VITTORIA.
Ah yes, I know it,
And meet my fate with fortitude. You find me
Surrounded by the labors of your hands:
The Woman of Samaria at the Well,
The Mater Dolorosa, and the Christ
Upon the Cross, beneath which you have written
Those memorable words of Alighieri,
"Men have forgotten how much blood it costs."
MICHAEL ANGELO. And now I come to add one labor more, If you will call that labor which is pleasure, And only pleasure.
VITTORIA.
How shall I be seated?
MICHAEL ANGELO, opening his portfolio.
Just as you are. The light falls well upon you.
VITTORIA. I am ashamed to steal the time from you That should be given to the Sistine Chapel. How does that work go on?
MICHAEL ANGELO, drawing.
But tardily.
Old men work slowly. Brain and hand alike
Are dull and torpid. To die young is best,
And not to be remembered as old men
Tottering about in their decrepitude.
VITTORIA. My dear Maestro! have you, then, forgotten The story of Sophocles in his old age?
MICHAEL ANGELO. What story is it?
VITTORIA.
When his sons accused him,
Before the Areopagus, of dotage,
For all defence, he read there to his Judges
The Tragedy of Oedipus Coloneus,—
The work of his old age.