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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13005-0.txt b/13005-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb78637 --- /dev/null +++ b/13005-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6006 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13005 *** + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY_ + + Francesca, i tuoi martiri a lagrimar + mi fanno triato e pio.--DANTE. + +_Inferno, v. 75 seq._ + + + + +[Illustration: GEORGE HENRY BOKER] + + + + +GEORGE HENRY BOKER + +(1823-1890) + + +The name of George Henry Boker suggests a coterie of friendships--a +group of men pledged to the pursuit of letters, and worshippers at the +shrine of poetry. These men, in the pages of whose published letters +and impressions are embedded many pleasing aspects of Boker's +temperament and character, were Bayard Taylor, Richard Henry Stoddard, +and Charles Godfrey Leland, the latter known familiarly in American +literature as "Hans Breitmann." These four, in different periods of +their lives, might have been called "the inseparables"--so closely did +they watch each other's development, so intently did they await each +other's literary output, and write poetry to each other, and meet +at Boker's, now and again, for golden talks on Sundays. Poetry was +a passion with them, and even when two--Boker and Taylor--were sent +abroad on diplomatic missions, they could never have been said to +desert the Muse--their literary activity was merely arrested. One of +the four--Stoddard--often felt, in the presence of Boker, a certain +reticence due to lack of educational advantages; but in the face of +Boker's graciousness--a quality which comes with culture in its truest +sense,--he soon found himself writing Boker on matters of style, on +qualities of English diction, and on the status of American letters--a +stock topic of conversation those days. + +Boker was a Philadelphian, born there on October 6, 1823,--the son +of Charles S. Boker, a wealthy banker, whose financial expertness +weathered the Girard National Bank through the panic years of 1838-40, +and whose honour, impugned after his death, in 1857, was defended +many years later by his son in "The Book of the Dead," reflective of +Tennyson's "In Memoriam," and marked by a triteness of phrase +which was always Boker's chief limitation, both as a poet and as a +dramatist. + +He was brought up in an atmosphere of ease and refinement, receiving +his preparatory education in private schools, and entering Princeton +in 1840. On the testimony of Leland, who, being related to Boker, was +thrown with him in their early years, and who avows that he always +showed a love for the theatre, we learn that the young college student +bore that same distinction of manner which had marked him as a child, +and was to cling to him as a diplomat. Together as boys, these +two would read their "Percy's Reliques," "Don Quixote," Byron and +Scott--and while they were both in Princeton, Boker's room possessed +the only carpet in the dormitory, and his walls boasted shelves of the +handsomest books in college. + + "As a mere schoolboy," wrote Leland, "Boker's knowledge of + poetry was remarkable. I can remember that he even at nine + years of age manifested that wonderful gift that caused him + many years after to be characterized by some great actor--I + think it was Forrest--as the best reader in America.... While + at college ... Shakespeare and Byron were his favourites. He + used to quiz me sometimes for my predilections for Wordsworth + and Coleridge. We both loved Shelly passionately." + +In fact, Leland claims that Boker was given to ridicule the "Lakers;" +had he studied them instead, he would have added to his own poetry a +naturalness of expression which it lacked. + +He was quite the poet of Princeton in his day, quite the gentleman +Bohemian. "He was," writes Leland, "quite familiar, in a refined and +gentlemanly way, with all the dissipations of Philadelphia and New +York." His easy circumstances made it possible for him to balance his +ascetic taste for scholarship with riding horse-back. To which almost +perfect attainment, he added the skilled ability to box, fence and +dance. He graduated from Princeton in 1842, and the description of him +left to us by Leland reveals a young man of nineteen, six feet tall, +whose sculptured bust, made at this time, was not as much like him "as +the ordinary busts of Lord Byron." In later years he was said to bear +striking resemblance to Hawthorne. His marriage to Miss Julia Riggs, +of Maryland, followed shortly after his graduation, in fact, while he +was studying law, a profession which was to serve him in good stead +during his diplomatic years, but which he threw over for the stronger +pull of poetry, whose Muse he could court without the necessity of +driving it hard for support. Yet he was concerned about literature +as a paying profession for others. On April 26, 1851, he wrote to +Stoddard: "Alas! alas! Dick, is it not sad that an American author +cannot live by magazine writing? And this is wholly owing to the +want of our international copyright law. Of course it is little to me +whether magazine writers get paid or not; but it is so much to you, +and to a thousand others." The time, until 1847, was spent in foreign +travel, but it is interesting to note, as indication of no mean +literary attainment in the interim, that Princeton, during this +period, bestowed on him the degree of M.A., for merit in letters. + +1848 was a red-letter year for Boker. It witnessed the publication of +his first volume of verse, "The Lessons of Life, and other Poems," +and it introduced him to Bayard Taylor and to R.H. Stoddard. Of the +occasion, Taylor writes on October 13, to Mary Agnew: + + Young Boker, author of the tragedy, "Calaynos," a most + remarkable work, is here on a visit, and spent several + hours to-night with me. He is another hero,--a most notable, + glorious mortal! He is one of our band, and is, I think, + destined to high renown as an author. He is nearly my own age, + perhaps a year or two older, and he has lived through the same + sensations, fought the same fight, and now stands up with the + same defiant spirit. + +This friendship was one of excellent spiritual sympathy and remarkable +external similarities and contrasts. One authority has written of +their late years: + + In certain ways, he and his friend, Bayard Taylor, made an + interesting contrast with each other. Here was Boker [circa + 1878] who had just come back from diplomatic service abroad; + and here, too, was Taylor, who was just going abroad + as minister to Berlin. Both were poets; they were + fellow-Pennsylvanians and friends; and they were men of large + mould physically, and of impressive presence; yet they were + very dissimilar types. Boker, though massive and with a trace + of the phlegmatic in his manner (perhaps derived from his + Holland ancestors, the Bôchers, who had come thither from + France, and had then sent a branch into England, from which + the American family sprang), was courtly, polished, slightly + reserved. His English forefathers had belonged to the + Society of Friends, as had also Taylor's family in + Pennsylvania,--another point in common. But Taylor's + appearance, as his friends will remember, was somewhat bluff + and rugged; his manner was hearty and open. + +Launched in the literary life, therefore, Boker began to write +assiduously. "Calaynos," the tragedy referred to by Taylor, went into +two editions during 1848, and the following year was played by Samuel +Phelps at Sadler's Wells Theatre, London, May 10. From the New York +_Tribune_ office, on May 29, 1849, Taylor wrote: + + Your welcome letter came this morning, and from the bottom of + my heart was I rejoiced by it. I can well imagine your feeling + of triumph at this earnest of fame.... I instantly hunted + up the London "Times" and found "Calaynos" advertised for + performance,--second night. I showed it to Griswold, who was + nearly as much surprised and delighted as myself. Of course + he will make good mention of it in his book. It will _sell_ + immensely for you, and especially just now, when you are + coming out with "Anne Bullen" [sic.]. I shall not fail to have + a notice of it in to-morrow morning's "Tribune." + +Some authorities state that it was given by Phelps without Boker's +consent. Another, who examined Boker's manuscripts, in possession of +the poet's daughter-in-law, Mrs. George Boker, records that Barrett +made cuts in the play, preparatory to giving it, Boker, even, revising +it in part. The American première was reserved for James E. Murdoch, +at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theater, January 20, 1851, and it +was revived at the same playhouse in April, 1855, by E.L. Davenport. +As Stoddard says of it, one "should know something--the more the +better--about the plays that Dr. Bird and Judge Conrad wrote for +Forrest and his successors, about Poe's 'Politian', Sargent's +'Velasco', Longfellow's 'Spanish Student'." + +His choice of subject, in this, his first drama, indicated the +romantic aloofness of Boker's mind, for he was always anxious to +escape what Leland describes him as saying was a "practical, soulless, +Gradgrind age." In fact, Boker had not as yet found himself; he was +more the book-lover than the student of men he afterwards became. + + "Read Chaucer for strength," he advises Stoddard on January + 7, 1850, "read Spenser for ease and sweetness, read Milton for + sublimity and thought, read Shakespeare for all these things, + and for something else which is his alone. Get out of your age + as far as you can." + +These young men were not quickly received, and they regarded the +utilitarian spirit of the time as against them. To Stoddard Boker once +confessed: "Were poetry forged upon the anvil, cut out with the axe, +or spun in the mill, my heaven, how men would wonder at the process! +What power, what toil, what ingenuity!" + +Boker's correspondence with Stoddard began in a letter, dated +September 5, 1849, announcing overtures made by the London Haymarket +Theatre for his new tragedy, "Anne Boleyn," which he was contemplating +sending them in sheets. "I have also the assurance," he announces, +"that Miss Cushman will bring it out in this country, provided she +thinks her powers adapted to it." + +Boker's pen was energetic, and it moved at a gait which shows how +fertile was his imagination. "The inseparables" cheered the way for +each other in the face of official journalistic criticism. Taylor +declared "Anne Boleyn" far in advance of "Calaynos," prophesying that +it would last. "Go ahead, my dear poet," he admonishes, "it will soon +be your turn to damn those who would willingly damn you." Together +these friends were always planning to storm the citadel of public +favour with poetry, but Boker seems to have been the only one to whom +the theatre held out attraction. By August 12, 1850, he was sending +news to Stoddard that "The Betrothal" would be staged the following +month. In good spirits, he writes: + + The manager is getting it up with unusual care and splendour. + Spangles and red flannels flame through it from end to end. I + even think of appearing before the curtain on horseback, nay, + of making the whole performance equestrian, and of introducing + a hippopotamus in the fifth act. What think you? Have you + and your miserable lyrics ever known such glory? If the + play should take _here_, you benighted New-Yorkers will be + illuminated with it immediately after it has run its hundredth + night in the city which is so proud of its son. + +This was the second of his pieces to be given performance, "Anne +Boleyn" never seeing the boards. "The Betrothal" was produced at the +Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, on September 25, 1850, and opened +in New York, on November 18 of the same year. Taylor wrote to its +author, on December 4: "I saw the last night.... It is even better as +an acting play than I had anticipated, but it was very badly acted. +I have heard nothing but good of it, from all quarters." It was +Elizabethan in tone, quite in the spirit of that romantic drama +practised by such American authors as Willis, Sargent and others. How +it was received when presented in London, during 1853, is reflected in +Boker's letter to Stoddard, dated October 9, 1853: + + I have read the _Times_ notice of the "Betrothal." It is honey + to most of the other newspaper criticisms.... Notwithstanding, + and taking the accounts of my enemies for authority, the play + was unusually successful with the audience on that most trying + occasion, the first night.... The play stands a monument of + English injustice. Mark you, it was not prejudice that caused + the catastrophe; it was fear lest I should get a footing + on their stage, of which "Calaynos" had given them timely + warning. + +"The Widow's Marriage," in manuscript, and never published, was +accepted by Marshall, manager of the Walnut, and is noted by Boker, in +a letter to Stoddard, October 12, 1852, the chief handicap confronting +him being the inability to find someone suited to take the leading +rôle. Stoddard's own comment was: + + Whether [it] was ever produced I know not, but I should + say not, for the part of the principal character, _Lady + Goldstraw_, is one which no actress whom I remember could have + filled to the satisfaction of her creator. The fault of this + character (me judice) is that it is too good to be played on a + modern stage. It ought to have been written for antiquity two + hundred years ago. + +Boker was right when he referred to himself as "prolific" at this +time. He already had produced, in 1851, according to markings on the +manuscript, a piece called "All the World a Mask," and he had +written "The Podesta's Daughter," a dramatic sketch, issued, with +"Miscellaneous Poems," in 1852. Toward the end of this year, he +completed "Leonor de Guzman." + + "Her history," he writes to Stoddard, on November 14, "you + will find in Spanish Chronicles relating to the reigns of + Alfonso XII of Castile and his son, Peter the Cruel. There are + no such subjects for historical tragedy on earth as are to be + found in the Spanish history of that period. I am so much in + love with it that I design following up 'Leonor de Guzman' by + 'Don Pedro'. The present tragedy, according to the judgment + of Leland, is the very best play I have written, both for the + closet and the stage. Perhaps I am too ready to agree + with him, but long before he said it I had formed the same + judgment." + +This tragedy was performed at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, +on October 3, 1853, and at the New York Broadway Theatre, on April 24, +1854. Boker wrote to his friends, showing his customary concern about +an actress skilled enough for the rôle of his heroine. When, finally, +for the Philadelphia première, Julia Dean was decided upon, he thus +expressed his verdict to Stoddard, after the opening performance: +"Miss Dean, as far as her physique would admit, played the part +admirably, and with a full appreciation of all those things which you +call its beauties." + +During these years of correspondence with his friends, Boker was +determining to himself the distinction between _poetic_ and _dramatic_ +style. + + "Seriously, Dick," he writes to Stoddard, on October 6, 1850, + "there is, to my mind, no English diction for your purposes + equal to Milton's in his minor poems. Of course any man would + be an intensified ass who should attempt to reach the diction + of the 'Paradise Lost', or aspire to the tremendous style of + Shakespeare. You must not confound things, though. A Lyric + diction is one thing--a Dramatic diction is another, requiring + the utmost force and conciseness of expression,--and Epic + diction is still another; I conceive it to be something + between the Lyric and Dramatic, with all the luxuriance of the + former, and all the power of the latter." + +He must have written to Taylor in the same vein, for, in a letter from +the latter, there is assurance that he fully understands what a +slow growth dramatic style must be. But Boker was not wholly wed to +theatrical demands; he still approached the stage in the spirit of +the poet who was torn between loyalty to poetic indirectness, and +necessity for direct dialogue. On January 12, 1853, he writes to +Stoddard: + + Theatricals are in a fine state in this country; every + inducement is offered to me to burn my plays as fast as I + write them. Yet, what can I do? If I print my plays, the + actors take them up, butcher, alter and play them, without + giving me so much as a hand in my own damnation. This is + something beyond even heavenly rigour; and so I proceed to + my own destruction, with the proud consciousness that, at all + events, it is my own act. _À propos_, have you ever read the + English acting copy of my "Calaynos"? A viler thing was never + concocted from like materials. + +Whether or not the play, "The Bankrupt," preceded or followed +the writing of "Francesca da Rimini" in 1853, we have no way of +determining; but it would seem that it progressed no further in its +stage career than in manuscript form, it being the only play on a +modern theme attempted by Boker. Then, it seems, he was hot on the +trail of the Francesca love story told in Dante, and used by so many +writers in drama and poetry. It is this play, conceded to be his +best, which is included in the present collection, and which calls for +analysis and history by itself. + +Taylor's collection of "Poems at Home and Abroad," dedicated to Boker +in 1855, suggests that the two must have continually talked over the +possibilities of gathering their best effusions in book form. Did not +Taylor write, as early as June 30, 1850, "You must come out in the +Fall with a volume of poems. Stoddard will, and so, I think, will I. +You can get a capital volume, with your 'Song', 'Sir John', 'Goblet', +and other things.... The publishing showmen would of course parade our +wonderful qualities, and the snarling critics in the crowd would show +their teeth; but we would be as unmoved as the wax statues of Parkman +and Webster, except that there might now and then be a sly wink +at each other, when nobody was looking." The two friends had been +separated for some time, while Taylor wandered over the face of +the globe, writing from Cairo, in the shadow of the pyramids, and +exclaiming, in Constantinople (July 18, 1852), "There is a touch of +the East in your nature, George." + +In 1856, Boker prepared his two volumes of "Plays and Poems" for the +press. He had won considerable reputation as a sonneteer, and this was +further increased by the tradition that Daniel Webster had quoted him +at a state dinner in Washington. As yet he was merely a literary +poet, and a literary dramatist whose name is usually linked with that +Philadelphia group discussed in Vol. II of this collection.