Cosmo De' Medici An Historical Tragedy |
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| 3. | SCENE III. |
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 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
SCENE III.
A Portico in Florence. Enter a Professor and two Students.Prof.
I shall inform you of their several names,
And wherefore each is famous, as they pass.
Since ye're but late from Pisa, 'tis not likely
Your eyes should recognize them; tho' their works
May be companion'd by your memories.
1st Stu.
We greatly thank you, sir!
2nd Stu.
The festival
Will be adorn'd with heterogenous talents:
Will't not, Professor?
Prof.
Truly so: you will find
Artists, astronomers, mechanists, and scholars,
Critics, historians, chemists, and a shoal
Of poets and musicians.
1st Stu.
Shoals of poets!
Nay, after that the devil himself may come;
For 'twill be hot enough.
Prof.
I should have said,
Writers of songs and anniversary odes,
Sweet rhymes and levities to please the fair;
With real poets sprinkled 'midst the group.
1st Stu.
Shoals of musicians! Oh, what quiring glee!
Mountains of meat, and cataracts of wine!
2nd Stu.
Who are all these?
Prof.
A few are of some note.
A Group, in rich attire, pass across the back of the Stage.
Prof.
Those are Noblemen of the Court, and Cavaliers
of the Order of St Etienne. He, with the close
black beard, large hands, and something of lameness in
his gait, is Count Zelatore, who was originally a private
soldier, but received his title and estates for his great
valour and judgment in the Siennese wars. The
bending figure near him, with the large grey beard, is
Medicino, the famous old General. The three who walk
abreast, a little apart from the rest, are the Cardinals of
Florence.
A second Group pass across.
1st Stu.
Who is that tall, bird-like personage
strutting in front, with the rich jewel in his huge
dark, slashed doublet, and crimson mantle as bright as
an auto da fé?
Prof.
I do not know: methinks he ought to walk
last. That thin figure in the centre is Vasari, the
painter. His writings are of value, and have just been
published at the Duke's express direction. May Vasari
prove grateful! Beside him is his friend, the accomplished
Pietro Aretino, whom some few love, and many
hate. Near him, on the right, are Pontormo, Naldini,
Bronzino, and Schidone, all engaged on different works
for the Duke.
1st. Stu.
See, again, an extraordinary object, with
ruffles and rapier—what a rapier!—and no calves to his
legs! Is't the Ambassador from France?
Prof.
'Tis probable. I thought at first it was his
valet. Mark you that tall personage, of firm and
graceful carriage!—it is Guicciardini, the historian,
who proposed his Highness as Duke of Florence, when
the Council of Forty-eight were assembled. That figure
striding alone in fierce embroidery, with a certain air
of energy and defiance, is Benvenuto Cellini.
1st Stu.
Ay, sir; we have seen the rare Cellini
before.
2nd Stu.
You might know his walk a mile off.
'Tis exactly that of a gladiator who hath just killed
his man.
Enter a Musician.
1st Stu.
Learned sir! what fat, silver-headed, satin-coated
gentleman is this, who carries so much luggage
in front beneath his melon-blossom vest?
Prof.
It is Policarpo Guazzetto, the celebrated
he hath been in years.
Mus.
(running forward).
Ah! my lord Professor,
is it you?—your servant, Master Hautboy and Master
Triangle!
(To Professor)
Clever fellows, eh? Has't
seen Benvenuto Cellini pass by this way?
Prof.
He hath this moment passed.
Mus.
Ha!—then shall I overtake him briskly. All
this morning have I been with him, and left his house
but that I might dress, perfume, and render myself
more angelic than ordinary. He hath been singing
me an ode of his own composure for this brilliant
occasion, wherein he himself seemeth to be the Duke,
and the Duke his much-admiring friend. Still, very
good—I mean the music is good—of poetry I am no
judge; but his music is good—that is, for an amateur.
Every man should keep to his own profession. Bronzino
also sings well, and hath a good voice—for an
unformed voice. But every man should keep to his
own profession. I sat up with him half last night. He
knows no more about music than a rhinoceros.
Prof.
Was there nothing upon his easel which you
could admire?
