 



75 




SCENE XI 

[Titian s garden in Venice. 

[Pietro Aretino discovered. Enter 

Giovanni Verdezotti. 

GIOVANNI 

Signore, there s a gentleman who waits 
And asks to see the master. From his talk 
And something of a wildness in his face, 
I think he may be one whom some deep grief 
Hath struck down in the heart. 

ARETINO 
And what of that? 

Didst thou not tell him that to-day the master 
Leaves Venice? 

GIOVANNI 

The porter told him this. To him 
The words were nought. He looked up with sad eyes, 
And prayed again one word with master Titian. 

76 



ARETINO 
Is he a nobleman? 

GIOVANNI 

Of birth, a Florentine, called Delia Casa ; 
A poet, if I do remember rightly. 

ARETINO 

Titian hath time to-day for no such men. 
Bid all the weeping poets straight begone. 
We know them not. 

GIOVANNI 

The man doth speak in tears. 
I have no heart to bid him go. 

ARETINO 
Send him 
To me. 

GIOVANNI 

So please thee, sir, he comes. 

[Enter Delia Casa. 

DELLA CASA 
Signore, 

I have a word for Messer Titian s ear ; 
Deny me not. I will be brief. My hope 
Hangs on his answer. 

ARETINO 

Sir, the master s time 
To-day is all too full for visiting. 
Defer thy urgent suit till his return. 

[Enter Titian. 

DELLA CASA 

[Going over to Titian, eagerly. 
Signore, I have come, thus, desolate, 
To claim a portrait from thy wondrous hand, 
A picture of a lady, painted when 
The blessed year of yesterday was young 
A portrait of a lady in a gown 
Of green and silver. Thou lt remember it, 
Since she had hair of that rich smouldering hue 
Thou lovest so. 

TITIAN 
Yea, I remember well. 

77 



I painted her for thee. Thou couldst not pay, 
And so I kept the picture. For mine art 
Is not for every man to trifle with. 

ARETINO 

Titian, why dost thou trifle with it, then? 

The princes of the world contend for thee, 

And we, thy friends, and at the utmost, I 

Who have so brought thee to the great regard 

Of even the Emperor, are put to blush 

By whims like this to paint this fellow s dame 

And have about thy gate these starveling men, 

Scholars and poets who can build for thee 

No favor, nor can even celebrate 

In worthy fashion, thy majestic fame. 

TITIAN. 
How, now, Pietro. Why so hard with him? 

ARETINO 

Titian, my friend, to-day the Cardinal 
Will come. I ve told him, times and oft, 
That thou dost work for princes. Lo ! he comes 
And finds thee painting for this scarecrow here. 
That shames me. Titian, bid the fellow go. 

TITIAN 

[To Delia Casa. 

I had forgot. The Cardinal Farnese comes, 
And many others, and the proudest heads 
Of Venice will be here. Thou rt right, 
Pietro mine. The picture stays with me. 
Farewell. 

BELLA CASA 
I pray thee, master 

ARETINO 
Bid him go. 
The Cardinal comes. 

BELLA CASA 
Nay, Titian, hear me out. 

ARETINO 

Why dost thou pause ? By all the heathen gods 
I see not why this matter rose at all. 

78 



TITIAN 
I see it was the smouldering hair. 

[Enter Cardinal Farnese. 
A greeting to your Eminence. My friend, 
I pray you, pardon me. 

CARDINAL FARNESE 
Honored Titian, 

This is a fortunate day. His Holiness 
Hath cause for gladness, when thou dost set forth 
For Rome. 

BELLA CASA 
Titian, if in thy heart a spark 
Of mercy or of charity hath place 
Thou wilt not drive me off. It can not be 
Thou hast forgot her mortal loveliness, 
The picture now is all that s left to me. 
I could not pay thee, and I can not now. 
But since the darkness of my destiny 
Closed in about me, that one shining shape 
Alone can draw my spirit back from hell; 
Since she I loved, with all the red-gold hair 
About her marble face with the closed eyes, 
Is gone out of the sunlight, unto death. 

TITIAN 
The lady thou didst love is dead? 

BELLA CASA 
Even so. 

[Enter the Buke of Mantua, with 
his train. 

TITIAN 

Pietro, wouldst thou have me lightly shun 
A heart that bleeds, for some few strokes cf paint? 
iTour Grace, and Monsignore, and my friends. 
This gentleman commands me. Once, it seems, 
I served him. You will pardon me, Signore, 
The picture shall be thine. Gian, be swift. 

[He takes Bella Casa by the hand, 
and goes aside with him, giving di 
rections to Giovanni, who goes out. 



ARETINO 

[To the Duke and the Cardinal. 
Our Titian is a wayward gentleman ; 
Here s metal for the poet s fire : he gives 
To this poor fellow who hath lost his love 
A canvas that the Signory of Venice 
Hath nought to equal. 

TITIAN 

Friends, and noble sirs, 
I bid you welcome. Thus you honour me 
Too greatly for a painter in a world 
That hath so many traffics, governments, 
Wars and divisions. Humbly I welcome you. 

CARDINAL FARNESE 
And I, by express order of His Holiness, 
Here offer thee felicitations. Glad 
Is the day when thou dost honour stately Rome 
With thy rich presence, Titian. 

DUKE OF MANTUA 
And I, Federigo de Gonzaga, 

Of Mantua, bring thee greetings. When thy stay. 
In Rome is done, Mantua waits thee, and her bells 
Shall swing with joy when thou dost come to her. 

TITIAN 

There are too many years upon my head; 
My lord, I fear me I shall never hear 
The bells that swing amid the towers of Mantua. 

[Enter the Duke of Ferrara. 

DUKE OF MANTUA 
Still, by the invitation I do honour, 
And if a holy office call thee otherwhere, 
We must be content. 