[A] + +Writing of the Philadelphia of 1868, Leland says: + +[It was] "the Philadelphia when 'Emily Schaumbeg' was the belle and +Penington's 'store' was the haunt of the booklover, when snow fell +with old fashioned violence, and Third Street was convulsed by +old-fashioned panics, when everybody went mad over Offenbach, when one +started for New York from the Walnut Street Ferry, when George Boker +was writing his dramas and George Childs was beginning to play the +public Maecenas." Oftentimes the sturdy figure of Walt Whitman could +be seen walking on Broad Street, while Horace Greely, buried in +newspapers, travelled aboard a boat between New York and Philadelphia. + +It was the Civil War that not only turned Boker's pen to the Union +Cause, but changed him politically from a Democrat to a staunch +Republican. In fact, his name is closely interwoven with the +rehabilitation of the Republican party in Philadelphia. He often +confessed that his conscience hurt him many times when he realized he +cast his first vote for Buchanan. "After that," he is quoted as having +said, "the sword was drawn; it struck me that politics had vanished +entirely from the scene--that it was now merely a question of +patriotism or disloyalty." His "Poems of the War," issued in 1864, +contained such examples of his martial and occasional ability as the +"Dirge for a Soldier," "On the Death of Philip Kearney" and "The +Black Regiment," besides "On Board the Cumberland" and the "Battle of +Lookout Mountain." + +About this time, there was founded the Union League Club, with Boker +as the leading spirit; through his efforts the war earnestness of the +city was concentrated here; from 1863-71 he served as its secretary; +from 1879-84 as its President; and his official attitude may be +measured in the various annual reports of the organization. But even +in those strenuous days--at the period when the Northern spirits +lagged over military reverses, and at the time when the indecision +of General McClellan drew from him the satiric broadside,--"Tardy +George"--privately printed in 1865--Boker's thoughts were concerned +with poetry. His official laureate consciousness did not serve to +improve the verse. His "Our Heroic Themes"--written for the Harvard +Phi Beta Kappa--was mediocre in everything but intent, recalling what +Taylor wrote to him: "My Harvard poem, [he had read it in 1850 before +the same fraternity] poor as it is, was received with great applause; +but, alas! I published it, and thus killed the tradition of its +excellence, which, had I not done so, might still have been floating +around Harvard." + +In 1869, Boker issued "Königsmark, The Legend of the Hounds and other +Poems," and this ended his dramatic career until his return from +abroad, and until Lawrence Barrett came upon the scene with his +revival of "Francesca da Rimini" and his interest in Boker's other +work, to the extent of encouraging him to recast "Calaynos" and to +prepare "Nydia" (1885), later enlarged from two acts to a full sized +drama in "Glaucus" (1886), both drawing for inspiration on Bulwer's +"The Last Days of Pompeii." + +President Grant sent Boker to Constantinople, as U.S. Minister (his +appointment dated November 3, 1871)--an honour undoubtedly bestowed in +recognition of his national service. Here he remained four years, "and +during that time secured the redress for wrongs done American subjects +by the Syrians, and successfully negotiated two treaties, one having +reference to the extradition of criminals, and the other to the +naturalization of subjects of little power in the dominions of the +other." A reception was tendered him on December 22, 1871, by members +of the Union League Club, and among those present were Bayard Taylor, +Col. George Boker, of the Governor's staff, and son of Boker, and Dr. +Charles S. Boker, his brother. Among those who spoke were Robeson, +Secretary of the Navy, and Cameron, U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania. +Congratulatory letters were received from Bryant, James T. Fields, +Stoddard, Lowell, Longfellow, Aldrich, Curtis, and Stedman. On this +occasion, Taylor said: "I know the ripeness and soundness of his mind, +the fine balance of his intellectual qualities." + +On December 24, 1871, Boker wrote to Leland: + + The scarcest thing with me just now is time. I might give you + a shilling at a pinch, but a half hour is an article which I + do not happen to have about me.... By the way, your rhapsody + over the East in "M.K." ["Meister Karl"] had something to do + with my acceptance of the Turkish Mission; and if you have + been lying, I shall find you out, old boy. + +Boker's enthusiasm for Turkish scenery was unbounded, but his +difficulties as a diplomat were due to his ignorance of the tongue, +and his distrust of interpreters. But by the time his Government was +ready to transfer him to another post--that of Minister to Russia +(January 3, 1875)--he was heartily sick of his wrangling with the +Crescent, and glad, as he wrote Leland, "to shake the dust of this +dismal old city from my shoes, and prepare my toes for a freezing at +St. Petersburg." He echoed his distaste in later years by writing: "I +hate the East so profoundly that I should not return to it if there +were no other land in which I could live." This promotion to the +Russian court--it was a Russian, Ignatieff, who characterized him as +"of true diplomatic stuff"--was made in 1875, and he remained there +two years. + + "While in Russia," we learn, "he was the only one of our + Ministers at foreign courts who was able to checkmate Spain in + her controversy with us about the _Virginius_. He baffled + the Spanish Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and influenced + Gortschakoff to send a despatch to Madrid, which caused Spain + to apologize to the United States; thus averting serious + complications." + +Diplomatic life was not wholly distasteful to him; he possessed social +distinction which made him popular at both courts, so much so, indeed, +that the Czar cabled to Washington, when a change of administration +brought Boker's tenure of office to a close, asking if it were not +possible to have him retained. He had had his difficulties at the +Porte, as Lowell had had at Madrid. But his artistic nature responded +quickly to the picturesqueness of his surroundings. "Within a mile of +me," he writes Leland from Turkey,--"for I am now living at Therapia +upon the Bosphorus--there is a delicious encampment of the black tents +of a tribe of Gypsies." While he was in Russia he was continually +supplying Leland with information about gypsies. + +He went to Egypt, at the invitation of the Sultan, and--as though +recalling Taylor's longing, in 1852, when he was in Cairo, to have +Boker with him--took a trip up the Nile, with Leland, whom he had +invited to accompany him. Under the palm trees at Misraim, he had his +first meeting with Emerson. The varied foreign travel had broadened +his taste, and he was quickly responsive to what he saw. Writes +Leland: + + I have been with him many times in the Louvre, the great + galleries of London and St. Petersburg, and studied with him + the stupendous and strange remains of Egyptian art in the + Boulak Museum and the Nile temples, but never knew anyone, + however learned he might be in such matters, who had a more + sincere enjoyment of their greatest results. I remember that + he manifested much more interest and deeper feeling for what + he saw in Egypt than did Emerson, who was there at the same + time, and with whom I conversed daily. + +On January 15, 1878, Boker withdrew from diplomatic life, returning to +the United States, where he resumed literary work, his chief interest +in the stage being revived by his association with Barrett. His home +in Philadelphia--one of the literary centres of the time,--bore traces +of his Turkish stay--carpets brought from Constantinople, Arabic +designs on the draperies, and rich Eastern colours in the tapestried +chairs. His experience was obliged to affect his writing, if not in +feeling, at least in expression. I note in his "Monody," written +at the time of the death of his friend, the poet, T. Buchanan Read +(1822-1872), such lines as "the hilly Bosphorus," and "... For +the hills of Ancient Asia through my trembling tears glimmer like +fabrics...." As early as 1855, he had written for the _U.S. Gazette +and North American_, an article on Read comparing his "New Pastoral" +with the poetry of Cowper and Thompson. But Read to-day is familiar +because of his "Sheridan's Ride." We are told that Boker had a +work-room where he delighted in designing metal scrolls. + +There was a slight revival of public interest in his poems, which +necessitated the reprinting of several of his books. + +"The last time when I saw him," Stoddard recalls in 1890, "was at the +funeral of Taylor, at Cedarcroft, a little more than ten years ago. We +rode to the grave, on a hillside, and we rode back to the house. And +now he has gone to the great majority!" Boker died in Philadelphia, +January 2, 1890. "He takes place with Motley on our roll of well-known +authors," George Parsons Lathrop has written, "and it is even more +remarkable that he should have cultivated poetry in Philadelphia, +where the conditions were unfavourable, than that Motley should +have taken up history in Boston, where the conditions were wholly +propitious." + +It is by "Francesca da Rimini" that Boker is best remembered. In a +letter to Stoddard, March 3, 1853, he writes: + + You will laugh at this, but the thing is so. "Francesca da + Rimini" is the title. Of course you know the story,--everyone + does; but you nor any one else, do not know it as I have + treated it. I have great faith in the successful issue of this + new attempt. I think all day, and write all night. This is one + of my peculiarities, by the bye: a subject seizes me soul and + body, which accounts for the rapidity of my execution. My muse + resembles a whirlwind: she catches me up, hurries me along, + and drops me all breathless at the end of her career. + +And soon this was followed by the letter so often quoted, showing the +white-heat of his enthusiasm: + + Now that "Francesca da Rimini" is done,--all but the + polishing,--I have time to look around and see how I have + been neglecting my friends during my state of "possession." + Of course you wish to know my opinion of the bantling; I + shall suppose you do, at all events. Well, then, I am better + satisfied with "Francesca da Rimini" than with any of my + previous plays. It is impossible for me to say what you, or + the world, will say of it; but if it do not please you both, + I do not know what I am about. The play is more dramatic than + former ones, fiercer in its display of intense passions, and, + so far as mere poetry goes, not inferior, if not superior, to + any of them. In this play I have dared more, risked more, than + I ever had courage to do before. _Ergo_, if it be not a great + triumph, it will certainly be a great failure. I doubt whether + you, in a hundred guesses, could hit upon the manner in which + I have treated the story. I shall not attempt to prejudice + you regarding the play; I would rather have you judge for + yourself, even if your decision be adverse. Am I not the devil + and all for rapid composition? My speed frightens me, and + makes me fearful of the merits of my work. Yet, on coolly + going over my work, I find little to object to, either as to + the main design or its details. I touch up, here and there, + but I do little more. The reason for my rapid writing is + that I never attempt putting pen to paper before my design is + perfectly mature. I never start with one idea, trusting to the + glow of poetical composition for the remainder. That will + do in lyrical poetry, but it would be death and damnation to + dramatic. But just think of it!--twenty-eight hundred lines in + about three weeks! To look back upon such labour is appalling! + Let me give you the whole history of my manner of composition + in a few words. If it be not interesting to you, you differ + from me, and I mistake the kind of matters that interest you. + While I am writing I eat little, I drink nothing, I meditate + my work, literally, all day. By the time night arrives I am in + a highly nervous and excited state. About nine o'clock I begin + writing and smoking, and I continue the two exercises, _pari + passu_, until about four o'clock in the morning. Then I reel + to bed, half crazy with cigar-smoke and poesy, sleep five + hours, and begin the next day as the former. Ordinarily, I + sleep from seven to eight hours; but when I am writing, but + five,--simply because I cannot sleep any longer at such times. + The consequence of this mode of life is that at the end of + a long work I sink at once like a spent horse, and have not + energy enough to perform the ordinary duties of life. I _feel_ + my health giving way under it, but really I do not care. I am + ambitious to be remembered among the martyrs. + +This letter is not only significant of Boker's method of workmanship; +it is, as well, measure of his charm as a letter writer. For, in +correspondence with his close friends, he was as natural with them, +as full of force and brightness, as he was in conversation. We find +Taylor thanking him at one time, when in distress over family illness +and death, for his sustaining words of comfort; we find Leland basking +in the warmth of his sheer animal spirits. To the latter, Boker once +wrote: + + Dear old Charley, you are the only man living with whom I can + play the fool through a long letter and be sure that I shall + be clearly understood at the end. To say that this privilege + is cheerful is to say little, for it is the breath of life to + a man of a certain humour. + +The "Francesca" note, therefore, is typical of Boker's enthusiasm. +When Stoddard read the play, we wonder whether he saw in it any +similarities to Leigh Hunt's poem on the same subject? For once he had +detected in Boker's verses the influence of Hunt. There are critics +who claim Boker had read closely Hugo's "Le Roi s'Amuse." But there is +only one real comparison to make--with Shakespeare, to the detriment +of Boker. His memory beat in Elizabethan rhythm, and beat haltingly. +The present Editor began noting on the margin of his copy parallelisms +of thought and expression in this "Francesca" and in the plays of +Shakespeare; these similarities became so many, were so apparent, that +it is thought best to omit them. The text used is not based on the +manuscripts left by Boker, nor has it been compared with the acting +copy made, in 1855, for E.L. Davenport, as has already been done +elsewhere in print. I have preferred to use the text finally prepared +by Boker for his published plays, this being the one which met with +his approval. In 1882, Lawrence Barrett, with the aid of William +Winter, prepared an acting version of "Francesca," and it was this +which Mr. Otis Skinner used, when he revived the piece in 1901. + +A notice in The New York _Tribune_ for 1882 suggests that when E.L. +Davenport first essayed "Francesca da Rimini," in 1855, it was in +one-act. I can find no corroboration of this statement. The play-bill +here reproduced specifically announces a _five_ act tragedy, and it +is to be inferred that the form of the play, as given at the Broadway +Theatre, New York, September 26, 1855,[B] was the only one used by +him. Winter claims that as _Lanciotto_, Davenport was "unimaginative, +mechanical, and melodramatic," and that the whole piece "proved +tedious." This is strange, considering the heroic and romantic +characteristics in Davenport's method of acting. It may be that he +attempted Boker's play because of his interest in the development +of American drama. He had assisted Mrs. Mowatt in her career as +playwright, and, during his full life, his name was identified with +Boker's "Calaynos," George H. Miles's tragedy, "De Soto, the Hero +of the Mississippi," and Conrad's "Jack Cade." But the concensus of +opinion is that Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as given by Davenport, +was a failure. + +An examination of the cast in the Davenport program with the cast as +it was when Boker issued the play, indicates that the text must have +been considerably changed, and certain characters omitted, when, +at the suggestion of Winter, Lawrence Barrett promised to revive it +during the summer of 1882. The scholarly turn of Barrett's mind must +have made him ponder it well during a trip he made abroad at the time, +and Boker, meanwhile, must have been cutting the cloth to suit the +actor's ideas. Barron, one of Barrett's biographers, claims that "Mr. +Barrett saw great possibilities in the work, and with his practical +assistance the play was suitably changed, new situations were +effected, a more picturesque colouring was given the scenes and story, +and all that was repellant in the too close following of Dante [!] +was removed." The play was given by Barrett, at Haverly's Theatre, +Chicago, on September 14, 1882, Otis Skinner playing _Paolo_, and +Marie Wainwright appearing as _Francesca_. In Winter's estimate of the +performance, we find the dominant characteristics being "moderation" +and "balanced growth." He says of _Lanciotto_: "Alertness of the brain +sustained it, at every point, in brilliant vigour, and it rose in +power, and expanded in terrible beauty, accordingly as it was wrought +upon by the pressure of circumstances and the conflict of passions." + +The memory of this must have affected the interpretation of Mr. +Skinner, when, as _Lanciotto_, in his revival of the piece at the +Chicago Grand Opera House, August 22, 1901, with Aubrey Boucicault +as _Paolo_, Marcia Van Dresser as _Francesca_, and William Norris as +_Pepe_, he met with such success. "D'Annunzio gives us the soldier and +the brute," he wrote me in 1904. "Boker's hero is an idealist--almost +a dreamer." The fact is, Boker was recalling his memories of _Othello_ +and _Richard III_, if not of _Hamlet_, as Skinner suggests. In another +respect did the Barrett performance affect the later revival. The +portrayal of _Pepe_, by Norris, was based on what he called "the James +tradition," Louis James having, as Winter wrote, "a laughter that is +more terrible than malice." + +Lawrence Barrett's interest in the American drama was never very +pronounced. He sought Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as he sought W.D. +Howells' "Yorick's Love" (given at Cleveland, Ohio, October 26, 1878), +because the rôles therein suited his temperament. Between him and +Boker, there was some misunderstanding of short duration, about +royalties, but this was bridged over, and Boker's final attempts at +playwriting were made for him. The reader is referred to Vol. 32, +n.s. Vol. XXV, no. 2, June, 1917, of the _Publications of the Modern +Language Association of America_, for statements as to Boker's +"profits" from the stage. + +After Otis Skinner's revival of "Francesca da Rimini," it was played +for a while by Frederick Ward and Louis James in association (1893) +and by Frank C. Bangs in 1892. + +Hosts of dramas have been written on "Francesca da Rimini," and +every poet has essayed at one time or another to surpass Dante's +incomparable lines. Music scores have glorified this passionate love +story, while marble and canvas have caught the external expression of +it. In its portrayal, actual history has taken on legendary character, +and so "Francesca da Rimini" now ranks as a theme with the history +of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde. It has become the +inspiration for Maeterlinck in "Pelléas and Mélisande," who has viewed +the Italian passion through a mirage of mysticism. + +Into "The Divine Comedy," the account of Francesca and Paolo is +dropped, keen, sensitive and delicate, as though the poet, a friend of +those concerned, wished to cover the hard fact of illicit love in an +ecstacy of human feeling. Dante, the supreme master of his age, the +incomparable lover of Beatrice, differentiated this tragedy from +countless incidents of like character which marked his age. Had the +story been preserved only in the form recorded by Boccaccio, it would +have been lost in its minor details of history; whereas Dante has +glorified it. + +By the very fact that Dante places the two lovers in the circle of the +Lustful, it is clear that he realized the enormity of their sin. +The theory that his friendship with Guido Novella, the nephew of +Francesca, made Dante refrain from entering fully into the incident, +will not hold, when it is remembered that the cantos of the Inferno +were written in 1300, seventeen years before the poet reached Ravenna, +and accepted the hospitality of the Polenta house. Dante's infinite +compassion is, therefore, the cause for the compressed poetry of this +famous passage. + +Dante's Francesca lines have been infinitely translated. Longfellow is +conscientious; Byron chafes to be freed of the original Italian, and +his lines are irksome; Rossetti sees and feels, but he is laboured. +Dante, infinitely translated, remains supreme. + +The poems on this ideal love legend are of infinite variety. Tassoni +describes Paolo, the warrior, consumed with ravishing love, "shrunk +with misery;" he fails to reach the youthful passion, and is as +mediævally chivalric as is Chaucer in "The Knightes Tale" of Palamon +and Arcite. Leigh Hunt resorts to stilted narrative and description. + +Byron once thought to write a drama on this subject; had he done so, +Silvio Pellico might have had a formidable rival. More or less, all +the playwrights have gone to Italian history, and the more exact they +became, the more gross the situation. F. Marion Crawford fell on this +rock of accuracy, when he wrote his Francesca play for Mme. Sarah +Bernhardt. + +Silvio Pellico, who wrote the first drama on "Francesca da Rimini" +known to modern playgoers, lived his early life in an intensely +religious atmosphere, and suffered imprisonment later because of his +patriotic tendencies; it is not surprising, therefore, to find in his +play--first a national appeal that was to win it applause from all +Italy, and then, more important still, a purity of tone that struggled +most nobly against an