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

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
Shook in their sepulchre.  I heard the sound;
They only heard the sound of their own voices.