Mus.
I' faith, there was! He had the head of an
old Cardinal, half done;—seemed quite a daub, and to
ha' cost him no manner of pains,—but at a little distance
there was the complete face of the man! Can't conceive,
for the life o' me, how it's done!
Prof.
Doubtless, a copy from Michael Angelo?
Mus.
Don't know in the least. 'Twas a stern, dark-bearded,
grand-looking old fellow. I could tell exactly
in what a fine sonorous voice he would sing the bass
to a mass. But I need waste no more time in speaking
henceforth make repletion one of the Cardinal Virtues!
[Exit Musician.
1st Stu.
Who is that, sir?—he who so gloomily
paces along by a different route from the rest, with
his eyes now fixed on the ground,—and now glancing askaunce,
with a ferocious expression round the mouth?
2nd Stu.
Murder and rapine are at work in both.
Prof.
(in an under tone).
Envy impelling him from
behind, and oblivion standing before him, contend for
his soul. It is Baccio Bandinelli.
1st Stu.
But lo! yon distant patriarch, robed and swathed
In massive folds, with beard of hewn-iron grey,
Who heavily moves!—his sombre body bowed
By labour and old time!
2nd Stu.
Slow falls his pace,
Measuring the earth, as for a giant's grave!
Prof.
'Tis Michael Angelo!
2nd Stu.
Thou mighty soul!
Heaven's temples claim the adornment of thine hand;
And space, new worlds!
A third Group pass across.
Prof.
Those gentlemen who are in advance of the
rest, are Giovanni Baptista, Cini, Baldini, Filipo
Nerli; all historians. He who follows, attired in such
splendour, is the poet Della Casa, Archbishop of Benevento;
and on his right walk Landi and Primerani,
the dramatists, followed close by Lasca, the novelist,
and Pietro Vettori, the critic and scholar. A little to
the left of Della Casa, engaged in earnest conversation
with the sculptors Ammanati and John of Bologna, is
and patriotic supporter of the republican Strozzi,
who, though previously opposed to the Duke, hath
recently been made his private librarian, in place of
Chiostro; albeit the republican sentiments of Varchi
remain unchanged.
Enter Macchietti and a Gentleman, disputing.
Mac.
I do assure you, sir, you are most thoroughly
misled about the matter! He is a genuine sculptor,
sir; an inspired sculptor—quite equal to Cellini, and
beyond Bandinelli—and Del Passato's judgment goes
with mine: Passato admires his excellence.
Gent.
I cannot discover it.
Mac.
Very likely.
Gent.
His figures have no more design in them than
an English chimney-pot.
Mac.
He is not happy in his figures; his excellence
—judge of a man by his excellence—is in his heads.
Look at his bust of the Prince Giovanni! It is exquisite!
The execution is masterly: not too highly
polished, but fleshy; the expression mild, sensitive,
thoughtful, rife with subtle passion, and to the life!
Gent.
I have not seen it.
Mac.
And if you had, sir?
Enter Chiostro, with Berta and Christina, richly attired.
Chris.
Dispute no more! there shall be nought but
smiles to-day.
Prof.
'Twas a high argument.
Chi.
Macchietti had reason therein.
Dispute no more! Take us away among ye,
most grave and circuitous scholars!
Mac.
Well—but I know I am right in this.
Chris.
'Tis the first time, then, sweet husband!
Thou should'st have an obelisk of wax set up i' the spot.
Ber.
With a wick in it, sir; that we might see to
read your exploit!
Mac.
Come—come!
[Exeunt; manent two Students.
1st Stu.
Dispute no more! Paint a smile i' the palm
of your hand, and box the ears of the world till the
amiable impression become universal.
2nd Stu.
Set up a candle to light your folly, while
your fame melts away!
1st Stu.
Analysis and synthesis, ye are nothing to a
tongue! Its point is as fine as the tooth of a mite, that
hath thirty positive bellies to one possible brain.
2nd Stu.
The cow that harangued Livy in choice
Latin, could not have more completely silenced philosophy
and art.
1st Stu.
Dispute no more!
[Exeunt.
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