inevitable, passionate end. _Paolo_ is the +one who, after some scruples, succumbs; _Francesca_ is infinitely +conscious that she is a wife; _Giovanni_ is suspicious. It would +seem that Pellico's play is the first that realized the theatrical +possibilities of the story; research has brought to light no play +manuscript previous to his. + +In the handling of his details, Pellico's incongruities and +artificialities are many. _Paolo_ returns from knightly deeds in Asia, +to find his father dead--the _Malatesta Verucchio_ who died in 1312, +twenty-seven years after _Giovanni_ committed the murder; therefore +Pellico gives to the deformed brother the power that history does not +wholly accord. The dramatist would avoid the indelicacy he finds in +the reading incident, recounting it only in a situation during +which _Francesca_ holds aloof in a wild effort to stifle her love. +Throughout the play, there is this ruthless twisting, in a desire to +conceal wrong and unpardonable sin. + +Turning to Uhland's fragmentary ideas, which even he himself was +doubtful whether he could handle, an atmosphere confronts us as +mediævally German as the "Der arme Heinrich" of Hartmann von Aue, +which was the inspirational source for Longfellow's "The Golden +Legend." Uhland shows heaviness in conception, and a conventionality, +thoroughly at variance with the tragedy's original passion. Romantic +as he is, he has robbed the story of its warm southern nature, and has +thrown his Dante aside to deal with false situation. He seems willing +to let fact and spirit go. _Paolo_ is a knight who tilts and worships +a glove. Uhland thinks, and he is not alone in his belief, that +_Francesca_ had been promised to _Paolo_ before _Giovanni_ was wedded +to her; yet if _Paolo's_ marriage with _Orabile_, in 1269, is to be +recognized as correct, historically, logical deductions from dates +would discountenance the statement. Neither have I found commentaries +to support the theory that _Paolo_ was older than _Giovanni_, as +Uhland sets forth in his play. The servant in Boccaccio here becomes +a jealous lover. It is interesting to note the variations of this +counter-element in the many play versions of the story--the element +that urges _Giovanni's_ suspicion to quick action--the dramatic force +of _Pepe_ in Boker; the disappointed motherhood and embittered love of +_Lucrezia_ in Stephen Phillips; the inborn savagery of _Malatestino_ +in D'Annunzio; the innocent unconsciousness of _Concordia_ in +Crawford, which finds similarity in a scene in Maeterlinck's "Pelléas +and Mélisande" between father and little son. Further, in Uhland, +a distorted glimpse of a colourless reportorial figure of Dante, +gathering material for his poem, is as meaningless as it is +unnecessary for atmosphere. + +Stephen Phillips, in his Francesca drama, ignores altogether Italian +temperament; save for the fact that he occasionally mentions the +Tyrant of Rimini, Pesaro and Florence, and that he adheres to historic +names, there is more of the English hamlet romance in the piece, than +Italian passion. And that cannot be said of Shakespeare's "Romeo and +Juliet." Perhaps one may claim for Phillips some of the simplicity of +Dante, but there is not the humanity. Undeniably, the English poet is +happy in phrase and imagery, but his genius is not so dramatic as it +is poetic; he has some of the great lyrical feeling of Tennyson, and +he has that which distinguishes the poet from the dramatist--the +power to _describe_ situation. One cannot deny the appeal of his +girl-Francesca, nor the beauty of many of his haunting lines; but no +warm impression of the situation is gained, and the characters are +peculiarly inactive at inopportune times. Mr. Phillips's talent +was predominantly undramatic; he was too much the poet to allow his +feeling to be guided by historical material. Yet, as acted, the play +was charmingly simple. + +On the other hand, D'Annunzio, in his drama, saturates himself with +the history of Italy. In bulk, his play has not the slightest claim +to simplicity; the main object of the dramatist seemed to have been +to overweight the scenes with the licentious and rude Italy of the +thirteenth century; extraneous side-issues burden the progress of +the plot. Yet D'Annunzio has taken care that this does not affect his +central theme. On the stage, the scenes appear cumbersome, and the +action moves slowly; but, after analyzing the book, it may be claimed +for this "Francesca da Rimini," that it reflects the age in which the +tragedy occurred. Much artistic construction is shown in the contrast +of the Polenta and Malatesta families, and, repellent as he is at +times, D'Annunzio has moments of great poetic fervour; his fire swings +forth in many of _Francesca's_ speeches, that alternate with the +languor of her symbolic nature. + +That his drama on Francesca was definitely constructed for theatrical +effect, was openly avowed by Marion Crawford. At the beginning of the +French version made for Mme. Bernhardt, he placed material that showed +his intention of dealing with fact in the manner of a novelist, and +regardless of the sweetness of Dante. To him, _Concordia_ is fourteen, +since he considers 1289 as the date of the tragedy, and, with his +details from Boccaccio's commentary, he has coarsened _Francesca_, +making her bitterness full of the spleen that could only accompany +maturity. A striking point is to be noted in the strong vein of +Catholicism that colours many of the speeches. + +_Paolo's_ wife, _Orabile_, moves through the D'Annunzio play with +only slight mention--to show the husband's avoidance of her--to draw +attention to her deep-rooted aversion to _Francesca_. Mr. Crawford +also brings her on the scene, and has _Paolo_ the cause of her death, +wittingly distorting history, since _Orabile_ died many years after +the murder of her husband. + +The only American drama on the subject is that by Boker; it is a +peculiarly contradictory piece of work, since, from the standpoint +of the stage, it is essentially and effectively dramatic, while as +literature it is imitative of the Elizabethan style. Boker's +poetic imagery is distinctly borrowed, and his choice of words +disappointingly colloquial. Yet, over and above the mere story, he +has succeeded in portraying a strong character in his _Pepe_. The +historical setting of the play is slight, yet sufficient to localize +the piece, and his _dramatis personæ_ are faithfully distinct in +outline, though at times devoid of consuming passion. + +Phillips as a dramatist has the fault of being diffuse; Boker's style +is prosaically plain. Were it not for over-elaboration, D'Annunzio's +play might supplant all others because of its spirit. Could we take +from Phillips his simplicity, from D'Annunzio his Italian intensity, +and from Boker his proportion, and could we add these to Crawford's +realization of situation, toned away from his melodramatic tendencies, +an ideal drama on "Francesca da Rimini" might be constructed. + +But the revitalizing power that was given Shakespeare, has been +bequeathed to none who have followed Dante. The one beauty of the +Francesca story is the simple element that permeates the dark +motive. The genius required to deal with it lies in this: to make one +conscious of the tragedy in a touch that recalls the beauty of spring. + +It is strange that no other poet than Dante has succeeded in catching +this beauty. No poet, writing directly on the theme, has the subtle +feeling which may be compared with that of the Italian. Richard Le +Gallienne is infinitely superior to Hunt; Lowell and Gilder beyond +the lesser poets,--but all fade before the master. They treat of the +vision of Hell, with its whirling wind; of the two in close embrace; +there is the kiss that ends the reading of a self-same love; there is +the flash of a dagger that joins them eternally in death. These are +the themes for the songs. The artists have done with brush and pencil, +what the poets have tried in sonnets and verse. But it is Dante who +dominates them everyone. + +To me, after tracing in part the development of this Italian tragedy, +there remains the charm of Dante's simplicity, and were one to ask, +who, among the moderns, have partially reflected his passion, I should +turn to Keats' insatiable thirst for beauty in his sonnet, "A Dream, +After reading Dante's Episode of Paolo and Francesca," and his account +of it in a letter to George and Georgiana Keats (February 14, 1819), +and to Carlyle's appreciation of tragedy and love, in "The Hero as a +Poet." + +Boker's "Francesca da Rimini" will stand largely because, in structure +and in directness, it is strikingly effective for the stage. + + +[Footnote A: Duyckinck recalls that, in 1862, R.T. Conrad's +"Devotional Poems" were published, edited by Boker.] + +[Footnote B: We find a record of Mrs. John Drew having, as +_Francesca_, supported Davenport when the play was taken to +Philadelphia.] + + + +BROADWAY THEATRE + + * * * * * + +LESSEE MR. E.A. MARSHALL +STAGE MANAGER MR. W.R. BLAKE + + * * * * * + +SECOND WEEK OF THE + REGULAR SEASON! + + * * * * * + +CONTINUATION OF THE ENGAGEMENT OF THE EMINENT + + =AMERICAN ACTOR= + +MR. E.L. DAVENPORT + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE OF + +=THE TRAGEDY= + +by G.H. BOKER, Esq., author of "Calaynos," "Betrothal," &c called + +=Francesca da Rimini= + +Will appear in an entirely +ORIGINAL CHARACTER!! + + * * * * * + +This production of a popular and most talented Native Author will be +brought forward with the efficient aid of + +ESTABLISHED PERFORMERS! +NEW AND APPROPRIATE SCENERY!! +COSTUMES, PROPERTIES, DECORATIONS!!! +APPOINTMENTS, MUSIC and PAGANTRY!!!! + + * * * * * + +WEDNESDAY EVENING, SEPT 26, 1855 +Will be presented the Tragedy, in five acts, by G.H. BOKER, Esq., entitled + + =FRANCESCA= + =DA= + =RIMINI= + +CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. + +_GUELPHS._ + +Malatesto, (Lord of Rimini) Mr. Whiting +LANCIOTTO {his sons } Mr. E.L. DAVENPORT +Paolo { } Mr. Lanergan +Pepe, (the Jester) Mr. C. Flaher +Rosalvi { } Mr. Walters +Malvechi {Young Nobles--companions of Paolo } Mr. Harcourt +Civanti { } Mr. Cutter +Rene, (a Troubadour) Mr. Vincent +Nobles, Soldiers, Pages, Troubadours, Attendants, &c, &c. + +_GHIBELINS._ + +Guido da Polenta, (Lord of Ravenna) Mr. Canoll +The Cardinal Veechino Mr. Hodges +Florensi {Nobles of Malatesto's Court} Mr. Willet +Beppo { } Joraike +Henrico, (Captain of the Guard) Mr. Fordyck +Antonio, (A leader of the Forces) Mr. Wright +Nobles, Dignitaries of the Church, Soldiers, Pages, Banner + Bearers, Messengers, &c. + +Francesca da Rimini, (Daughter of Guido) Mme Poniat +Ritta, (her attendent) Miss J. Manners + + * * * * * + +TO-MORROW EVENING--A NEW TRAGEDY, in which + + =MR. E.L. DAVENPORT= + Will appear + + * * * * * + +TREASURER Mr. P. WARREN +ASSISTANT TREASURER Mr. NAGLE + * * * * * + +Doors open at three quarters past 6 o'clock--Performances will commence + an half past 7, precisely. + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS_[A] + +_By_ GEORGE H. BOKER + + +[Footnote A: The text that follows was compared with Lawrence +Barrett's copy of the second edition, now in the library of The +Players, New York. The title page reads: Plays and Poems: | by | +George H. Boker | In two volumes | Vol. I | Second Edition | Boston: | +Ticknor and Fields. | MDCCCLVII. | | Boker's copyright, 1856.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + +McVicker's Theatre, Chicago, November 6, 1882 + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. B.G. Rogers. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. F.C. Mosley. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Lawrence Barrett. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PEPÉ,[1] _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. Louis James. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Charles Rolfe. +RENÉ,[1] _A troubadour_ Mr. Percy Winter. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marie Wainwright. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Rosie Batchelder. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ + + +Grand Opera House, Chicago, August 26, 1901. + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. W.J. Constantine. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. E.A. Eberle. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Aubrey Boucicault. +PEPE, _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. William Norris. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Frederick von Rensselar. +RENE, _A troubadour_ Mr. Fletcher Norton. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marcia Van Dresser. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Gertrude Norman. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ +SCENE. _Rimini, Ravenna, and the neighbourhood._ +TIME. _About 1300 A.D._ + +[Footnote 1: In the original edition, the accents in the names of PEPÉ +and RENÉ are used only in the Dramatis Personæ, and not in the body of +the book.] + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. The Garden of the Palace. PAOLO and a number of +noblemen are discovered, seated under an arbour, surrounded by RENE, +and other troubadours, attendants, &c._ + + PAOLO. I prithee, Rene, charm our ears again +With the same song you sang me yesterday. +Here are fresh listeners. + + RENE. Really, my good lord, +My voice is out of joint. A grievous cold-- + + [_Coughs._ + + PAOLO. A very grievous, but convenient cold, +Which always racks you when you would not sing. + + RENE. O, no, my lord! Besides, I hoped to hear +My ditty warbled into fairer ears, +By your own lips; to better purpose, too. + + [_The NOBLEMEN all laugh._ + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Rene has hit it. Music runs to waste +In ears like ours. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Nay, nay; chaunt on, sweet Count. + + PAOLO. [_Coughing._] Alack! you hear, I've caught poor Rene's cough. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. That would not be, if we wore petticoats. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. O, fie! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. So runs the scandal to our ears. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Confirmed by all our other senses, Count. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Witnessed by many a doleful sigh, poured out +By many a breaking heart in Rimini. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Poor girls! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN.[_Mimicking a lady._] Sweet Count! sweet +Count Paolo! O! +Plant early violets upon my grave! +Thus go a thousand voices to one tune. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. 'Ods mercy! gentlemen, you do me wrong. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. And by how many hundred, more or less? + + PAOLO. Ah! rogues, you'd shift your sins upon my shoulders. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. You'd bear them stoutly. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. It were vain to give +Drops to god Neptune. You're the sea of love +That swallows all things. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. We the little fish +That meanly scull about within your depths. + + PAOLO. Goon, goon! Talk yourselves fairly out. + [PEPE _laughs without._ +But, hark! here comes the fool! Fit company +For this most noble company of wits! + + [_Enter_ PEPE, _laughing violently._] + +Why do you laugh? + + PEPE. I'm laughing at the world. +It has laughed long enough at me; and so +I'll turn the tables. Ho! ho! ho! I've heard +A better joke of Uncle Malatesta's +Than any I e'er uttered. [_Laughing._ + + ALL. Tell it, fool. + + PEPE. Why, do you know--upon my life, the best +And most original idea on earth: +A joke to put in practice, too. By Jove! +I'll bet my wit 'gainst the stupidity +Of the best gentleman among you all, +You cannot guess it. + + ALL. Tell us, tell us, fool. + + PEPE. Guess it, guess it, fools. + + PAOLO Come, disclose, disclose! + + PEPE. He has a match afoot.-- + + ALL. A match! + + PEPE. A marriage. + + ALL. Who?--who? + + PEPE. A marriage in his family. + + ALL. But, who? + + PEPE. Ah! there's the point. + + ALL. Paolo? + + PEPE. No. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. The others are well wived. Shall we turn Turks? + + PEPE. Why, there's the summit of his joke, good sirs. +By all the sacred symbols of my art-- +By cap and bauble, by my tinkling bell-- +He means to marry Lanciotto! + [_Laughs violently._ + + ALL. [Laughing.] Ho!-- + + PAOLO. Peace! peace! What tongue dare echo yon fool's laugh? +Nay, never raise your hands in wonderment: +I'll strike the dearest friend among ye all +Beneath my feet, as if he were a slave, +Who dares insult my brother with a laugh! + + PEPE. By Jove! ye're sad enough. Here's mirth's quick cure! +Pretty Paolo has a heavy fist, +I warn you, sirs. Ho! ho! I trapped them all; + [_Laughing._] +Now I'll go mar old Malatesta's message. [_Aside._ + [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. Shame on ye, sirs! I have mistaken you. +I thought I harboured better friends. Poor fops, +Who've slept in down and satin all your years, +Within the circle Lanciotto charmed +Round Rimini with his most potent sword!-- +Fellows whose brows would melt beneath a casque, +Whose hands would fray to grasp a brand's rough hilt, +Who ne'er launched more than braggart threats at foes!-- +Girlish companions of luxurious girls!-- +Danglers round troubadours and wine-cups!--Men +Whose best parts are their clothes! bundles of silk, +Scented like summer! rag-men, nothing more!-- +Creatures as generous as monkeys--brave +As hunted hares--courteous as grinning apes-- +Grateful as serpents--useful as lap-dogs-- + [_During this, the_ NOBLEMEN, _&c., steal off._] + Ha! +I am alone at last! So let me be, +Till Lanciotto fill the vacant room +Of these mean knaves, whose friendship is but breath. [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Hall in the Castle. Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ LANCIOTTO. + + MALATESTA. Guido, ay, Guido of Ravenna, son-- +Down on his knees, as full of abject prayers +For peace and mercy as a penitent. + + LANCIOTTO. His old trick, father. While his wearied arm +Is raised in seeming prayer, it only rests. +Anon, he'll deal you such a staggering blow, +With its recovered strength, as shall convert +You, and not him, into a penitent. + + MALATESTA. No, no; your last bout levelled him. He reeled +Into Ravenna, from the battle-field, +Like a stripped drunkard, and there headlong fell-- +A mass of squalid misery, a thing +To draw the jeering urchins. I have this +From faithful spies. There's not a hope remains +To break the shock of his great overthrow. +I pity Guido. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Sdeath! go comfort him! +I pity those who fought, and bled, and died, +Before the armies of this Ghibelin. +I pity those who halted home with wounds +Dealt by his hand. I pity widowed eyes +That he set running; maiden hearts that turn, +Sick with despair, from ranks thinned down by him; +Mothers that shriek, as the last stragglers fling +Their feverish bodies by the fountain-side, +Dumb with mere thirst, and faintly point to him, +Answering the dame's quick questions. I have seen +Unburied bones, and skulls--that seemed to ask, +From their blank eye-holes, vengeance at my hand-- +Shine in the moonlight on old battle-fields; +And even these--the happy dead, my lord-- +I pity more than Guido of Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. What would you have? + + LANCIOTTO. I'd see Ravenna burn, +Flame into heaven, and scorch the flying clouds; +I'd choke her streets with ruined palaces; +I'd hear her women scream with fear and grief, +As I have heard the maids of Rimini. +All this I'd sprinkle with old Guido's blood, +And bless the baptism. + + MALATESTA. You are cruel. + + LANCIOTTO. Not I; +But these things ache within my fretting brain. +The sight I first beheld was from the arms +Of my wild nurse, her husband hacked to death +By the fierce edges of these Ghibelins. +One cut across the neck--I see it now, +Ay, and have mimicked it a thousand times, +Just as I saw it, on our enemies.