TITIAN 

Your Grace s coming 
Doth make a holiday of my departure. 

DUKE OF FERRARA 
I bring thee, Titian, messages and words 
Of greeting from my friend and sovran liege 
King Francis, in whose lofty favour thou 
Art throned above all painters. For myself, 



I do rejoice thy long and glorious life 
Hath passed so lightly over thee, that now 
When many of thy youthful friends are gone, 
Thou still dost thrive in lusty livelihood. 

TITIAN 

I thank thee ; yet thy kindliest words 
Strike me with sorrow. There was one I knew, 
A friend, Giorgione was his name ; if he 
Instead of I had been thus spared to life, 
How great a blessing it had been to art 
Aye, and to Italy. 

CARDINAL FARNESE 
Titian, have done 

With these black thoughts. For know that to thy soul 
Death welded his sweet spirit when the scythe 
Did cut him down. 

[Enter Don Diego de Mendoza; 
Titian kneels to the Imperial ban 
ner. 

MENDOZA 
Titian, I humbly bring 

Thee greetings from my sovran lord; and he, 
My master, who doth hold his sway and pomp 
Over the Holy Empire of the Cross, 
O er Germany and Spain and the Low Lands, 
And the far North, and all the Provinces 
That rim the Christian world against the night, 
Doth pray that this thy journey unto Rome 
May bring thee honours equal to thy worth. 
And that thou still mayst conquer by thine art 
The ancient city of the Triple Crown. 

TITIAN 

My lord, Embassador of Caesar, I entreat 

But this, that I may serve the Emperor, 

And die when I can please his heart no longer. 

[Enter the Doge of Venice. 

THE DOGE 

Titian. The Senate and the Signory 

Of Venice send thee greetings and decree. 

That to the borders of our high authority 

All men shall serve thy journey, and make safe 

81 



Thy going and thy swift return. In thee, 
His Holiness doth honour Venice. 

TITIAN 

My lord, 

I thank thee, and in this regard set forth 

As ever I have done; whatever the world 

May offer to mine eyes here is my home. 

[Enter Paolo, Veronese and Tinto 
retto. 

And these my friends, though younger in their skill, 

Will yet, while I am gone, make beautiful 

This city of my dreams. Paolo, thy hand 

Jacopo, thine ; Princes, these are the peers 

Of mine estate. 

TINTORETTO 

Ser Titian, if unworthy pride 
Speak in me, pardon it, but this I hope, 
That where the Roman painters, men of worth, 
Discuss the might of this our glorious art, 
Thou wilt uphold our Venice to them all. 

PAOLO 

And tell them, too, that while their fading light 
Goes down, in Venice we look forward still. 

CARDINAL FARNESE 
Now must we all set forth, and as we ride 
And the long journey through the weary days 
Doth settle on our spirits, know you this: 
In every little chapel in the hills, 
And every echoing nave of holy Rome, 
Some faithful soul doth pray for Titian s journey, 
And doth entreat for him the care of Heaven. 
Fair days abroad, and prosperous return. 

[The procession goes out. 

DELLA CASA 

And one he leaves behind shall pray as well, 
While life remains, and in his humble song 
Shall glorify this generous soul. For me, 
The echo of a love around my heart, and praise 
For Titian These are all of life. 

[Lights Out. 




SCENE XII 

[Titian, Vasari and Michael Angelo 
Discovered. 



TITIAN 

Signore, since I came to Rome, I feel 
A tremor at the core ; my courage fails, 
Where everything is old so old, it seems, 
I am too young for wisdom. Yet my years 
Do weigh upon me. 

VASARI 

Messer Titian yearns 
For Venice. Master, thou must comfort him. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 
Leave us, Vasari. For between us twain 
There is a thing that must be spoken out 
And no man know of it. 

[Exit Vasari. 

TITIAN 

Thine art and mine 
Are each to each opposed as the poles, 
Yet thou dost praise my pictures. What of this? 
I cannot find, in the sun s golden light, 
In the rich colour of Dame Nature s robe 
The elements of thy supremacy. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Nor I the glow and glamour of thy sight. 

TITIAN 
So we have failed both failed? 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Nay, we have wrought 

Each by his light, and each has found his truth, 
Not both the same. But when we two go down 
Into the night, the lamp of art shall fall, 
And men must grope for beauty by the faint 
And pale reflection of a vanished flame, 
As in the wakening of Italy 
They strove to catch the buried gleam of Greece. 

TITIAN 

In Venice there is still a day to come 
And men shall carry on the torch. 

MICHAEL ANGELO 
Not long 
It burns after thy passing. 

TITIAN 
Then with us 

The glory dies. And still for me the doubt 
Which is the truth, the sovran truth. Thou art 
A poet, and thou buildest lofty rhyme ; 
Thou art a painter, and the majesty 
Of Christ in Judgment o er embattled hells 
Is in thy ranging message; thou art one 
To whom the rearing of eternal domes 

84 



Is like the blowing of a bubble in 

The silent air; and marble to thy hand, 

As to its lord, yields virgin ecstacies. 

As thou art wise, I pray thee shrive my doubt, 

And set at rest the shaking of my soul. 

Thou knowest all these arts. Which one is Truth? 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

These are not Art. 

These are the shadowy shapes of her, the moods 

She masks in. Art I know of but one Art. 

[The light comes on, and the Herald 
enters, leading a processional of all 
the characters of the Pageant, in re 
versed chronological order. 







MCM 
VII 



ALDERBRINK PRESS 
CHICAGO 



UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 




THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
STAMPED BELOW 



0* 

JUL 31 1931 




30>n-6, 14 



even: 



Book of 



y 3 16 



L 17 192 
L 31 193 



words. 



Llnna, 



S846 



r 




1 ^9798 



3RARY