Michael Angelo. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ He rides through Rome with a long retinue

       Of Ethiopians and Numidians

       And Turks and Tartars, in fantastic dresses,

       Making a gallant show. Is this the way

       A Cardinal should live?

      JULIA.

       He is so young;

       Hardly of age, or little more than that;

       Beautiful, generous, fond of arts and letters,

       A poet, a musician, and a scholar;

       Master of many languages, and a player

       On many instruments. In Rome, his palace

       Is the asylum of all men distinguished

       In art or science, and all Florentines

       Escaping from the tyranny of his cousin,

       Duke Alessandro.

      VITTORIA.

       I have seen his portrait,

       Painted by Titian. You have painted it

       In brighter colors.

      JULIA.

       And my Cardinal,

       At Itri, in the courtyard of his palace,

       Keeps a tame lion!

      VITTORIA.

       And so counterfeits

       St. Mark, the Evangelist!

      JULIA.

       Ah, your tame lion

       Is Michael Angelo.

      VITTORIA.

       You speak a name

       That always thrills me with a noble sound,

       As of a trumpet! Michael Angelo!

       A lion all men fear and none can tame;

       A man that all men honor, and the model

       That all should follow; one who works and prays,

       For work is prayer, and consecrates his life

       To the sublime ideal of his art,

       Till art and life are one; a man who holds

       Such place in all men's thoughts, that when they speak

       Of great things done, or to be done, his name

       Is ever on their lips.

      JULIA.

       You too can paint

       The portrait of your hero, and in colors

       Brighter than Titian's; I might warn you also

       Against the dangers that beset your path;

       But I forbear.

      VITTORIA.

       If I were made of marble,

       Of Fior di Persico or Pavonazzo,

       He might admire me: being but flesh and blood,

       I am no more to him than other women;

       That is, am nothing.

      JULIA.

       Does he ride through Rome

       Upon his little mule, as he was wont,

       With his slouched hat, and boots of Cordovan,

       As when I saw him last?

      VITTORIA.

       Pray do not jest.

       I cannot couple with his noble name

       A trivial word! Look, how the setting sun

       Lights up Castel-a-mare and Sorrento,

       And changes Capri to a purple cloud!

       And there Vesuvius with its plume of smoke,

       And the great city stretched upon the shore

       As in a dream!

      JULIA.

       Parthenope the Siren!

      VITTORIA.

       And yon long line of lights, those sunlit windows

       Blaze like the torches carried in procession

       To do her honor! It is beautiful!

      JULIA.

       I have no heart to feel the beauty of it!

       My feet are weary, pacing up and down

       These level flags, and wearier still my thoughts

       Treading the broken pavement of the Past,

       It is too sad. I will go in and rest,

       And make me ready for to-morrow's journey.

      VITTORIA.

       I will go with you; for I would not lose

       One hour of your dear presence. 'T is enough

       Only to be in the same room with you.

       I need not speak to you, nor hear you speak;

       If I but see you, I am satisfied.

       [They go in.

      Monologue: The Last Judgment

       Table of Contents

       MICHAEL ANGELO's Studio. He is at work on the cartoon of the Last Judgment.

       MICHAEL ANGELO.

       Why did the Pope and his ten Cardinals

       Come here to lay this heavy task upon me?

       Were not the paintings on the Sistine ceiling

       Enough for them? They saw the Hebrew leader

       Waiting, and clutching his tempestuous beard,

       But heeded not. The bones of Julius

       СКАЧАТЬ