-- +Why, that cut seemed as if it meant to bleed +On till the judgment. My distracted nurse +Stooped down, and paddled in the running gore +With her poor fingers; then a prophetess, +Pale with the inspiration of the god, +She towered aloft, and with her dripping hand +Three times she signed me with the holy cross. +Tis all as plain as noon-day. Thus she spake,-- +"May this spot stand till Guido's dearest blood +Be mingled with thy own!" The soldiers say, +In the close battle, when my wrath is up, +The dead man's blood flames on my vengeful brow +Like a red planet; and when war is o'er, +It shrinks into my brain, defiling all +My better nature with its slaughterous lusts. +Howe'er it be, it shaped my earliest thought, +And it will shape my last. + + MALATESTA. You moody churl! +You dismal knot of superstitious dreams! +Do you not blush to empty such a head +Before a sober man? Why, son, the world +Has not given o'er its laughing humour yet, +That you should try it with such vagaries.--Poh! +I'll get a wife to teach you common sense. + + LANCIOTTO. A wife for me! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Ay, sir, a wife for you. +You shall be married, to insure your wits. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis not your wont to mock me. + + MALATESTA. How now, son! +I am not given to jesting. I have chosen +The fairest wife in Italy for you. +You won her bravely, as a soldier should: +And when you'd woo her, stretch your gauntlet out, +And crush her fingers in its steely grip. +If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say-- +No, by your leave. Should she refuse, howe'er, +With that same iron hand you shall go knock +Upon Ravenna's gates, till all the town +Ring with your courtship. I have made her hand +The price and pledge of Guido's future peace. + + LANCIOTTO. All this is done! + + MALATESTA. Done, out of hand; and now +I wait a formal answer, nothing more. +Guido dare not decline. No, by the saints, +He'd send Ravenna's virgins here in droves, +To buy a ten days' truce. + + LANCIOTTO. Sir, let me say, +You stretch paternal privilege too far, +To pledge my hand without my own consent. +Am I a portion of your household stuff, +That you should trade me off to Guido thus? +Who is the lady I am bartered for? + + MALATESTA. Francesca, Guido's daughter.--Never frown; +It shall be so! + + LANCIOTTO. By heaven, it shall not be! +My blood shall never mingle with his race. + + MALATESTA. According to your nurse's prophecy, +Fate orders it. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! + + MALATESTA. Now, then, I have struck +The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts. +Bah! on your sibyl and her prophecy! +Put Guido's blood aside, and yet, I say, +Marry you shall. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis most distasteful, sir. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto, look ye! You brave gentlemen, +So fond of knocking out poor people's brains, +In time must come to have your own knocked out: +What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands, +To carry on your business, and our house +Die out for lack of princes? + + LANCIOTTO. Wed my brothers: +They'll rear you sons, I'll slay you enemies. +Paolo and Francesca! Note their names; +They chime together like sweet marriage-bells. +A proper match. 'Tis said she's beautiful; +And he is the delight of Rimini,-- +The pride and conscious centre of all eyes, +The theme of poets, the ideal of art, +The earthly treasury of Heaven's best gifts! +I am a soldier; from my very birth, +Heaven cut me out for terror, not for love. +I had such fancies once, but now-- + + MALATESTA. Pshaw! son, +My faith is bound to Guido; and if you +Do not throw off your duty, and defy, +Through sickly scruples, my express commands, +You'll yield at once. No more: I'll have it so! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. Curses upon my destiny! What, I-- +Ho! I have found my use at last--What, I, +I, the great twisted monster of the wars, +The brawny cripple, the herculean dwarf, +The spur of panic, and the butt of scorn-- +be a bridegroom! Heaven, was I not cursed +More than enough, when thou didst fashion me +To be a type of ugliness,--a thing +By whose comparison all Rimini +Holds itself beautiful? Lo! here I stand, +A gnarléd, blighted trunk! There's not a knave +So spindle-shanked, so wry-faced, so infirm, +Who looks at me, and smiles not on himself. +And I have friends to pity me--great Heaven! +One has a favourite leg that he bewails,-- +Another sees my hip with doleful plaints,-- +A third is sorry o'er my huge swart arms,-- +A fourth aspires to mount my very hump, +And thence harangue his weeping brotherhood! +Pah! it is nauseous! Must I further bear +The sidelong shuddering glances of a wife? +The degradation of a showy love, +That over-acts, and proves the mummer's craft +Untouched by nature? And a fair wife, too!-- +Francesca, whom the minstrels sing about! +Though, by my side, what woman were not fair? +Circe looked well among her swine, no doubt; +Next me, she'd pass for Venus. Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +Would there were something merry in my laugh! +Now, in the battle, if a Ghibelin +Cry, "Wry-hip! hunchback!" I can trample him +Under my stallion's hoofs; or haggle him +Into a monstrous likeness of myself: +But to be pitied,--to endure a sting +Thrust in by kindness, with a sort of smile!-- +'Sdeath! it is miserable! + + [_Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. My lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. My fool! + + PEPE. We'll change our titles when your bride's bells ring-- +Ha, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. Even this poor fool has eyes, +To see the wretched plight in which I stand. + [_Aside._] +How, gossip, how? + + PEPE. I, being the court-fool, +Am lord of fools by my prerogative. + + LANCIOTTO. Who told you of my marriage? + + PEPE. Rimini! +A frightful liar; but true for once, I fear. +The messenger from Guido has returned, +And the whole town is wailing over him. +Some pity you, and some the bride; but I, +Being more catholic, I pity both. + + LANCIOTTO. Still, pity, pity! [_Aside. Bells toll._] Ha! whose knell is that? + + PEPE. Lord Malatesta sent me to the tower, +To have the bells rung for your marriage-news. +How, he said not; so I, as I thought fit, +Told the deaf sexton to ring out a knell. + [_Bells toll._] +How do you like it? + + LANCIOTTO. Varlet, have you bones, +To risk their breaking? I have half a mind +To thresh you from your motley coat! + [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Pardee! +Respect my coxcomb, cousin. Hark! ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] + [_Bells ring a joyful peal._] +Some one has changed my music. Heaven defend! +How the bells jangle. Yonder graybeard, now, +Rings a peal vilely. He's more used to knells, +And sounds them grandly. Only give him time, +And, I'll be sworn, he'll ring your knell out yet. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, you are but half a fool. + + PEPE. My lord, +I can return the compliment in full. + + LANCIOTTO. So, you are ready. + + PEPE. Truth is always so. + + LANCIOTTO. I shook you rudely; here's a florin. + [_Offers money._ + + PEPE. No: +My wit is merchandise, but not my honour. + + LANCIOTTO. Your honour, sirrah! + + PEPE. Why not? You great lords +Have something you call lordly honour; pray, +May not a fool have foolish honour, too? +Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat-- +'Twas the first sacrilege it ever knew--And +you shall pay it. Mark! I promise you. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! you bluster well. Upon my life, +You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath. +Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek-- +Thus, gossip, thus--[_Strikes him._] what would you then demand? + + PEPE. Your life! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! there is the camp-style, too, +A very cut-throat air! How this shrewd fool +Makes the punctilio of honour show! +Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles, +And what a figure is poor chivalry! +Thanks for your lesson, Pepe. + [_Exit._ + + PEPE. Ere I'm done, +You'll curse as heartily, you limping beast! +Ha! so we go--Lord Lanciotto, look! + [_Walks about, mimicking him._] +Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth, +To match your honour and nobility! +You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake, +Or strike in jest, a natural man like me?-- +You curséd lump, you chaos of a man, +To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good! + [_Bells ring._] +There go the bells rejoicing over you: +I'll change them back to the old knell again. +You marry, faugh! Beget a race of elves; +Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within +The limits of your nature! Here we go, +Tripping along to meet our promised bride, +Like a rheumatic elephant!--ha, ha! [_Laughing._ + + [_Exit, mimicking_ LANCIOTTO. + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in the Same. Enter_ LANCIOTTO, _hastily._ + + LANCIOTTO. Why do these prodigies environ me? +In ancient Rome, the words a fool might drop, +From the confusion of his vagrant thoughts, +Were held as omens, prophecies; and men +Who made earth tremble with majestic deeds, +Trembled themselves at fortune's lightest threat. +I like it not. My father named this match +While I boiled over with vindictive wrath +Towards Guido and Ravenna. Straight my heart +Sank down like lead; a weakness seized on me, +A dismal gloom that I could not resist; +I lacked the power to take my stand, and say-- +Bluntly, I will not! Am I in the toils? +Has fate so weakened me, to work its end? +There seems a fascination in it, too,-- +A morbid craving to pursue a thing +Whose issue may be fatal. Would that I +Were in the wars again! These mental weeds +Grow on the surface of inactive peace. +I'm haunted by myself. Thought preys on thought. +My mind seems crowded in the hideous mould +That shaped my body. What a fool am I +To bear the burden of my wretched life, +To sweat and toil under the world's broad eye, +Climb into fame, and find myself--O, what?-- +A most conspicuous monster! Crown my head, +Pile Cæsar's purple on me--and what then? +My hump shall shorten the imperial robe, +My leg peep out beneath the scanty hem, +My broken hip shall twist the gown awry; +And pomp, instead of dignifying me, +Shall be by me made quite ridiculous. +The faintest coward would not bear all this: +Prodigious courage must be mine, to live; +To die asks nothing but weak will, and I +Feel like a craven. Let me skulk away +Ere life o'ertask me. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. [_Seizing his hand._] Brother! what is this? +Lanciotto, are you mad? Kind Heaven! look here-- +Straight in my eyes. Now answer, do you know +How near you were to murder? Dare you bend +Your wicked hand against a heart I love? +Were it for you to mourn your wilful death, +With such a bitterness as would be ours, +The wish would ne'er have crossed you. While we're bound +Life into life, a chain of loving hearts, +Were it not base in you, the middle link, +To snap, and scatter all? Shame, brother, shame! +I thought you better metal. + + LANCIOTTO. Spare your words. +I know the seasons of our human grief, +And can predict them without almanac. +A few sobs o'er the body, and a few +Over the coffin; then a sigh or two, +Whose windy passage dries the hanging tear; +Perchance, some wandering memories, some regrets; +Then a vast influx of consoling thoughts-- +Based on the trials of the sadder days +Which the dead missed; and then a smiling face +Turned on to-morrow. Such is mortal grief. +It writes its histories within a span, +And never lives to read them. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I heard the bells of Rimini, just now, +Exulting o'er your coming marriage-day, +While you conspired to teach them gloomier sounds. +Why are you sad? + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, I am wretched; +Sad's a faint word. But of my marriage-bells-- +Heard you the knell that Pepe rang? + + PAOLO. 'Twas strange: +A sullen antic of his crabbed wit. + + LANCIOTTO. It was portentous. All dumb things find tongues +Against this marriage. As I passed the hall, +My armour glittered on the wall, and I +Paused by the harness, as before a friend +Whose well-known features slack our hurried gait; +Francesca's name was fresh upon my mind, +So I half-uttered it. Instant, my sword +Leaped from its scabbard, as with sudden life, +Plunged down and pierced into the oaken floor, +Shivering with fear! Lo! while I gazed upon it-- +Doubting the nature of the accident-- +Around the point appeared a spot of blood, +Oozing upon the floor, that spread and spread-- +As I stood gasping by in speechless horror-- +Ring beyond ring, until the odious tide +Crawled to my feet, and lapped them, like the tongues +Of angry serpents! O, my God! I fled +At the first touch of the infernal stain! +Go--you may see--go to the hall! + + PAOLO. Fie! man, +You have been ever played on in this sort +By your wild fancies. When your heart is high, +You make them playthings; but in lower moods, +They seem to sap the essence of your soul, +And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs. + + LANCIOTTO. Go look, go look! + + PAOLO. [_Goes to the door, and returns._] There sticks the sword, indeed, +Just as your tread detached it from its sheath; +Looking more like a blessed cross, I think, +Than a bad looking omen. As for blood--Ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] +It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this! +Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself +For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems, +Do wonders for us. Brother, come; I'll be +Your tiring-man, for once. + + LANCIOTTO. Array this lump-- +Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts +Best left imprisoned in the aching heart, +Lest the freed malefactors should dispread +Infamous ruin with their liberty. +There's not a man--the fairest of ye all-- +Who is not fouler than he seems. This life +Is one unending struggle to conceal +Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one +In vestal whiteness with a lecher's lust;-- +There sits a judge, holding law's scales in hands +That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch;-- +Here goes a priest with heavenward eyes, whose soul +Is Satan's council-chamber;--there a doctor, +With nature's secrets wrinkled round a brow +Guilty with conscious ignorance;--and here +A soldier rivals Hector's bloody deeds-- +Out-does the devil in audacity-- +With craven longings fluttering in a heart +That dares do aught but fly! Thus are we all +Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world, +That takes us at our seeming. + + PAOLO. Say 'tis true; +What do you drive at? + + LANCIOTTO. At myself, full tilt. +I, like the others, am not what I seem. +Men call me gentle, courteous, brave.--They lie! +I'm harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve +To cast my devils out upon the earth, +I'd show this laughing planet what a hell +Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn, +It has forced back to canker in the heart +Of one poor cripple! + + PAOLO. Ha! + + LANCIOTTO. Ay, now 'tis out! +A word I never breathed to man before. +Can you, who are a miracle of grace, +Feel what it is to be a wreck like me? +Paolo, look at me. Is there a line, +In my whole bulk of wretched contraries, +That nature in a nightmare ever used +Upon her shapes till now? Find me the man, +Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing, +So out of harmony with all things else, +And I'll go raving with bare happiness,-- +Ay, and I'll marry Helena of Greece, +And swear I do her honour! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I, who have known you from a stripling up, +Never observed, or, if I did, ne'er weighed +Your special difference from the rest of men. +You're not Apollo-- + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PAOLO. Nor yet are you +A second Pluto. Could I change with you-- +My graces for your nobler qualities-- +Your strength, your courage, your renown--by heaven, +We'd e'en change persons, to the finest hair. + + LANCIOTTO. You should be flatterer to an emperor. + + PAOLO. I am but just. Let me beseech you, brother. +To look with greater favour on yourself; +Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain +To take the place of sound realities. +Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull +Your cruel delusions in domestic peace. +Ghosts fly a fireside; 'tis their wont to stalk +Through empty houses, and through empty hearts. +I know Francesca will be proud of you. +Women admire you heroes. Rusty sages, +Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been +Their idols ever; while we fair plump fools +Are elbowed to the wall, or only used +For vacant pastime. + + LANCIOTTO. To Ravenna?--no! +In Rimini they know me; at Ravenna +I'd be a new-come monster, and exposed +To curious wonder. There will be parade +Of all the usual follies of the state; +Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands, +Would strut before me, like vain mountebanks +Before their monkeys. Then, I should be stared +Out of my modesty; and when they look, +How can I tell if 'tis the bridegroom's face +Or hump that draws their eyes? I will not go. +To please you all, I'll marry; but to please +The wonder-mongers of Ravenna--Ha! +Paolo, now I have it. You shall go, +To bring Francesca; and you'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am. +If she draw backward, give her rein; and say +That neither Guido-nor herself shall feel +The weight of my displeasure. You may say, +I pity her-- + + PAOLO. For what? + + LANCIOTTO. For wedding me. +In sooth, she'll need it. Say-- + + PAOLO. Nay, Lanciotto, +I'll be a better orator in your behalf, +Without your promptings. + + LANCIOTTO. She is fair, 'tis said; +And, dear Paolo, if she please your eye, +And move your heart to anything like love, +Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm +By such a match. + + PAOLO. [_Laughing._] Ha! that is right: be gay! +Ply me with jokes! I'd rather see you smile +Than see the sun shine. + + LANCIOTTO. I am serious. +I'll find another wife, less beautiful, +More on my level, and-- + + PAOLO. An empress, brother, +Were honoured by your hand. You are by much +Too humble in your reckoning of yourself. +I can count virtues in you, to supply +Half Italy, if they were parcelled out. +Look up! + + LANCIOTTO. I cannot: Heaven has bent me down. +To you, Paolo, I could look, however, +Were my hump made a mountain. Bless him, God! +Pour everlasting bounties on his head! +Make Croesus jealous of his treasury, +Achilles of his arms, Endymion +Of his fresh beauties,--though the coy one lay, +Blushing beneath Diana's earliest kiss, +On grassy Latmos; and may every good, +Beyond man's sight, though in the ken of heaven, +Round his fair fortune to a perfect end! +O, you have dried the sorrow of my eyes; +My heart is beating with a lighter pulse; +The air is musical; the total earth +Puts on new beauty, and within the arms +Of girding ocean dreams her time away, +And visions bright to-morrows! + + _Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ PEPE. + + MALATESTA. Mount, to horse! + + PEPE. [_Aside._] Good Lord! he's smiling! What's the matter now? +Has anybody broken a leg or back? +Has a more monstrous monster come to life? +Is hell burst open?--heaven burnt up? What, what +Can make yon eyesore grin?--I say, my lord, +What cow has calved? + + PAOLO. Your mother, by the bleat. + + PEPE. Right fairly answered--for a gentleman! +When did you take my trade up? + + PAOLO. When your wit +Went begging, sirrah. + + PEPE. Well again! My lord, +I think he'll do. + + MALATESTA. For what? + + PEPE. To take my place. +Once fools were rare, and then my office sped; +But now the world is overrun with them: +One gets one's fool in one's own family, +Without much searching. + + MALATESTA. Pepe, gently now. +Lanciotto, you are waited for. The train +Has passed the gate, and halted there for you. + + LANCIOTTO. I go not to Ravenna. + + MALATESTA. Hey! why not? + + PAOLO. For weighty reasons, father. Will you trust +Your greatest captain, hope of all the Guelfs, +With crafty Guido? Should the Ghibelins +Break faith, and shut Lanciotto in their walls-- +Sure the temptation would be great enough-- +What would you do? + + MALATESTA. I'd eat Ravenna up! + + PEPE. Lord! what an appetite! + + PAOLO. But Lanciotto +Would be a precious hostage. + + MALATESTA. True; you're wise; +Guido's a fox. Well, have it your own way. +What is your plan? + + PAOLO. I go there in his place. + + MALATESTA. Good! I will send a letter with the news. + + LANCIOTTO. I thank you, brother. [_Apart to PAOLO._ + + PEPE. Ha! ha! ha!--O! O! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Pepe, what now? + + PEPE. O! lord, O!--ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._ + + PAOLO. Well, giggler? + + PEPE. Hear my fable, uncle. + + MALATESTA. Ay. + + PEPE. Once on a time, Vulcan sent Mercury +To fetch dame Venus from a romp in heaven. +Well, they were long in coming, as he thought; +And so the god of spits and gridirons +Railed like himself--the devil. But--now mark-- +Here comes the moral. In a little while, +Vulcan grew proud, because he saw plain signs +That he should be a father; and so he +Strutted through hell, and pushed the devils by, +Like a magnifico of Venice. Ere long, +His heir was born; but then--ho! ho!--the brat +Had wings upon his heels, and thievish ways, +And a vile squint, like errant Mercury's, +Which honest Vulcan could not understand;-- +Can you? + + PAOLO. 'Sdeath! fool, I'll have you in the stocks. +Father, your fool exceeds his privilege. + + PEPE. [_Apart to_ PAOLO.] Keep your own bounds, Paolo. In the stocks +I'd tell more fables than you'd wish to hear. +And so ride forth. But, cousin, don't forget +To take Lanciotto's picture to the bride. +Ask her to choose between it and yourself. +I'll count the moments, while she hesitates, +And not grow gray at it. + + PAOLO. Peace, varlet, peace! + + PEPE. [_Apart to him._] Ah, now I have it. There's an elephant +Upon the scutcheon; show her that, and say-- +Here's Lanciotto in our heraldry! + + PAOLO. Here's for your counsel! + [_Strikes_ PEPE, _who runs behind MALATESTA._ + + MALATESTA. Son, son, have a care! +We who keep pets must bear their pecks sometimes. +Poor knave! Ha! ha! thou'rt growing villainous! + [_Laughs and pats PEPE._ + + PEPE. Another blow! another life for that! [_Aside._ + + PAOLO. Farewell, Lanciotto. You are dull again. + + LANCIOTTO. Nature will rule. + + MALATESTA. Come, come! + + LANCIOTTO. God speed you, brother! +I am too sad; my smiles all turn to sighs. + + PAOLO. More cause to haste me on my happy work. + [_Exit with_ MALATESTA. + + PEPE. I'm going, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Go. + + PEPE. Pray, ask me where. + + LANCIOTTO. Where, then? + + PEPE. To have my jewel carried home: +And, as I'm wise, the carrier shall be +A thief, a thief, by Jove! The fashion's new. + [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. In truth, I am too gloomy and irrational. +Paolo must be right. I always had +These moody hours and dark presentiments, +Without mischances following after them. +The camp is my abode. A neighing steed, +A fiery onset, and a stubborn fight, +Rouse my dull blood, and tire my body down +To quiet slumbers when the day is o'er, +And night above me spreads her spangled tent, +Lit by the dying cresset of the moon. +Ay, that is it; I'm homesick for the camp. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT II. + + + +SCENE I. _Ravenna. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and a_ +CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I warn thee, Count. + + GUIDO. I'll take the warning, father, +On one condition: show me but a way +For safe escape. + + CARDINAL. I cannot. + + GUIDO. There's the point. +We Ghibelins are fettered hand and foot. +There's not a florin in my treasury; +Not a lame soldier, I can lead to war; +Not one to man the walls. A present siege, +Pushed with the wonted heat of Lanciotto, +Would deal Ravenna such a mortal blow +As ages could not mend. Give me but time +To fill the drained arteries of the land. +The Guelfs are masters, we their slaves; and we +Were wiser to confess it, ere the lash +Teach it too sternly. It is well for you +To say you love Francesca. So do I; +But neither you nor I have any voice +For or against this marriage. + + CARDINAL. 'Tis too true. + + GUIDO. Say we refuse: Why, then, before a week, +We'll hear Lanciotto rapping at our door, +With twenty hundred ruffians at his back. +What's to say then? My lord, we waste our breath. +Let us look fortune in the face, and draw +Such comfort from the wanton as we may. + + CARDINAL. And yet I fear-- + + GUIDO. You fear! and so do I. +I fear Lanciotto as a soldier, though, +More than a son-in-law. + + CARDINAL. But have you seen him? + + GUIDO. Ay, ay, and felt him, too. I've seen him ride +The best battalions of my horse and foot +Down like mere stubble: I have seen his sword +Hollow a square of pikemen, with the ease +You'd scoop a melon out. + + CARDINAL. Report declares him +A prodigy of strength and ugliness. + + GUIDO. Were he the devil--But why talk of this?-- +Here comes Francesca. + + CARDINAL. Ah! unhappy child! + +GUIDO. Look you, my lord! you'll make the best of it; +You will not whimper. Add your voice to mine, +Or woe to poor Ravenna! + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! my lord-- +And you, my father!--But do I intrude +Upon your counsels? How severe you look! +Shall I retire? + + GUIDO. No, no. + + FRANCESCA. You moody men +Seem leagued against me. As I passed the hall, +I met your solemn Dante, with huge strides +Pacing in measure to his stately verse. +The sweeping sleeves of his broad scarlet robe +Blew out behind, like wide-expanded wings, +And seemed to buoy him in his level flight. +Thinking to pass, without disturbing him, +I stole on tip-toe; but the poet paused, +Subsiding into man, and steadily +Bent on my face the lustre of his eyes. +Then, taking both my trembling hands in his-- +You know how his God-troubled forehead awes-- +He looked into my eyes, and shook his head, +As if he dared not speak of what he saw; +Then muttered, sighed, and slowly turned away +The weight of his intolerable brow. +When I glanced back, I saw him, as before, +Sailing adown the hall on out-spread wings. +Indeed, my lord, he should not do these things; +They strain the weakness of mortality +A jot too far. As for poor Ritta, she +Fled like a doe, the truant. + + RITTA. Yes, forsooth: +There's something terrible about the man. +Ugh! if he touched me, I should turn to ice. +I wonder if Count Lanciotto looks-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, come here. [_Takes her apart._ + + RITTA. My lord. + + GUIDO. 'Twas my command, +You should say nothing of Count Lanciotto. + + RITTA. Nothing, my lord. + + GUIDO. You have said nothing, then? + + RITTA. Indeed, my lord. + + GUIDO. 'Tis well. Some years ago, +My daughter had a very silly maid, +Who told her sillier stories. So, one day, +This maiden whispered something I forbade-- +In strictest confidence, for she was sly: +What happened, think you? + + RITTA. I know not, my lord. + + GUIDO. I boiled her in a pot. + + RITTA. Good heaven! my lord. + + GUIDO. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot +Ready for the next boiling. + + [_Walks back to the others._ + + RITTA. Saints above! +I wonder if he ate her! Boil me--me! +I'll roast or stew with pleasure; but to boil +Implies a want of tenderness,--or rather +A downright toughness--in the matter boiled, +That's slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me-- +Boil me! O! mercy, how ridiculous! + + [_Retires, laughing._ + + _Enter a_ MESSENGER. + + MESSENGER. Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta. + [_Presents them, and exit._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Hear him, ye gods!--"from great Prince Malatesta!" +Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido. +Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down. + [_Reads._] +_"Fearing our treachery,"_--by heaven, that's blunt, +And Malatesta-like!--_"he will not send +His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"_-- +But what?--a groom, a porter? or will he +Have his prey sent him in an iron cage? +By Jove, he shall not have her! O! no, no; +_"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo, +To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."_ +That's well, if he had left his reasons out. +And, in a postscript--by the saints, 'tis droll!-- +_"'Twould not be worth your lordship's while to shut +Paolo in a prison; for, my lord, +I'll only pay his ransom in plain steel: +Besides, he's not worth having."_ Is there one, +Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths, +Who'd write such garbage to a gentleman? +Take that, and read it. [_Gives letter to_ CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I have done the most. +She seems suspicious. + + GUIDO. Ritta's work. + + CARDINAL. Farewell! + + FRANCESCA. Father, you seem distempered. + + GUIDO. No, my child, +I am but vexed. Your husband's on the road, +Close to Ravenna. What's the time of day? + + FRANCESCA. Past noon, my lord. + + GUIDO. We must be stirring, then. + + FRANCESCA. I do not like this marriage. + + GUIDO. But I do. + + FRANCESCA. But I do not. Poh! to be given away, +Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man +Whose face I never saw! + + RITTA. That's it, my lady. + + GUIDO. Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot +Boils to your liking. + + RITTA. [_Aside._] O! that pot again! +My lord, my heart betrays me; but you know +How true 'tis to my lady. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. What ails Ritta? + + GUIDO. The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. +Francesca, 'tis too late to beat retreat: +Old Malatesta has me--you, too, child-- +Safe in his clutch. If you are not content, +I must unclose Ravenna, and allow +His son to take you. Poh, poh! have a soul +Equal with your estate. A prince's child +Cannot choose husbands. Her desires must aim, +Not at herself, but at the public good. +Both as your prince and father, I command; +As subject and good daughter, you'll obey. + + FRANCESCA. I knew that it must be my destiny, +Some day, to give my hand without my heart; +But-- + + GUIDO. But, and I will but you back again! +When Guido da Polenta says to you, +Daughter, you must be married,--what were best? + + FRANCESCA. 'Twere best Francesca, of the self-same name, +Made herself bridal garments. [_Laughing._ + + GUIDO. Right! + + FRANCESCA. My lord, +Is Lanciotto handsome--ugly--fair-- +Black--sallow--crabbed--kind--or what is he? + + GUIDO. You'll know ere long. I could not alter him, +To please your taste. + + FRANCESCA. You always put me off; +You never have a whisper in his praise. + + GUIDO. The world reports it.--Count my soldiers' scars, +And you may sum Lanciotto's glories up. + + FRANCESCA. I shall be dutiful, to please you, father. +If aught befall me through my blind submission, +Though I may suffer, you must bear the sin. +Beware, my lord, for your own peace of mind! +My part has been obedience; and now +I play it over to complete my task; +And it shall be with smiles upon my lips,-- +Heaven only knows with what a sinking heart! + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. Before the Gates of the City. The walls hung with banners, +flowers, etc., and crowded with citizens. At the side of the scene is +a canopied dais, with chairs of state upon it. Music, bells, shouts, +and other sounds of rejoicing, are occasionally heard. Enter_ GUIDO, +_the_ CARDINAL, NOBLEMEN, KNIGHTS, GUARDS, _etc., with banners, arms, +etc._ + + GUIDO. My lord, I'll have it so. You talk in vain. +Paolo is a marvel in his way: +I've seen him often. If Francesca take +A fancy to his beauty, all the better; +For she may think that he and Lanciotto +Are like as blossoms of one parent branch. +In truth, they are, so far as features go-- +Heaven help the rest! Get her to Rimini, +By any means, and I shall be content. +The fraud cannot last long; but long enough +To win her favour to the family. + + CARDINAL. Tis a dull trick. Thou hast not dealt with her +Wisely nor kindly, and I dread the end. +If, when this marriage was enjoined on thee, +Thou hadst informed Francesca of the truth, +And said, Now daughter, choose between +Thy peace and all Ravenna's; who that knows +The constant nature of her noble heart +Could doubt the issue? There'd have been some tears, +Some frightful fancies of her husband's looks; +And then she'd calmly walk up to her fate, +And bear it bravely. Afterwards, perchance, +Lanciotto might prove better than her fears,-- +No one denies him many an excellence,-- +And all go happily. But, as thou wouldst plot, +She'll be prepared to see a paragon, +And find a satyr. It is dangerous. +Treachery with enemies is bad enough, +With friends 'tis fatal. + + GUIDO. Has your lordship done? + + CARDINAL. Never, Count Guido, with so good a text. +Do not stand looking sideways at the truth; +Craft has become thy nature. Go to her. + + GUIDO. I have not heart. + + CARDINAL. I have. [_Going._ + + GUIDO. Hold, Cardinal! +My plan is better. Get her off my hands, +And I care not. + + CARDINAL. What will she say of thee, +In Rimini, when she detects the cheat? + + GUIDO. I'll stop my ears up. + + CARDINAL. Guido, thou art weak, +And lack the common fortitude of man. + + GUIDO. And you abuse the license of your garb, +To lesson me. My lord, I do not dare +To move a finger in these marriage-rites. +Francesca is a sacrifice, I know,-- +A limb delivered to the surgeon's knife, +To save our general health. A truce to this. +Paolo has the business in his hands: +Let him arrange it as he will; for I +Will give Count Malatesta no pretext +To recommence the war. + + CARDINAL. Farewell, my lord. +I'll neither help nor countenance a fraud. +You crafty men take comfort to yourselves, +Saying, deceit dies with discovery. +'Tis false; each wicked action spawns a brood, +And lives in its succession. You, who shake +Man's moral nature into storm, should know +That the last wave which passes from your sight +Rolls in and breaks upon eternity! [_Exit._ + + GUIDO. Why, that's a very grand and solemn thought: +I'll mention it to Dante. Gentlemen, +What see they from the wall? + + NOBLEMAN. The train, my lord. + + GUIDO. Inform my daughter. + + NOBLEMAN. She is here, my lord. + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. See, father, what a merry face I have, +And how my ladies glisten! I will try +To do my utmost, in my love for you +And the good people of Ravenna. Now, +As the first shock is over, I expect +To feel quite happy. I will wed the Count, +Be he whate'er he may. I do not speak +In giddy recklessness. I've weighed it all,-- +'Twixt hope and fear, knowledge and ignorance,-- +And reasoned out my duty to your wish. +I have no yearnings towards another love: +So, if I show my husband a desire +To fill the place with which he honours me, +According to its duties, even he-- +Were he less noble than Count Lanciotto-- +Must smile upon my efforts, and reward +Good will with willing grace. One pang remains. +Parting from home and kindred is a thing +None but the heartless, or the miserable, +Can do without a tear. This home of mine +Has filled my heart with two-fold happiness, +Taking and giving love abundantly. +Farewell, Ravenna! If I bless thee not, +Tis that thou seem'st too blessed; and 'twere strange +In me to offer what thou'st always given. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] This is too much! If she would rail a while +At me and fortune, it could be endured. [_Shouts, music, etc., within._ + + FRANCESCA. Ha! there's the van just breaking through the wood! +Music! that's well; a welcome forerunner. +Now, Ritta--here--come talk to me. Alas! +How my heart trembles! What a world to me +Lies 'neath the glitter of yon cavalcade! +Is that the Count? + + RITTA. Upon the dapple-gray? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, yes. + + RITTA. No; that's his-- + + GUIDO. [_Apart to her._] Ritta! + + RITTA. Ay; that's--that's-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, the pot! [_Apart to her._ + + RITTA. O! but this lying chokes! [_Aside._] +Ay, that's Count Somebody, from Rimini. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it was. Is that not glorious? + + RITTA. My lady, what? + + FRANCESCA. To see a cavalier +Sit on his steed with such familiar grace. + + RITTA. To see a man astraddle on a horse! +It don't seem much to me. + + FRANCESCA. Fie! stupid girl! +But mark the minstrels thronging round the Count! +Ah! that is more than gallant horsemanship. +The soul that feeds itself on poesy, +Is of a quality more fine and rare +Than Heaven allows the ruder multitude. +I tell you, Ritta, when you see a man +Beloved by poets, made the theme of song, +And chaunted down to ages, as a gift +Fit for the rich embalmment of their verse, +There's more about him than the patron's gold. +If that's the gentleman my father chose, +He must have picked him out from all the world. +The Count alights. Why, what a noble grace +Runs through his slightest action! Are you sad? +You, too, my father? Have I given you cause? +I am content. If Lanciotto's mind +Bear any impress of his fair outside, +We shall not quarrel ere our marriage-day. +Can I say more? My blushes speak for me: +Interpret them as modesty's excuse +For the short-comings of a maiden's speech. + + RITTA. Alas! dear lady! [_Aside._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] 'Sdeath! my plot has failed, +By overworking its design. Come, come; +Get to your places. See, the Count draws nigh. + +GUIDO _and_ FRANCESCA _seat themselves upon the dais, surrounded by_ +RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, GUARDS, _etc. Music, shouts, ringing of +bells, etc. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with banners, etc.;_ PAGES _bearing +costly presents on cushions; then_ PAOLO, _surrounded by_ NOBLEMEN, +KNIGHTS, MINSTRELS, _etc., and followed by other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They +range themselves opposite the dais._ + + GUIDO. Ravenna welcomes you, my lord, and I +Add my best greeting to the general voice. +This peaceful show of arms from Rimini +Is a new pleasure, stranger to our sense +Than if the East blew zephyrs, or the balm +Of Summer loaded rough December's gales, +And turned his snows to roses. + + PAOLO. Noble sir, +We looked for welcome from your courtesy, +Not from your love; but this unhoped for sight +Of smiling faces, and the gentle tone +In which you greet us, leave us naught to win +Within your hearts. I need not ask, my lord, +Where bides the precious object of my search; +For I was sent to find the fairest maid +Ravenna boasts, among her many fair. +I might extend my travel many a league, +And yet return, to take her from your side. +I blush to bear so rich a treasure home, +As pledge and hostage of a sluggish peace; +For beauty such as hers was meant by Heaven +To spur our race to gallant enterprise, +And draw contending deities around +The dubious battles of a second Troy. + + GUIDO. Sir Count, you please to lavish on my child +The high-strained courtesy of chivalry; +Yet she has homely virtues that, I hope, +May take a deeper hold in Rimini, +After the fleeting beauty of her face +Is spoiled by time, or faded to the eye +By its familiar usage. + + PAOLO. As a man +Who ever sees Heaven's purpose in its works, +I must suppose so rare a tabernacle +Was framed for rarest virtues. Pardon me +My public admiration. If my praise +Clash with propriety, and bare my words +To cooler judgment, 'tis not that I wish +To win a flatterer's grudged recompense, +And gain by falsehood what I'd win through love. +When I have brushed my travel from my garb, +I'll pay my court in more befitting style. + + _Music. Exit with his train._ + + GUIDO. [_Advancing._] Now, by the saints, Lanciotto's deputy +Stands in this business with a proper grace, +Stretching his lord's instructions till they crack. +A zealous envoy! Not a word said he +Of Lanciotto--not a single word: +But stood there, staring in Francesca's face +With his devouring eyes.--By Jupiter, +I but half like it! + + FRANCESCA. [_Advancing._] Father? + + GUIDO. Well, my child. + + FRANCESCA. How do you like-- + + GUIDO. The coxcomb! I've done well! + + FRANCESCA. No, no; Count Lanciotto? + + GUIDO. Well enough. +But hang this fellow--hang your deputies! +I'll never woo by proxy. + + FRANCESCA. Deputies! +And woo by proxy! + + GUIDO. Come to me anon. +I'll strip this cuckoo of his gallantry! + [_Exit with_ GUARDS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my father has strange ways of late. + + RITTA. I wonder not. + + FRANCESCA. You wonder not? + + RITTA. No, lady: +He is so used to playing double games, +That even you must come in for your share. +Plague on his boiling! I will out with it. [_Aside._] +Lady, the gentleman who passed the gates-- + + FRANCESCA. Count Lanciotto? As I hope for grace, +A gallant gentleman! How well he spoke! +With what sincere and earnest courtesy +The rounded phrases glided from his lips! +He spoke in compliments that seemed like truth. +Methinks I'd listen through a summer's day, +To hear him woo.