The Agony and the Ecstasy Page #6

---

alone. I can never find anything.

A decoration?

I needed some figures to space

the main panels.

And the female figures?

There won't be any.

Why should there be?

God made man in His image.

Woman He made from a rib.

No wonder you have such a

reputation for gallantry Michelangelo.

And this?

Oh, it'll never be painted.

Why should I?

Why should I drag myself

up those scaffolds again?

How many more weeks? Months?

On a commission I never wanted?

While he lurks below,

spying on me?

"When will you make an end?

When will you make an end?"

Well, I have made an end.

Even if I had the

strength to go on.

I don't have the will.

Ah, the Lady Ridolfi de' Medici.

Our beloved daughter...

who took it upon herself

to dismiss our physicians.

No, no, no!

You will not rise.

You are not well.

Your Holiness does me honor.

I come to make amends

to you, my son.

A little penance

I had given myself.

I have treated you harshly,

and helped bring you to this...

sorry state. I admit

my responsibility. And regret it.

Yes, Holy Father.

But now your trials are at an end.

I bring you glad news.

I relieve you of your commission.

You are free.

You will continue to receive

full payment, of course.

- I haven't received any payment.

- Full payment, I say...

until you have recovered

your health.

When you can return to Florence,

free of all obligations, all cares.

But, Holy Father,

what about the ceiling?

Yes, the ceiling.

I have considered other

arrangements about the ceiling.

- Your health is more important to me.

- What other arrangements?

I have been considering your young

colleague, Raphael.

Raphael?

Paint my ceiling?

Your ceiling, did you say?

It is only yours as long

as you work on it.

Otherwise, it is mine.

Mine! Is that clear?

But you promised me.

You can call yours only what

I choose to bestow on you.

If I give you the ceiling,

it is yours.

- Lf I give it to Raphael, it is his.

- Oh, no, Holiness. I can't.

I wish you good health

and good fortune.

Your Holiness, you can't mean it.

You'll destroy him.

I don't have to tell the daughter of

Lorenzo that an artist is destroyed...

only when he is

kept from his work.

But I haven't kept him

from his work.

I have merely saved his life.

I dismissed your bungling

physicians because they certainly...

would have killed him.

I fed him, nursed him.

Yes, and catered to

his weaknesses. Why?

To make a plaything

for a noble woman?

What Your Holiness suggests

does us both dishonor.

I don't deny.

I have a certain love for him.

But he's been desperately ill.

Believe me, his health has

been my only concern.

I should get him well soon.

The cure for Michelangelo's illness

is not love...

but work.

Then, then you're not thinking

of Raphael?

I am thinking of

the Sistine ceiling.

Nothing else.

If you send him back to work too

soon, he'll paint in his own blood.

What runs in Michelangelo's

veins is not blood but paint.

In time you will discover

that for yourself.

Goodnight, my daughter.

I think we can safely say that

Buonarroti will be back...

...on the ceiling within the week.

- Holiness, I thought you said.

These were for my tomb?

And I've paid for them?

Yes, Holiness.

Perhaps we were a little hasty

in abandoning the tomb.

Costly, yes, in money and time,

vainglorious perhaps...

but a fitting monument, after all.

Just the thing for the nave

of St. Peter's in the center.

Under the dome.

- Why this graveyard face?

- The news is grave, Holiness.

The French have invaded Lombardy.

The Germans are at the Brenner Pass.

Ferrara and Bologna have joined

the alliance against Your Holiness.

Milan is besieged.

Nothing stands between your enemies

and Rome itself, Your Holiness.

Nothing but the few troops

that I am gathering here.

- No word from Spain?

- No, Holiness.

How soon can your mercenaries

be made ready to march?

Holiness, they're tearing

down the scaffolding.

Silence!

How dare you interrupt me?

- But, Your Holiness.

- Wait!

You will have your answer.

Now wait!

- When can you march?

- Retreat from Rome?

- I should think we.

- I said March.

Forward! Against the Germans

and the French?

At once, Holiness.

But it is my duty to tell you that

you should either retreat...

or negotiate.

As Pope I can do neither

and remain Pope.

I will attack because I must.

We leave today and join our troops.

Yes, Holiness.

You wonder why I ordered the

scaffolding to be taken down.

I suppose I should

have consulted you.

I have much on my mind.

Is my commission at an end?

Of course not.

Is that what you thought?

What else was I to think?

No, no, no. I just wanted people

to see what had been done.

But my work... is... not finished.

The Creation of Adam,

the heart of the fresco...

the Sun and the Moon.

Buonarroti! How many times

have I asked you...

when you will make an end?

And what has your answer been?

"When I am finished,

when I am finished!"

I can wait no longer for

the end that will never come.

But show my work unfinished!

I've never done that!

- You will do so now.

- But why? Why?

- Because I order it!

- I will not obey you!

Will not? Did I hear

you correctly? Will not?

Yes, I'll destroy it first,

with my own hands.

I have suffered your insolence

for the last time.

Your commission is at an end.

You are dismissed.

Michelangelo, the chapel's

been crowded all day.

Master Buonarroti,

you claim not to be a painter...

but you have sent us

all back to school.

But we are wondering when are you

going to decide to finish the work?

Ask yourself that question. The

Pope will want the ceiling finished.

Who else would he choose but you?

You have master my style already.

It is true that I wanted your

commission. I admit it freely.

But today I came

here in good faith.

To tell you of my admiration

for your work.

I don't want to finish your ceiling

now and I doubt if I could.

Perhaps. Still...

I mean it... I...

I hope you will finish the chapel.

I'll never go in it again.

If he should apologize?

- Popes don't apologize.

- Excuse me...

but I think you should

apologize to him.

For being beaten by him,

like a disobedient servant?

Well, what is an artist in

this world but a servant?

A lackey for the

rich and powerful.

Before we even begin to work,

to feed this craving of ours...

we must find a patron.

A rich man of affairs,

or a merchant, or a prince...

or a Pope.

We must bow, fawn, kiss hands.

To be able to do the things

we must do, or die.

We are harlots,

always peddling beauty...

at the doorsteps of the mighty.

If it comes to that,

I won't be an artist.

You'll always be an artist.

You have no choice.

Are you really so blind?

Why do you think he

wanted to show the ceiling?

- Because he was ashamed of it?

- Ashamed?

Of course not. What a stupid thing

to say. He was proud of it!

So he insulted you by showing

it to the world.

- Half-finished.

Rate this script:3.4 / 8 votes