The weekly Lancaster gazette. (Lancaster, Ohio) 1852-1855, 1853-03-24

examined y with curiosity ; all admired 1t
with eagerness; all -pronouncedJi ii the mas
ter piece of Donatello, The whole town
were in raptures, and lovely ladies, as they
bent from their carriages TO answer the sa-
lutes Of the Princes and Dukes, instead OF
the common place frivOlities Of fashion, sald'
Have you seen the new statue by DOna-
tello!"
Is there an art like that Of sculpture!
Painting is a brilliant illusions lovely
cheat. Sculpture. while it represents a re-
! ality, is itself a reality. The pencil pours
its leryid hucs upon perishable canvass, and
they fade with the passing air; but the CHS
al works in eternal marble-strikes out u
creation immortal us the globe, and beuuti'
full as the soul
Il told thee, Donatello,' said Lorenzo,
.thon wouId'st excel all thy rivals
Fling BY the chisel now cried another,
thou cSnst add nothing 10 that
Il shall cease, hereafter my devotion to the
antique, cried a third.
'The power of Phidios,' exclaimed one.
The execution OF Praxiteles!' said anoth-
er. -.#
You will draw v~oturies from Venus
whispered a soft italian girl, AS she turned
her melting eyes WI the w 20"
The A polio will hereafter draw his bow
unheeded,' cried an artist whom many th0r
the best of his day.
Among the crowds who iocked to the
studio Of Donatello, there was a youth who
had given some promise OF excellence
Many said that, with intense study, he might
one Jay make his name to be heard Beyond the
Alps, and some went SO far as to hint that IN
time he might tread close On the heels even
of Donatello himself, but these were san
guine men, and great friends of the young
man; besides, they spoke at random. They
called the student Michael Angelo.
He had stood n long time regarding it with
fixed eyes and folded arms. He walked
from one position to another; measured 1t
with his keen ghnces from head TO foot, re-
garded it before, behind, and studied its
l%prOfiles from various points. The veneer
able Donutello saw him, and awaited his
long and absorbed examination with the
!. battered pride of an artist and the affection
ate indulgence Of a father. AT length
Michael Angelo stopped once more before
: it, inhaled a long breath, and broke the pro-
found silence. 1T wants only one thing,
muttered the gifted boy.
= Tell me- cried the successful artist
. ',Ohati it wnnls. This is the first censurt
/ which my st. George has elected. Can
: improved Can | alter! Is it in the Cay o.
I the marble! Tell me-!
: But the critic had disappeared.
" Donatello knew the mighty genius o
: Michael Angelo. He had beheld the flashe
? Of the sucred fire, and watched the develop
z ment of the God within him.
'Diablo!' cried the old man, Michael An
9 cello gone to Rome and not q word Of advic'
about my statue+ But one thing!' He look
ed at it Ugain-he listened to the murmur
of applause which il drew from all who be
held it-a placed smile settled on his face
But one thingl---what can it BET
Years rolled by. Michael Angelo re
NAMED at Rome, or made excursions to 9th
err places, but had never returned to Flor
u ence. Wherever he had been, men regard
n ed him us comet--something fiery terrible
r treme ndous, sublime. His fame. spread owe
u the globe; what his elsisel touched it hallow
nd ed. He spurned the dull clay, aud struc|
oil his vast and intensely brilliant conception
at once from the marble. Michael Angel
&c was n name to worship--a spell in the art
--an honor to Italy---to the world. Wha
is he praised, lived; what he condenned, per
oil ished.
re AS Donatell9 grew old, his anxiety gre,
ty more powerful to know what the inspire
et eyes oil the wonderful artist had detected /
ic his great statue.
Al length the immortal Florentine turne
ly his eyes to his native republic, and, as h
ct reached the summit of the hill which rises o
the side of Porto Romano,he beheld the MAJ
s. %nifcent and glor,ous dome and Cdmpanl
n .L...- =. IL. ~ x.ll,. .,I.,u. a ~ ii
b. setting sun, with the broad topped tower
IS, the Palldsso Vecchio lifted ia the yellow ligh
a. even as this day il stands.
nc ALI, death! can no worth ward ihee!-
Must the inspired artists eyes be dark, h
OF hand motionl 'ss, his heart still, aud his il
H. @vcntive brain as dull as the clay he mould'
re Yes! DOnatello lies stretched on his la
:" couch, and the light Of life passing from h
eyes; yet even In that awful hour h
:" thoughts ran Oh the wishes Of his past year
ut and he sent for the Floreniine artist.
il. His friend came instantly.
nd 'Iiam going, Michael, my chisel is idle, NJ
visio,,is dim, but | feel thy hand, my mob
ire boy, and Ihear thy kind breast sob. Iiglor
inthy rcnown; ppredicted it, and Iblossm
he Creator that | have lived TO see it; but befol
Is, | sink into the tomb, | charge thee, on,tt
ps' friendship, oD'tiS religion, answer my que
IP- ton truly
Then tell me, without equivocations, wh,
it ia that my St, George wants!'
X The gift Ofspeech! was THE replyt
IN A CLEAN of sunshine fell across the o
ne mans face. The smile fingered on his liz
long after he lay as cold as the marble upo
n which he had so often stamped the conceI
tons of his genius.
H. The statue remains the admiration
p,sterity, and adorns the exterior of Il
he ChicSd dor Sam MicheleS.