--And he must woo to me-- +I'll have our privilege--he must woo a space, +Ere I'll be won, I promise. + + RITTA. But, my lady, +He'll woo you for another. + + FRANCESCA. He?--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I should not think it from the prologue, Ritta. + + RITTA. Nor I. + + FRANCESCA. Nor any one. + + RITTA. 'Tis not the Count-- +'Tis not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. Gracious saints! +Have you gone crazy? Ritta, speak again, +Before I chide you. + + RITTA. 'Tis the solemn truth. +That gentleman is Count Paolo, lady, +Brother to Lanciotto, and no more +Like him than--than-- + + FRANCESCA. Than what? + + RITTA. Count Guido's pot, +For boiling waiting-maids, is like the bath +Of Venus on the arras. + + FRANCESCA. Are you mad,-- +Quite mad, poor Ritta? + + RITTA. Yes; perhaps I am. +Perhaps Lanciotto is a proper man-- +Perhaps I lie--perhaps I speak the truth-- +Perhaps I gabble like a fool. O! heavens, +That dreadful pot! + + FRANCESCA. Dear Ritta!-- + + RITTA. By the mass, +They shall not cozen you, my gentle mistress! +If my lord Guido boiled me, do you think +I should be served up to the garrison, +By way of pottage? Surely they would not waste me. + + FRANCESCA. You are an idle talker. Pranks like these +Fit your companions. You forget yourself. + + RITTA. Not you, though, lady. Boldly I repeat, +That he who looked so fair, and talked so sweet, +Who rode from Rimini upon a horse +Of dapple-gray, and walked through yonder gate, +Is not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. This you mean? + + RITTA. I do, indeed! + + FRANCESCA. Then I am more abused-- +More tricked, more trifled with, more played upon-- +By him, my father, and by all of you, +Than anything, suspected of a heart, +Was ever yet! + + RITTA. In Count Paolo, lady, +Perchance there was no meditated fraud. + + FRANCESCA. How, dare you plead for him? + + RITTA. I but suppose: +Though in your father--O! I dare not say. + + FRANCESCA. I dare. It was ill usage, gross abuse, +Treason to duty, meanness, craft--dishonour! +What if I'd thrown my heart before the feet +Of this sham husband! cast my love away +Upon a counterfeit! I was prepared +To force affection upon any man +Called Lanciotto. Anything of silk, +Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name, +Might have received me for the asking. Yes, +I was inclined to venture more than half +In this base business--shame upon my thoughts!-- +All for my father's peace and poor Ravenna's. +And this Paolo, with his cavalcade, +His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs, +His showy person, and his fulsome talk, +Almost made me contented with my lot. +O! what a fool--in faith, I merit it-- +Trapped by mere glitter! What an easy fool! +Ha! ha! I'm glad it went no further, girl; + [_Laughing._] +I'm glad I kept my heart safe, after all. +There was my cunning. I have paid them back, +I warrant you! I'll marry Lanciotto; +I'll seem to shuffle by this treachery. No! +I'll seek my father, put him face to face +With his own falsehood; and I'll stand between, +Awful as justice, meting out to him +Heaven's dreadful canons 'gainst his conscious guilt. +I'll marry Lanciotto. On my faith, +I would not live another wicked day +Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear +That I should take to lying, with the rest. +Ha! ha! it makes me merry, when I think +How safe I kept this little heart of mine! [_Laughing._ + [_Exit, with_ ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + RITTA. So, 'tis all ended--all except my boiling, +And that will make a holiday for some. +Perhaps I'm selfish. Fagot, axe, and gallows, +They have their uses, after all. They give +The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. +Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh; +And that's a point gained. I have seen a man-- +Poor Dora's uncle--shake himself with glee, +At the bare thought of the ridiculous style +In which some villain died. "Dancing," quoth he, +"To the poor music of a single string! +Biting," quoth he, "after his head was off! +What use of that?" Or, "Shivering," quoth he, +"As from an ague, with his beard afire!" +And then he'd roar until his ugly mouth +Split at the corners. But to see me boil-- +that will be the queerest thing of all! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag, +Like a great suet-ball? I'll go, and tell +Count Guido, on the instant. How he'll laugh +To think his pot has got an occupant! +I wonder if he really takes delight +In such amusements? Nay, I have kept faith; +I only said the man was not Lanciotto; +No word of Lanciotto's ugliness. +I may escape the pot, for all. Pardee! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag! + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and_ RITTA. + + RITTA. There now, my lord, that is the whole of it: +I love my mistress more than I fear you. +If I could save her finger from the axe, +I'd give my head to do it. So, my lord, +I am prepared to stew. + + GUIDO. Boil, Ritta, boil. + + RITTA. No; I prefer to stew. + + GUIDO. And I to boil. + + RITTA. Tis very hard, my lord, I cannot choose +My way of cooking. I shall laugh, I vow, +In the grim headsman's face, when I remember +That I am dying for my lady's love. +I leave no one to shed a tear for me; +Father nor mother, kith nor kin, have I, +To say, "Poor Ritta!" o'er my lifeless clay. +They all have gone before me, and 'twere well +If I could hurry after them. + + GUIDO. Poor child. [_Aside._] +But, baggage, said you aught of Lanciotto? + + RITTA. No, not a word; and he's so ugly, too! + + GUIDO. Is he so ugly? + + RITTA. Ugly! he is worse +Than Pilate on the hangings. + + GUIDO. Hold your tongue +Here, and at Rimini, about the Count, +And you shall prosper. + + RITTA. Am I not to boil? + + GUIDO. No, child. But be discreet at Rimini. +Old Malatesta is a dreadful man-- +Far worse than I--he bakes his people, Ritta; +Lards them, like geese, and bakes them in an oven. + + RITTA. Fire is my fate, I see that. + + GUIDO. Have a care +It do not follow you beyond this world. +Where is your mistress? + + RITTA. In her room, my lord. +After I told her of the Count Paolo, +She flew to have an interview with you; +But on the way--I know not why it was-- +She darted to her chamber, and there stays +Weeping in silence. It would do you good-- +More than a hundred sermons--just to see +A single tear, indeed it would, my lord. + + GUIDO. Ha! you are saucy. I have honoured you +Past prudence, malpert! Get you to your room! + [_Exit_ RITTA.] +More of my blood runs in yon damsel's veins +Than the world knows. Her mother to a shade; +The same high spirit, and strange martyr-wish +To sacrifice herself, body and soul, +For some loved end. All that she did for me; +And yet I loved her not. O! memory! +The darkest future has a ray of hope, +But thou art blacker than the sepulchre! +Thy horrid shapes lie round, like scattered bones, +Hopeless forever! I am sick at heart. +The past crowds on the present: as I sowed, +So am I reaping. Shadows from myself +Fall on the picture, as I trace anew +These rising spectres of my early life, +And add their gloom to what was dark before. +O! memory, memory! How my temples throb! [_Sits._ + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, _hastily._ + + FRANCESCA. My lord, this outrage-- + [_He looks up._] +Father, are you ill? +You seem unhappy. Have I troubled you? +You heard how passionate and bad I was, +When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. +Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask +A child's forgiveness. 'Twas undutiful +To doubt your wisdom. It is over now. +I only thought you might have trusted me +With any counsel. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Would I had! + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well, +I understand it all, and you were right. +Only the danger of it. Think, my lord, +If I had loved this man at the first sight: +We all have heard of such things. Think, again, +If I had loved him--as I then supposed +You wished me to--'twould have been very sad. +But no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure, +Nor will I loose it till you give the word. +I'm wiser than you thought me, you perceive. +But when we saw him, face to face, together, +Surely you might have told me then. + + GUIDO. Francesca, +My eyes are old--I did not clearly see--Faith, +it escaped my thoughts. Some other things +Came in my head. I was as ignorant +Of Count Paolo's coming as yourself. +The brothers are so like. + + FRANCESCA. Indeed? + + GUIDO. Yes, yes. +One is the other's counterpart, in fact; +And even now it may not be--O! shame! +I lie by habit. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Then there is a hope? +He may be Lanciotto, after all? +O! joy-- + + _Enter a_ SERVANT. + + SERVANT. The Count Paolo. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. Misery! +That name was not Lanciotto! + + GUIDO. Farewell, child. +I'll leave you with the Count: he'll make it plain. +It seems 'twas Count Paolo. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. Father! + + GUIDO. Well. + + FRANCESCA. You knew it from the first! [_Exit_ GUIDO.] + Let me begone: +I could not look him in the face again +With the old faith. Besides, 'twould anger him +To have a living witness of his fraud +Ever before him; and I could not trust-- +Strive as I might--my happiness to him, +As once I did. I could not lay my hand +Upon his shoulder, and look up to him, +Saying, Dear father, pilot me along +Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. +Saints, no! The gold that gave my life away +Might, even then, be rattling in his purse, +Warm from the buyer's hand. Look on me, Heaven! +Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes, +Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy, +With guardianship of a weak orphan girl, +Has fallen from grace, has paltered with his trust; +I have no mother to receive thy charge,-- +O! take it on thyself; and when I err, +Through mortal blindness, Heaven, be thou my guide! +Worse cannot fall me. Though my husband lack +A parent's tenderness, he yet may have +Faith, truth, and honour--the immortal bonds +That knit together honest hearts as one. +Let me away to Rimini. Alas! +It wrings my heart to have outlived the day +That I can leave my home with no regret! [_Weeps._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Pray, pardon me. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. You are quite welcome, Count +A foolish tear, a weakness, nothing more: +But present weeping clears our future sight. +They tell me you are love's commissioner, +A kind of broker in the trade of hearts: +Is it your usual business? or may I +Flatter myself, by claiming this essay +As your first effort? + + PAOLO. Lady, I believed +My post, at starting, one of weight and trust; +When I beheld you, I concluded it +A charge of honour and high dignity. +I did not think to hear you underrate +Your own importance, by dishonouring me. + + FRANCESCA. You are severe, my lord. + + PAOLO. No, not severe; +Say candid, rather. I am somewhat hurt +By my reception. If I feel the wound, +'Tis not because I suffer from the jest, +But that your lips should deal it. + + FRANCESCA. Compliments +Appear to be the staple of your speech. +You ravish one with courtesy, you pour +Fine words upon one, till the listening head +Is bowed with sweetness. Sir, your talk is drugged; +There's secret poppy in your sugared phrase: +I'll taste before I take it. + + PAOLO. Gentle lady-- + + FRANCESCA. I am not gentle, or I missed my aim. +I am no hawk to fly at every lure. +You courtly gentlemen draw one broad rule-- +All girls are fools. It may be so, in truth, +Yet so I'll not be treated. + + PAOLO. Have you been? +If I implied such slander by my words, +They wrong my purpose. If I compliment, +'Tis not from habit, but because I thought +Your face deserved my homage as its due. +When I have clearer insight, and you spread +Your inner nature o'er your lineaments, +Even that face may darken in the shades +Of my opinion. For mere loveliness +Needs inward light to keep it always bright. +All things look badly to unfriendly eyes. +I spoke my first impression; cooler thought +May work strange changes. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, Sir Count, at length +There's matter in your words. + + PAOLO. Unpleasant stuff, +To judge by your dark brows. I have essayed +Kindness and coldness, yet you are not pleased. + + FRANCESCA. How can I be? + + PAOLO. How, lady? + + FRANCESCA. Ay, sir, how? +Your brother--my good lord that is to be-- +Stings me with his neglect; and in the place +He should have filled, he sends a go-between, +A common carrier of others' love; +How can the sender, or the person sent, +Please overmuch? Now, were I such as you, +I'd be too proud to travel round the land +With other people's feelings in my heart; +Even to fill the void which you confess +By such employment. + + PAOLO. Lady, 'tis your wish +To nettle me, to break my breeding down, +And see what natural passions I have hidden +Behind the outworks of my etiquette. +I neither own nor feel the want of heart +With which you charge me. You are more than cruel; +You rouse my nerves until they ache with life, +And then pour fire upon them. For myself +I would not speak, unless you had compelled. +My task is odious to me. Since I came, +Heaven bear me witness how my traitor heart +Has fought against my duty; and how oft +I wished myself in Lanciotto's place. +Or him in mine. + + FRANCESCA. You riddle. + + PAOLO. Do I? Well, +Let it remain unguessed. + + FRANCESCA. You wished yourself +At Rimini, or Lanciotto here? +You may have reasons. + + PAOLO. Well interpreted! +The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands! + + FRANCESCA. It has become your turn to sneer. + + PAOLO. But I +Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you +Jest in the wanton ease of happiness. +Stop! there is peril in our talk. + + FRANCESCA. As how? + + PAOLO. 'Tis dangerous to talk about one's self; +It panders selfishness. My duty waits. + + FRANCESCA. My future lord's affairs? I quite forgot +Count Lanciotto. + + PAOLO. I, too, shame upon me. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Does he resemble you? + + PAOLO. Pray drop me, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Nay, answer me. + + PAOLO. Somewhat--in feature. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! +Is he so fair? + + PAOLO. No, darker. He was tanned +In long campaigns, and battles hotly fought, +While I lounged idly with the troubadours, +Under the shadow of his watchful sword. + + FRANCESCA. In person? + + PAOLO. He is shorter, I believe, +But broader, stronger, more compactly knit. + + FRANCESCA. What of his mind? + + PAOLO. Ah, now you strike the key! +A mind just fitted to his history, +An equal balance 'twixt desert and fame. +No future chronicler shall say of him, +His fame outran his merit; or his merit +Halted behind some adverse circumstance, +And never won the glory it deserved. +My love might weary you, if I rehearsed +The simple beauty of his character; +His grandeur and his gentleness of heart, +His warlike fire and peaceful love, his faith, +His courtesy, his truth. I'll not deny +Some human weakness, to attract our love, +Harbours in him, as in the rest of us. +Sometimes against our city's enemies +He thunders in the distance, and devotes +Their homes to ruin. When the brand has fallen, +He ever follows with a healing rain, +And in his pity shoulders by revenge. +A thorough soldier, lady. He grasps crowns, +While I pick at the laurel. + + FRANCESCA. Stay, my lord! +I asked your brother's value, with no wish +To hear you underrate yourself. Your worth +May rise in passing through another's lips. +Lanciotto is perfection, then? + + PAOLO. To me: +Others may think my brother over-nice +Upon the point of honour; over-keen +To take offence where no offence is meant; +A thought too prodigal of human life, +Holding it naught when weighed against a wrong; +Suspicious of the motives of his friends; +Distrustful of his own high excellence; +And with a certain gloom of temperament, +When thus disturbed, that makes him terrible +And rash in action. I have heard of this; +I never felt it. I distress you, lady? +Perhaps I throw these points too much in shade, +By catching at an enemy's report. +But, then, Lanciotto said, "You'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am." +He loathes deceit. + + FRANCESCA. That's noble! Have you done? +I have observed a strange reserve, at times, +An over-carefulness in choosing words, +Both in my father and his nearest friends, +When speaking of your brother; as if they +Picked their way slowly over rocky ground, +Fearing to stumble. Ritta, too, my maid, +When her tongue rattles on in full career, +Stops at your brother's name, and with a sigh +Settles herself to dismal silence. Count, +These things have troubled me. From you I look +For perfect frankness. Is there naught withheld? + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O base temptation! What if I betray +His crippled person--imitate his limp-- +Laugh at his hip, his back, his sullen moods +Of childish superstition?--tread his heart +Under my feet, to climb into his place?--Use +his own warrant 'gainst himself; and say, +Because I loved her, and misjudged your jest, +Therefore I stole her? Why, a common thief +Would hang for just such thinking! Ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +I reckon on her love, as if I held +The counsels of her bosom. No, I swear, +Francesca would despise so mean a deed. +Have I no honour either? Are my thoughts +All bound by her opinions? + + FRANCESCA. This is strange! +Is Lanciotto's name a spell to all? +I ask a simple question, and straight you +Start to one side, and mutter to yourself, +And laugh, and groan, and play the lunatic, +In such a style that you astound me more +Than all the others. It appears to me +I have been singled as a common dupe +By every one. What mystery is this +Surrounds Count Lanciotto? If there be +A single creature in the universe +Who has a right to know him as he is, +I am that one. + + PAOLO. I grant it. You shall see, +And shape your judgment by your own remark. +All that my honour calls for I have said. + + FRANCESCA. I am content. Unless I greatly err, +Heaven made your breast the seat of honest thoughts. +You know, my lord, that, once at Rimini, +There can be no retreat for me. By you, +Here at Ravenna, in your brother's name, +I shall be solemnly betrothed. And now +I thus extend my maiden hand to you; +If you are conscious of no secret guilt, +Take it. + + PAOLO. I do. [_Takes her hand._ + + FRANCESCA. You tremble! + + PAOLO. With the hand, +Not with the obligation. + + FRANCESCA. Farewell, Count! +'Twere cruel to tax your stock of compliments, +That waste their sweets upon a trammelled heart; +Go fly your fancies at some freer game. [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. O, Heaven, if I have faltered and am weak, +Tis from my nature! Fancies, more accursed +Than haunt a murderer's bedside, throng my brain-- +Temptations, such as mortal never bore +Since Satan whispered in the ear of Eve, +Sing in my ear--and all, all are accursed! +At heart I have betrayed my brother's trust, +Francesca's openly. Turn where I will, +As if enclosed within a mirrored hall, +I see a traitor. Now to stand erect, +Firm on my base of manly constancy; +Or, if I stagger, let me never quit +The homely path of duty, for the ways +That bloom and glitter with seductive sin! [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. A Room in the Castle._ LANCIOTTO _discovered +reading._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! fie, philosophy! This Seneca +Revels in wealth, and whines about the poor! +Talks of starvation while his banquet waits, +And fancies that a two hours' appetite +Throws light on famine! Doubtless he can tell, +As he skips nimbly through his dancing-girls, +How sad it is to limp about the world +A sightless cripple! Let him feel the crutch +Wearing against his heart, and then I'd hear +This sage talk glibly; or provide a pad, +Stuffed with his soft philosophy, to ease +His aching shoulder. Pshaw! he never felt, +Or pain would choke his frothy utterance. +'Tis easy for the doctor to compound +His nauseous simples for a sick man's health; +But let him swallow them, for his disease, +Without wry faces. Ah! the tug is there. +Show me philosophy in rags, in want, +Sick of a fever, with a back like mine, +Creeping to wisdom on these legs, and I +Will drink its comforts. Out! away with you! +There's no such thing as real philosophy! + [_Throws down the book._] + + [_Enter_ PEPE.] + +Here is a sage who'll teach a courtier +The laws of etiquette, a statesman rule, +A soldier discipline, a poet verse, +And each mechanic his distinctive trade; +Yet bring him to his motley, and how wide +He shoots from reason! We can understand +All business but our own, and thrust advice +In every gaping cranny of the world; +While habit shapes us to our own dull work, +And reason nods above his proper task. +Just so philosophy would rectify +All things abroad, and be a jade at home. +Pepe, what think you of the Emperor's aim +Towards Hungary? + + PEPE. A most unwise design; +For mark, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! the fact cries out. +Here's motley thinking for a diadem!