MICHAEL ANGELO. Men do not go to Paradise in coaches.
MONK. The catacombs, the convents, and the churches; The ceremonies of the Holy Week In all their pomp, or, at the Epiphany, The Feast of the Santissima Bambino At Ara Coeli. But I shall not see them.
MICHAEL ANGELO. These pompous ceremonies of the Church Are but an empty show to him who knows The actors in them. Stay here in your convent, For he who goes to Rome may see too much. What would you further?
MONK.
I would see the painting
of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel.
MICHAEL ANGELO. The smoke of incense and of altar candles Has blackened it already.
MONK.
Woe is me!
Then I would hear Allegri's Miserere,
Sung by the Papal choir.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
A dismal dirge!
I am an old, old man, and I have lived
In Rome for thirty years and more, and know
The jarring of the wheels of that great world,
Its jealousies, its discords, and its strife.
Therefore I say to you, remain content
Here in your convent, here among your woods,
Where only there is peace. Go not to Rome.
There was of old a monk of Wittenberg
Who went to Rome; you may have heard of him;
His name was Luther; and you know what followed.
[The convent bell rings.
MONK, rising. It is the convent bell; it rings for vespers. Let us go in; we both will pray for peace.