The Agony and the Ecstasy Page #2

---

The true house of God

and center of our faith...

a setting for your

sculpture group?

- I think Michelangelo means that.

- It's quite clear what he means.

You should carve your own

self-portrait, master Buonarroti...

as the spirit of modesty.

Perhaps it sleeps in one

of these marbles.

It's not well to goad, Bramante.

It's well to remember he's not

only the Pope's architect...

but his adviser and confidant

on all the arts.

I don't beg for the Pope's favors.

He needs me as much as I need him.

He gives me work,

I give him monuments.

Both our ambitions are satisfied.

Hold fast!

Where are all the people?

You may tell your master,

the King of France...

that I have looked up the Cardinal

Clermont in Sant'Angelo...

because he is no

better than a spy.

I know where the loyalty

of you French cardinals lie!

You belong with you King,

not with your church.

Don't tempt me to provide

you both with similar lodgings.

My master will be

deeply distressed...

when I report Your Holiness's

words to him.

Remind your master

that I am at war...

and I will remain at war until

I have recovered the Papal States...

for the Church!

Every city, every village,

every foot of ground.

And I will stand no interference

from your master, or anyone else.

The King of France wishes

Your Holiness every success...

...in your enterprise.

- Yes, and spies on me...

in my own court, stirs up my

enemies throughout Italy...

and even boasts in private

that he will put a Frenchman...

on the throne of Peter and before

long make me his chaplain!

But His Majesty entertains nothing

but veneration for Your Holiness.

His Majesty called

me anti-Christ...

that only a stick on my back

would keep me in order.

Let him learn that

I too carry a stick.

Let him learn that I am the Pope!

The audience is over.

Buonarroti.

I am glad, my son, to see you

here in Rome and at work...

even though I had declared a holiday.

I commend such zeal.

I recall the last time I gave

you a commission...

you ran from me as though

I had the pox.

And Your Holiness will

also recall the reason.

When I applied for payment,

you had me driven from this palace...

...as though I had the pox.

- Silence!

You will speak only when

I give you permission!

And then you will

not speak of money!

During my campaign

in the Romagna...

I found time to do some reading.

I didn't know you

were a poet, Buonarroti.

"On Rome in the Pontificate

of Julius, the Second.

A Sonnet."

"Here helms and swords

are made of chalices:

the blood of Christ is

sold so much the quart."

Recognize those words?

Or these?

"He who wears the Papal crown,

is my Medusa still."

I have been compared to Lucifer...

Beelzebub, the Anti-Christ,

but never before Medusa!

This presumptuous Florentine

should be handed over...

to the hangman of Sant'Angelo.

This presumptuous Florentine

has been described...

as the master artist

of the world.

Certainly a better artist

than he is a poet.

Well?

Are you dumb?

I was waiting Your Holiness's

permission to speak.

You have it!

I was angry when I wrote that.

It was...

when you hadn't

paid me for the...

Also, you have been as free

with your tongue as your pen!

You have called me a conqueror.

A free booter!

When I modelled you in Bologna,

you told me yourself...

to put a sword in your hand.

And if I had not taken the sword...

if I had not become a conqueror...

there would be no Church,

no pontiff...

no hope of peace for mankind.

And, I may add,

no patron of architecture...

sculpture and painting and therefore

no comfortable living for artists.

I don't ask for comforts,

Holiness. Only work.

Good. I have work for you.

I have already begun it.

The tomb that is to

make me famous?

Do you really believe that?

That I hunger for personal fame?

You have always misunderstood me,

Buonarroti.

I am not the Borgia.

I seek honor for the Church,

not for myself.

And I will use art as I use the sword,

for the glory of the Faith.

I will build a new St. Peter's which

will become the first church...

in Christendom, the true house of

God and the center of our faith.

That much is clearly my duty...

even though Bramante may bankrupt

me before he is finished.

How many men are at

work on the foundations?

- Two thousand, Holiness.

- Two thousand.

I could have used such an army

in the siege of Bologna.

But the tomb.

The tomb.

What purpose is served

by the tomb?

Is my new cathedral to be nothing

but a setting for a sculpture group?

And in the center of the nave,

under the dome?

Do I not run the risk of

seeming vainglorious...

when all men know that

I am humble and meek?

Yes, meek. Besides, Buonarroti,

by my calculation...

you could not complete the work in

less than a hundred and sixty years.

And there's the cost.

If I allowed you to continue...

I should become

doubly bankrupt.

No, we will forget about my tomb.

For the time being, at least.

Do I have Your Holiness's

permission to return to Florence?

No. I told you I had work

for you! Come!

This chapel is very

dear to my heart.

As you know, it was built

by my uncle, Pope Sixtus.

That is why it is

called the Sistine.

What is your opinion

of the architecture?

Now the truth, Buonarroti.

The architecture? It has no more

architecture than a cow barn.

Bramante agrees with you.

In this, if nothing else.

And do you think it's proper for

your pontiff to conduct Mass...

in a barn fit only

for stabling cattle?

I am no judge of what's

proper for a pontiff.

Why this sudden modesty,

Buonarroti?

Then we agree that something

must be done.

Bramante wants to pull it

down and build a new chapel.

Bramante is very fond

of pulling things down.

But I have a better solution.

Better, less destructive...

and cheaper.

My son, I have decided to honor you

above all the painting master of Italy.

Painting masters?

You will correct the clumsiness,

of my uncle's architects.

Your commission is

to decorate the ceiling.

But your Holy Father,

I am a sculptor, not a painter!

Buonarroti! This new modesty

of yours is becoming a disease.

Did you not study the art

of fresco painting...

...under the great Ghirlandaio?

- Yes!

Did you not paint a Holy Family

for an obscure Florentine banker?

- That was just a diversion. This...

- And was not your fresco judged...

superior even to the panel

of Leonardo da Vinci?

- Florence is my city, Holiness!

- And I am your pontiff, Buonarroti!

Would you refuse me what you

did not refuse the bankers...

...and politicians of Florence?

- But...

Can it be that you are afraid?

Do you doubt your ability

to complete such a task?

I am not afraid, Holiness!

But...

But?

- Nothing, Holy Father.

- Very well.

You will paint the

Twelve Apostles on the ceiling...

and decorate the vault

with appropriate designs.

For this, you will be paid three...

er... two thousand ducats...

less the rent of the house

Rate this script:3.4 / 8 votes