-- +Ay, and more wisely in his own regard. + + PEPE. You flout me, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Have you aught that's new?-- +Some witty trifle, some absurd conceit? + + PEPE. Troth, no. + + LANCIOTTO. Why not give up the Emperor, +And bend your wisdom on your duties, Pepe? + + PEPE. Because the Emperor has more need of wisdom +Than the most barren fool of wit. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! +Mere habit brings the fool back to his art. +This jester is a rare philosopher. +Teach me philosophy, good fool. + + PEPE. No need. +You'll get a teacher when you take a wife. +If she do not instruct you in more arts +Than Aristotle ever thought upon, +The good old race of woman has declined +Into a sort of male stupidity. +I had a sweetheart once, she lectured grandly; +No matter on what subject she might hit, +T was all the same, she could talk and she would. +She had no silly modesty; she dashed +Straight in the teeth of any argument, +And talked you deaf, dumb, blind. Whatever struck +Upon her ear, by some machinery, +Set her tongue wagging. Thank the Lord, she died!-- +Dropped in the middle of a fierce harangue, +Like a spent horse. It was an even thing, +Whether she talked herself or me to death. +The latest sign of life was in her tongue; +It wagged till sundown, like a serpent's tail, +Long after all the rest of her was cold. +Alas! poor Zippa! + + LANCIOTTO. Were you married, fool? + + PEPE. Married! Have I the scars upon me? No; +I fell in love; and that was bad enough, +And far enough for a mere fool to go. +Married! why, marriage is love's purgatory, +Without a heaven beyond. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, atheist! +Would you abolish marriage? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Depopulate the world? + + PEPE. No fear of that. +I'd have no families, no Malatesti, +Strutting about the land, with pedigrees +And claims bequeathed them by their ancestors; +No fellows vapouring of their royal blood; +No one to seize a whole inheritance, +And rob the other children of the earth. +By Jove! you should not know your fathers, even! +I'd have you spring, like toadstools, from the soil-- +Mere sons of women--nothing more nor less-- +All base-born, and all equal. There, my lord, +There is a simple commonwealth for you! +In which aspiring merit takes the lead, +And birth goes begging. + + LANCIOTTO. It is so, in truth; +And by the simplest means I ever heard. + + PEPE. Think of it, cousin. Tell it to your friends, +The statesmen, soldiers, and philosophers; +Noise it about the earth, and let it stir +The sluggish spirits of the multitudes. +Pursue the thought, scan it, from end to end, +Through all its latent possibilities. +It is a great seed dropped, I promise you, +And it must sprout. Thought never wholly dies; +It only wants a name--a hard Greek name-- +Some few apostles, who may live on it-- +crowd of listeners, with the average dulness +That man possesses--and we organize; +Spread our new doctrine, like a general plague; +Talk of man's progress and development, +Wrongs of society, the march of mind, +The Devil, Doctor Faustus, and what not; +And, lo! this pretty world turns upside down, +All with a fool's idea! + + LANCIOTTO. By Jupiter, +You hit our modern teachers to a hair! +I knew this fool was a philosopher. +Pepe is right. Mechanic means advance; +Nature bows down to Science' haughty tread, +And turns the wheel of smutty artifice: +New governments arise, dilate, decay, +And foster creeds and churches to their tastes: +At each advance, we cry, "Behold, the end!" +Till some fresh wonder breaks upon the age. +But man, the moral creature, midst it all +Stands still unchanged; nor moves towards virtue more, +Nor comprehends the mysteries in himself, +More than when Plato taught academies, +Or Zeno thundered from his Attic porch. + + PEPE. I know not that; I only want my scheme +Tried for a while. I am a politician, +A wrongs-of-man man. Hang philosophy! +Let metaphysics swallow, at a gulp, +Its last two syllables, and purge itself +Clean of its filthy humours! I am one +Ready for martyrdom, for stake and fire, +If I can make my great idea take root! +Zounds! cousin, if I had an audience, +I'd make you shudder at my eloquence! +I have an itching to reform the world. + + LANCIOTTO. Begin at home, then. + + PEPE. Home is not my sphere; +Heaven picked me out to teach my fellow-men. +I am a very firebrand of truth-- +A self-consuming, doomed, devoted brand-- +That burns to ashes while I light the world! +I feel it in me. I am moved, inspired, +Stirred into utterance, by some mystic power +Of which I am the humble instrument. + + LANCIOTTO. A bad digestion, sage, a bilious turn, +A gnawing stomach, or a pinching shoe. + + PEPE. O! hear, but spare the scoffer! Spare the wretch +Who sneers at the anointed man of truth! +When we reached that, I and my followers +Would rend you limb from limb. There!--ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +Have I not caught the slang these fellows preach; +A grand, original idea, to back it; +And all the stock in trade of a reformer? + + LANCIOTTO. You have indeed; nor do I wonder, Pepe. +Fool as you are, I promise you success +In your new calling, if you'll set it up. +The thing is far too simple. + + _Trumpet sounds within._ + + PEPE. Hist! my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. That calls me to myself. + + PEPE. At that alarm, +All Rimini leaped up upon its feet. +Cousin, your bridal-train. You groan! 'Ods wounds! +Here is the bridegroom sorely malcontent-- +The sole sad face in Rimini. Since morn, +A quiet man could hardly walk the streets, +For flowers and streamers. All the town is gay. +Perhaps 'tis merry o'er your misery. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps; but that it knows not. + + PEPE. Yes, it does: +It knows that when a man's about to wed, +He's ripe to laugh at. Cousin, tell me, now, +Why is Paolo on the way so long? +Ravenna's but eight leagues from Rimini-- + + LANCIOTTO. That's just the measure of your tongue, good fool. +You trouble me. I've had enough of you-- +Begone! + + PEPE. I'm going; but you see I limp. +Have pity on a cripple, gentle Count. [_Limps._ + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe! + + PEPE. A miracle, a miracle! +See, see, my lord, at Pepe's saintly name +The lame jog on. + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] Come, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! +My father calls. + + PEPE. If he were mine, I'd go-- +That's a good boy! [_Pats_ LANCIOTTO'S _back._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Starting._] Hands off! you'll rue it else! [_Exit._ + + PEPE. [Laughing.] Ha! ha! I laid my hand upon his hump! +Heavens, how he squirmed! And what a wish I had +To cry, Ho! camel! leap upon his back, +And ride him to the devil! So, we've had +A pleasant flitting round philosophy! +The Count and Fool bumped heads, and struck ideas +Out by the contact! Quite a pleasant talk-- +A friendly conversation, nothing more-- +'Twixt nobleman and jester. Ho! my bird, +I can toss lures as high as any man. +So, I amuse you with my harmless wit? +Pepe's your friend now--you can trust in him-- +An honest, simple fool! Just try it once, +You ugly, misbegotten clod of dirt! +Ay, but the hump--the touch upon the hump-- +The start and wriggle--that was rare! Ha! ha! + + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. The Grand Square before the Castle. SOLDIERS on guard, with +banners, etc._ CITIZENS, _in holiday dresses, cross the scene. +The houses are hung with trophies, banners, garlands, etc. Enter_ +MALATESTA, _with_ GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + MALATESTA. Captain, take care the streets be not choked up +By the rude rabble. Send to Cæsar's bridge +A strong detachment of your men, and clear +The way before them. See that nothing check +The bride's first entrance into Rimini. +Station your veterans in the front. Count Guido +Comes with his daughter, and his eyes are sharp. +Keep up a show of strength before him, sir; +And set some labourers to work upon +The broken bastion. Make all things look bright; +As if we stood in eager readiness, +And high condition, to begin a war. + + CAPTAIN. I will, my lord. + + MALATESTA. Keep Guido in your eye; +And if you see him looking over-long +On any weakness of our walls, just file +Your bulkiest fellows round him; or get up +A scuffle with the people; anything-- +Even if you break a head or two--to draw +His vision off. But where our strength is great, +Take heed to make him see it. You conceive? + + CAPTAIN. Trust me, my lord. [_Exit with_ GUARDS. + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Room, room! A hall; a hall! +I pray you, good man, has the funeral passed? + + MALATESTA. Who is it asks? + + PEPE. Pepe of Padua, +A learned doctor of uncivil law. + + MALATESTA. But how a funeral? + + PEPE. You are weak of wit. +Francesca of Ravenna's borne to church, +And never issues thence. + + MALATESTA. How, doctor, pray? + + PEPE. Now, for a citizen of Rimini, +You're sadly dull. Does she not issue thence +Fanny of Rimini? A glorious change,-- +kind of resurrection in the flesh! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! thou cunning villain! I was caught. +I own it, doctor. + + PEPE. [_Aside._] This old fool would laugh +To see me break a straw, because the bits +Were of unequal lengths. My character +Carries more dulness, in the guise of wit, +Than would suffice to break an ass's back. + + [_Distant shouts, music, &c._] + +Hark! here comes Jeptha's daughter, jogging on +With timbrels and with dances. + + MALATESTA. Jeptha's daughter! +How so? + + PEPE. Her father's sacrifice. + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ho! ho! +You'll burst my belt! O! you outrageous wretch, +To jest at Scripture! + + PEPE. You outlandish heathen, +Tis not in Scripture! + + MALATESTA. Is it not? + + PEPE. No more +Than you are in heaven. Mere Hebrew history. +She went up to the mountains, to bewail +The too-long keeping of her honesty. +There's woman for you! there's a character! +What man would ever think of such a thing? +Ah! we of Rimini have little cause +For such a sorrow. Would she'd been my wife! +I'll marry any woman in her case. + + MALATESTA. Why, Pepe? + + PEPE. Why? because, in two months' time, +Along comes father Jeptha with his knife, +And there's an end. Where is your sacrifice? +Where's Isaac, Abraham? Build your altar up: +One pile will do for both. + + MALATESTA. That's Scripture, sure. + + PEPE. Then I'm a ram, and you may slaughter me +In Isaac's stead. + + MALATESTA. Here comes the vanguard. Where, +Where is that laggard? + + PEPE. At the mirror, uncle, +Making himself look beautiful. He comes, + [_Looking out._] +Fresh as a bridegroom! Mark his doublet's fit +Across the shoulders, and his hose!-- +By Jove, he nearly looks like any other man! + + MALATESTA. You'd best not let him hear you. Sirrah, knave, +I have a mind to swinge you! [_Seizes his ear._ + + PEPE. Loose my ear! +You've got the wrong sow, swineherd! You're unjust. +Being his father, I was fool sufficient +To think you fashioned him to suit yourself, +By way of a variety. The thought +Was good enough, the practice damnable. + + MALATESTA. Hush! or I'll clap you in the pillory. + + _Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + PEPE. [_Sings._] Ho, ho, ho, ho!--old Time has wings-- +We're born, we mourn, we wed, we bed, +We have a devilish aching head; + So down we lie, + And die, and fry; +And there's a merry end of things! + + [_Music, &c., within._] + +Here come Ravenna's eagles for a roost +In Rimini! The air is black with them. +When go they hence? Wherever yon bird builds, +The nest remains for ages. Have an eye, +Or Malatesta's elephant may feel +The eagle's talons. + + LANCIOTTO. You're a raven, croaker. + + PEPE. And you no white crow, to insure us luck. + + MALATESTA. There's matter in his croak. + + PEPE. There always is; +But men lack ears. + + MALATESTA. Then eyes must do our work. +Old Guido shall be looked to. If his force +Appear too great, I'll camp him out of town. + + LANCIOTTO. Father, you are a sorry host. + + MALATESTA. Well, well, +I'm a good landlord, though. I do not like +This flight of eagles more than Pepe. 'Sdeath! +Guido was ever treacherous. + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +You mar my holiday by such a thought. +My holiday! Dear saints! it seems to me +That all of you are mocking me. + + PEPE. So--so-- +Guido was ever treacherous?--so--so! + + MALATESTA. So--so! How so? + + PEPE. What if this treachery +Run in the blood? We'll tap a vein then--so! + + MALATESTA. Sew up your mouth, and mind your fooling fool! + + PEPE. Am I not fooling? Why, my lord, I thought +The fooling exquisite. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Aside._] This thoughtless knave +Hits near us sometimes with his random shafts. +Marriage for me! I cannot comprehend, +I cannot take it to my heart; the thing +Seems gross, absurd, ridiculous. Ah! well, +My father bears the folly of it all; +I'm but an actor in his comedy. +My part is bad, but I must through with it. + [_Retires._ + + _Shouts, music, &c., within._ + + PEPE. Look! here's the whole parade! Mark yonder knave-- +The head one with the standard. Nature, nature! +Hadst thou a hand in such a botch-work? Why, +A forest of his legs would scarcely make +A bunch of fagots. Mark old Guido, too! +He looks like Judas with his silver. Ho! +Here's news from sweet Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! + + PEPE. Ah! now the bride!--that's something--she is tooth-some. +Look you, my lord--now, while the progress halts-- +Cousin Paolo, has he got the dumps? +Mercy! to see him, one might almost think +'T was his own marriage. What a doleful face! +The boy is ill. He caught a fever, uncle, +Travelling across the marshes. Physic! physic! +If he be really dying, get a doctor, +And cut the matter short. 'Twere merciful. + + MALATESTA. For heaven's sake, cease your clamour! I shall have +No face to meet them else. 'Tis strange, for all: +What ails Paolo? + + PEPE. Dying, by this hand! + + MALATESTA. Then I will hang you. + + PEPE. Don't take up my craft. +Wit's such a stranger in your brain that I +Scarce knew my lodger venturing from your mouth. +Now they come on again. + + MALATESTA. Stand back! + + PEPE. [_Looking round._] The bridegroom? +He flies betimes, before the bride shows fight. + [_Walks back, looking for_ LANCIOTTO. + +_Music, shouts, ringing of bells, &c. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with +banners, &c_., GUIDO, CARDINAL, KNIGHTS, ATTENDANTS, &_c.; then_ +PAOLO, _conducting _FRANCESCA, _followed by _RITTA, LADIES, PAGES, +_&c., and other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They file around the stage, and halt._ + + MALATESTA. Welcome, to Rimini, Count Guido! Welcome, +And fair impressions of our poor abode, +To you, my daughter! You are well returned, +My son, Paolo! Let me bless you, son. + + [PAOLO _approaches._] +How many spears are in old Guido's train? + + [_Apart to_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Some ten-score. + + MALATESTA. Footmen? + + PAOLO. Double that. + + MALATESTA. 'Tis well. +Again I bid you welcome! Make no show +Of useless ceremony with us. Friends +Have closer titles than the empty name. +We have provided entertainment, Count, +For all your followers, in the midst of us. +We trust the veterans of Rimini +May prove your soldiers that our courtesy +Does not lag far behind their warlike zeal. +Let us drop Guelf and Ghibelin henceforth, +Coupling the names of Rimini and Ravenna +As bridegroom's to his bride's. + + GUIDO. Count Malatesta, +I am no rhetorician, or my words +Might keep more even with the love I feel: +Simply, I thank you. With an honest hand +I take the hand which you extend to me, +And hope our grasp may never lose its warmth.-- +You marked the bastion by the water-side? +Weak as a bulrush. [_Apart to a_ KNIGHT. + + KNIGHT. Tottering weak, my lord. + + GUIDO. Remember it; and when you're private, sir, +Draw me a plan. + + KNIGHT. I will, my lord. + + GUIDO. How's this? +I do not see my future son-in-law. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing._] I am here, my lord. + + FRANCESCA. [_Starting._] O! heaven! +Is that my husband, Count Paolo? You, +You then, among the rest, have played me false! +He is--[_Apart to _PAOLO. + + PAOLO My brother. + + LANCIOTTO [_Aside._] Ha! she turns from me. + + PEPE. [_Approaching _LANCIOTTO, _sings._] + + Around, around the lady turned, + She turned not to her lord; + She turned around to a gallant, gallant knight, + Who ate at his father's board. + +A pretty ballad! all on one string though. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, go hence! [PEPE _retires._] + [_Aside._] I saw her start and pale, +Turn off with horror; as if she had seen-- +What?--simply me. For, am I not enough, +And something over, to make ladies quail, +Start, hide their faces, whisper to their friends, +Point at me--dare she?--and perform such tricks +As women will when monsters blast their sight? +O! saints above me, have I come so low? +Yon damsel of Ravenna shall bewail +That start and shudder. I am mad, mad, mad! +I must be patient. They have trifled with her: +Lied to her, lied! There's half the misery +Of this broad earth, all crowded in one word. +Lied, lied!--Who has not suffered from a lie? +They're all aghast--all looking at me too. +Francesca's whiter than the brow of fear: +Paolo talks.--Brother, is that well meant? +What if I draw my sword, and fight my way +Out of this cursed town? 'Twould be relief. +Has shame no hiding-place? I've touched the depth +Of human infamy, and there I rest. +By heaven, I'll brave this business out! Shall they +Say at Ravenna that Count Lanciotto, +Who's driven their shivering squadrons to their homes, +Haggard with terror, turned before their eyes +And slunk away? They'll look me from the field, +When we encounter next. Why should not I +Strut with my shapeless body, as old Guido +Struts with his shapeless heart? I'll do it! [_Offers, but shrinks back._] 'Sdeath! +Am I so false as to forswear myself? +Lady Francesca! [_Approaches_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Sir--my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Dear lady, +I have a share in your embarrassment, +And know the feelings that possess you now. + + FRANCESCA. O! you do not. + + PAOLO. [_Advancing._] My lady-- + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle brother, +Leave this to me. [PAOLO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Pray do not send him off. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis fitter so. + + FRANCESCA. He comforts me. + + LANCIOTTO Indeed? +Do you need comfort? + + FRANCESCA. No, no--pardon me! +But then--he is--you are-- + + LANCIOTTO. Take breath, and speak. + + FRANCESCA. I am confused, 'tis true. But, then, my lord, +You are a stranger to me; and Paolo +I've known so long! + + LANCIOTTO. Since yesterday. + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well: +But the relationship between us two +Is of so close a nature, while the knowledge, +That each may have of each, so slender is +That the two jar. Besides, Paolo is +Nothing to me, while you are everything. +Can I not act? [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. I scarcely understand. +You say your knowledge of me, till to-day, +Was incomplete. Has naught been said of me +By Count Paolo or your father? + + FRANCESCA. Yes; +But nothing definite. + + LANCIOTTO. Perchance, no hint +As to my ways, my feelings, manners, or-- +Or--or--as I was saying--ha! ha!--or-- + [_Laughing._] +As to my person? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, as to that. + + LANCIOTTO. To what? + + FRANCESCA. Your--person. + + LANCIOTTO. That's the least of all. [_Turns aside._] +Now, had I Guido of Ravenna's head +Under this heel, I'd grind it into dust! +False villain, to betray his simple child! +And thou, Paolo--not a whit behind-- +Helping his craft with inconsiderate love!-- +Lady Francesca, when my brother left, +I charged him, as he loved me, to conceal +Nothing from you that bore on me: and now +That you have seen me, and conversed with me, +If you object to anything in me,-- +Go, I release you. + + FRANCESCA. But Ravenna's peace? + + LANCIOTTO. Shall not be perilled. + + GUIDO. [_Coming behind, whispers her._] Trust him not, my child; +I know his ways; he'd rather fight than wed. +Tis but a wish to have the war afoot. +Stand firm for poor Ravenna! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, my lady, +Shall we conclude a lasting peace between us +By truce or marriage rites? + + GUIDO. [_Whispers her._] The devil tempts thee: +Think of Ravenna, think of me! + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +I see my father waits you. + [GUIDO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Gentle sir, +You do me little honour in the choice. + + LANCIOTTO. My aim is justice. + + FRANCESCA. Would you cast me off? + + LANCIOTTO. Not for the world, if honestly obtained; +Not for the world would I obtain you falsely. + + FRANCESCA. The rites were half concluded ere we met. + + LANCIOTTO. Meeting, would you withdraw? + + FRANCESCA. No. Bitter word! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. No! Are you dealing fairly? + + FRANCESCA. I have said. + + LANCIOTTO. O! rapture, rapture! Can it be that I-- +Now I'll speak plainly; for a choice like thine +Implies such love as woman never felt. +Love me! Then monsters beget miracles, +And Heaven provides where human means fall short. +Lady, I'll worship thee! I'll line thy path +With suppliant kings! Thy waiting-maids shall be +Unransomed princesses! Mankind shall bow +One neck to thee, as Persia's multitudes +Before the rising sun! From this small town, +This centre of my conquests, I will spread +An empire touching the extremes of earth! +I'll raise once more the name of ancient Rome; +And what she swayed she shall reclaim again! +If I grow mad because you smile on me, +Think of the glory of thy love; and know +How hard it is, for such a one as I, +To gaze unshaken on divinity! +There's no such love as mine alive in man. +From every corner of the frowning earth, +It has been crowded back into my heart. +Now, take it all! If that be not enough, +Ask, and thy wish shall be omnipotent! +Your hand. [_Takes her hand._] It wavers. + + FRANCESCA. So does not my heart. + + LANCIOTTO. Bravo! Thou art every way a soldier's wife; +Thou shouldst have been a Caesar's! Father, hark! +I blamed your judgment, only to perceive +The weakness of my own. + + MALATESTA. What means all this? + + LANCIOTTO. It means that this fair lady--though I gave +Release to her, and to Ravenna--placed +The liberal hand, which I restored to her, +Back in my own, of her own free good-will. +Is it not wonderful? + + MALATESTA. How so? + + LANCIOTTO. How so! + + PAOLO. Alas! 'tis as I feared! [ _Aside._ + + MALATESTA. You're humble?--How? + + LANCIOTTO. Now shall I cry aloud to all the world, +Make my deformity my pride, and say, +Because she loves me, I may boast of it? [_Aside._] +No matter, father, I am happy; you, +As the blessed cause, shall share my happiness. +Let us be moving. Revels, dashed with wine, +Shall multiply the joys of this sweet day! +There's not a blessing in the cup of life +I have not tasted of within an hour! + + FRANCESCA. [_Aside._] Thus I begin the practice of deceit, +Taught by deceivers, at a fearful cost. +The bankrupt gambler has become the cheat, +And lives by arts that erewhile ruined me. +Where it will end, Heaven knows; but I-- +I have betrayed the noblest heart of all! + + LANCIOTTO. Draw down thy dusky vapours, sullen night-- +Refuse, ye stars, to shine upon the world-- +Let everlasting blackness wrap the sun, +And whisper terror to the universe! +We need ye not! we'll blind ye, if ye dare +Peer with lack-lustre on our revelry! +I have at heart a passion, that would make +All nature blaze with recreated light! [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. _The Same. An Apartment in the Castle. Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be that I have duped myself, +That my desire has played into the hand +Of my belief; yet such a thing might be. +We palm more frauds upon our simple selves +Than knavery puts upon us. Could I trust +The open candour of an angel's brow, +I must believe Francesca's. But the tongue +Should consummate the proof upon the brow, +And give the truth its word. The fault lies there. +I've tried her. Press her as I may to it, +She will not utter those three little words-- +"I love thee." She will say, "I'll marry you;-- +I'll be your duteous wife;--I'll cheer your days;-- +I'll do whate'er I can." But at the point +Of present love, she ever shifts the ground, +Winds round the word, laughs, calls me "Infidel!-- +How can I doubt?" So, on and on. But yet, +For all her dainty ways, she never says, +Frankly, I love thee. I am jealous--true! +Suspicious--true! distrustful of myself;-- +She knows all that. Ay, and she likewise knows, +A single waking of her morning breath +Would blow these vapours off. I would not take +The barren offer of a heartless hand, +If all the Indies cowered under it. +Perhaps she loves another? No; she said, +"I love you, Count, as well as any man;" +And laughed, as if she thought that precious wit. +I turn her nonsense into argument, +And think I reason. Shall I give her up? +Rail at her heartlessness, and bid her go +Back to Ravenna? But she clings to me, +At the least hint of parting. Ah! 'tis sweet, +Sweeter than slumber to the lids of pain, +To fancy that a shadow of true love +May fall on this God-stricken mould of woe, +From so serene a nature. Beautiful +Is the first vision of a desert brook, +Shining beneath its palmy garniture, +To one who travels on his easy way; +What is it to the blood-shot, aching eye +Of some poor wight who crawls with gory feet, +In famished madness, to its very brink; +And throws his sun-scorched limbs upon the cool +And humid margin of its shady strand, +To suck up life at every eager gasp? +Such seems Francesca to my thirsting soul; +Shall I turn off and die? + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Good-morning, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. Good-morning to your foolish majesty! + + PEPE. The same to your majestic foolery! + + LANCIOTTO. You compliment! + + PEPE. I am a troubadour, +A ballad-monger of fine mongrel ballads, +And therefore running o'er with elegance. +Wilt hear my verse? + + LANCIOTTO. With patience? + + PEPE. No, with rapture. +You must go mad--weep, rend your clothes, and roll +Over and over, like the ancient Greeks, +When listening to Iliad. + + LANCIOTTO. Sing, then, sing! +And if you equal Homer in your song, +Why, roll I must, by sheer compulsion. + + PEPE. Nay, +You lack the temper of the fine-eared Greek. +You will not roll; but that shall not disgrace +My gallant ballad, fallen on evil times. [_Sings._] + + My father had a blue-black head, + My uncle's head was reddish--maybe, + My mother's hair was noways red, + Sing high ho! the pretty baby! + +Mark the simplicity of that! 'Tis called +"The Babe's Confession," spoken just before +His father strangled him. + + LANCIOTTO. Most marvellous! +You struggle with a legend worth your art. + + PEPE. Now to the second stanza. Note the hint +I drop about the baby's parentage: +So delicately too! A maid might sing, +And never blush at it. Girls love these songs +Of sugared wickedness. They'll go miles about, +To say a foul thing in a cleanly way. +A decent immorality, my lord, +Is art's specific. Get the passions up, +But never wring the stomach. + + LANCIOTTO. Triumphant art! + + + + PEPE. [_Sings._] + + My father combed his blue-black head, + My uncle combed his red head--maybe, + My mother combed my head, and said, + Sing high ho! my red-haired baby. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, fie! go comb your hair in private. + + PEPE. What! +Will you not hear? Now comes the tragedy. [_Sings._] + + My father tore my red, red head, + My uncle tore my father's--maybe, + My mother tore both till they bled-- + Sing high ho! your brother's baby! + + LANCIOTTO. Why, what a hair-rending! + + PEPE. Thence wigs arose; +A striking epoch in man's history. +But did you notice the concluding line, +Sung by the victim's mother? There's a hit! + + "Sing high ho! your brother's baby!" + +Which brother's, pray you? That's the mystery, +The adumbration of poetic art, +And there I leave it to perplex mankind. +It has a moral, fathers should regard,-- +A black-haired dog breeds not a red-haired cur. +Treasure this knowledge: you're about to wive; +And no one knows what accident-- + + LANCIOTTO. Peace, fool! +So all this cunning thing was wound about, +To cast a jibe at my deformity? [_Tears off_ PEPE'S _cap._] +There lies your cap, the emblem that protects +Your head from chastisement. Now, Pepe, hark! +Of late you've taken to reviling me; +Under your motley, you have dared to jest +At God's inflictions. Let me tell you, fool, +No man e'er lived, to make a second jest +At me, before your time! + + PEPE. Boo! bloody-bones! +If you're a coward--which I hardly think-- +You'll have me flogged, or put into a cell, +Or fed to wolves. If you are bold of heart, +You'll let me run. Do not; I'll work you harm! +I, Beppo Pepe, standing as a man, +Without my motley, tell you, in plain terms, +I'll work you harm--I'll do you mischief, man! + + LANCIOTTO. I, Lanciotto, Count of Rimini, +Will hang you, then. Put on your jingling cap; +You please my father. But remember, fool, +No jests at me! + + PEPE. I will try earnest next. + + LANCIOTTO. And I the gallows. + + PEPE. Well, cry quits, cry quits! +I'll stretch your heart, and you my neck--quits, quits! + + LANCIOTTO. Go, fool! Your weakness bounds your malice. + + PEPE. Yes: +So you all think, you savage gentlemen, +Until you feel my sting. Hang, hang away! +It is an airy, wholesome sort of death, +Much to my liking. When I hang, my friend, +You'll be chief mourner, I can promise you. +Hang me! I've quite a notion to be hung: +I'll do my utmost to deserve it. Hang! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. I am bemocked on all sides. My sad state +Has given the licensed and unlicensed fool +Charter to challenge me at every turn. +The jester's laughing bauble blunts my sword, +His gibes cut deeper than its fearful edge; +And I, a man, a soldier, and a prince, +Before this motley patchwork of a man, +Stand all appalled, as if he were a glass +Wherein I saw my own deformity. +O Heaven! a tear--one little tear--to wash +This aching dryness of the heart away! + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. What ails the fool? He passed me, muttering +The strangest garbage in the fiercest tone. +"Ha! ha!" cried he, "they made a fool of me-- +motley man, a slave; as if I felt +No stir in me of manly dignity! +Ha! ha! a fool--a painted plaything, toy-- +For men to kick about this dirty world!-- +My world as well as theirs.--God's world, I trow! +I will get even with them yet--ha! ha! +In the democracy of death we'll square. +I'll crawl and lie beside a king's own son; +Kiss a young princess, dead lip to dead lip; +Pull the Pope's nose; and kick down Charlemagne, +Throne, crown, and all, where the old idiot sprawls, +Safe as he thinks, rotting in royal state!" +And then he laughed and gibbered, as if drunk +With some infernal ecstasy. + + LANCIOTTO. Poor fool! +That is the groundwork of his malice, then,-- +His conscious difference from the rest of men? +I, of all men, should pity him the most. +Poor Pepe! I'll be kinder. I have wronged +A feeling heart. Poor Pepe! + + PAOLO. Sad again! +Where has the rapture gone of yesterday? + + LANCIOTTO. Where are the leaves of Summer? Where the snows +Of last year's Winter? Where the joys and griefs +That shut our eyes to yesternight's repose, +And woke not on the morrow? Joys and griefs, +Huntsmen and hounds, ye follow us as game, +Poor panting outcasts of your forest-law! +Each cheers the others,--one with wild halloos, +And one with whines and howls.--A dreadful chase, +That only closes when horns sound _à mort!_ + + PAOLO. Thus ever up and down! Arouse yourself, +Balance your mind more evenly, and hunt +For honey in the wormwood. + + LANCIOTTO. Or find gall +Hid in the hanging chalice of the rose: +Which think you better? If my mood offend, +We'll turn to business,--to the empty cares +That make such pother in our feverish life. +When at Ravenna, did you ever hear +Of any romance in Francesca's life? +A love-tilt, gallantry, or anything +That might have touched her heart? + + PAOLO. Not lightly even. +I think her heart as virgin as her hand. + + LANCIOTTO. Then there is hope. + + PAOLO. Of what? + + LANCIOTTO. Of winning her. + + PAOLO. Grammercy! Lanciotto, are you sane? +You boasted yesterday-- + + LANCIOTTO. And changed to-day. +Is that so strange? I always mend the fault +Of yesterday with wisdom of to-day. +She does not love me. + + PAOLO. Pshaw! she marries you: +'Twere proof enough for me. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps, she loves you. + + PAOLO. Me, Lanciotto, me! For mercy's sake, +Blot out such thoughts--they madden me! What, love-- +She love--yet marry you! + + LANCIOTTO. It moves you much. +'Twas but a fleeting fancy, nothing more. + + PAOLO. You have such wild conjectures! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, to me +They seem quite tame; they are my bed-fellows. +Think, to a modest woman, what must be +The loathsome kisses of an unloved man-- +A gross, coarse ruffian! + + PAOLO. O! good heavens, forbear! + + LANCIOTTO. What shocks you so? + + PAOLO. The picture which you draw, +Wronging yourself by horrid images. + + LANCIOTTO. Until she love me, till I know, beyond +The cavil of a doubt, that she is mine-- +Wholly, past question--do you think that I +Could so afflict the woman whom I love? + + PAOLO. You love her, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Next to you, +Dearer than anything in nature's scope. + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O! Heaven, that I must bear this! Yes, and more,-- +More torture than I dare to think upon, +Spreads out before me with the coming years, +And holds a record blotted with my tears, +As that which I must suffer! + + LANCIOTTO. Come, Paolo, +Come help me woo. I need your guiding eye, +To signal me, if I should sail astray. + + PAOLO. O! torture, torture! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. You and I, perchance, +Joining our forces, may prevail at last. +They call love like a battle. As for me, +I'm not a soldier equal to such wars, +Despite my arduous schooling. Tutor me +In the best arts of amorous strategy. +I am quite raw, Paolo. Glances, sighs, +Sweets of the lip, and arrows of the eye, +Shrugs, cringes, compliments, are new to me; +And I shall handle them with little art. +Will you instruct me? + + PAOLO. Conquer for yourself. +Two captains share one honour: keep it all. +What if I ask to share the spoils? + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! +I'll trust you, brother. Let us go to her: +Francesca is neglected while we jest. +I know not how it is, but your fair face, +And noble figure, always cheer me up, +More than your words; there's healing in them, too, +For my worst griefs. Dear brother, let us in. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Chamber in the Same._ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA _discovered +at the bridal toilet._ + + RITTA. [_Sings._] + Ring high, ring high! to earth and sky; + A lady goes a-wedding; + The people shout, the show draws out, + And smiles the bride is shedding. + + No bell for you, ye ragged few; + A beggar goes a-wedding; + The people sneer, the thing's so queer, + And tears the bride is shedding. + + Ring low, ring low! dull bell of woe, + One tone will do for either; + The lady glad, and beggar sad, + Have both lain down together. + + FRANCESCA. A mournful ballad! + + RITTA. I scarce knew I sang. +I'm weary of this wreath. These orange-flowers +Will never be adjusted to my taste: +Strive as I will, they ever look awry. +My fingers ache! + + FRANCESCA. Not more than my poor head. +There, leave them so. + + RITTA. That's better, yet not well. + + FRANCESCA. They are but fading things, not worth your pains: +They'll scarce outlive the marriage merriment. +Ritta, these flowers are hypocrites; they show +An outside gayety, yet die within, +Minute by minute. You shall see them fall, +Black with decay, before the rites are o'er. + + RITTA. How beautiful you are! + + FRANCESCA. Fie, flatterer! +White silk and laces, pearls and orange-flowers, +Would do as much for any one. + + RITTA. No, no! +You give them grace, they nothing give to you. +Why, after all, you make the wreath look well; +But somewhat dingy, where it lies against +Your pulsing temple, sullen with disgrace. +Ah! well, your Count should be the proudest man +That ever led a lady into church, +Were he a modern Alexander. Poh! +What are his trophies to a face like that? + + FRANCESCA. I seem to please you, Ritta. + + RITTA. Please yourself, +And you will please me better. You are sad: +I marked it ever since you saw the Count. +I fear the splendour of his victories, +And his sweet grace of manner--for, in faith, +His is the gentlest, grandest character, +Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Well? + + RITTA. Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, what? + + RITTA. Despite his difference from Count Paolo.-- + [FRANCESCA _staggers._] +What is the matter? [_Supporting her._ + + FRANCESCA. Nothing; mere fatigue. +Hand me my kerchief. I am better now. +What were you saying? + + RITTA. That I fear the Count +Has won your love. + + FRANCESCA. Would that be cause for fear? + [_Laughing._ + + RITTA. O! yes, indeed! Once--long ago--I was +Just fool enough to tangle up my heart +With one of these same men. 'Twas terrible! +Morning or evening, waking or asleep, +I had no peace. Sighs, groans, and standing tears, +Counted my moments through the blessed day. +And then to this there was a dull, strange ache +Forever sleeping in my breast,--a numbing pain, +That would not for an instant be forgot. +O! but I loved him so, that very feeling +Became intolerable. And I believed +This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers, +The shrugs and glances, of my intimates. +They slandered me and him, yet I believed. +He was a noble, and his love to me +Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed. +He wearied of me, tried to shake me off, +Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt. +O! lady, I was true! Nor till I saw +Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door +With Dora, the rich usurer's niece, upon +The very arm to which I clung so oft, +Did I so much as doubt him. Even then-- +More is my shame--I made excuses for him. +"Just this or that had forced him to the course: +Perhaps, he loved me yet--a little yet. +His fortune, or his family, had driven +My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart. +The low are sorry judges for the great. +Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me!" But at last +I did awake. It might have been with less: +There was no need of crushing me, to break +My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced, +Dora and he went by me, and he laughed-- +A bold, bad laugh--right in my poor pale face, +And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed. +Ah! then I saw it all. I've been awake, +Ever since then, I warrant you. And now +I only pray for him sometimes, when friends +Tell his base actions towards his hapless wife.-- +O! I am lying--I pray every night! [_Weeps._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor Ritta. [_Weeping._ + + RITTA. No! blest Ritta! Thank kind heaven, +That kept me spotless when he tempted me, +And my weak heart was pleading with his tongue. +Pray, do not weep. You spoil your eyes for me. +But never love; O! it is terrible! + + FRANCESCA. I'll strive against it. + + RITTA. Do: because, my lady, +Even a husband may be false, you know; +Ay, even to so sweet a wife as you. +Men have odd tastes. They'll surfeit on the charms +Of Cleopatra, and then turn aside +To woo her blackamoor. 'Tis so, in faith; +Or Dora's uncle's gold had ne'er outbid +The boundless measure of a love like mine. +Think of it, lady, to weigh love with gold! +What could be meaner? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, nothing, Ritta. +Though gold's the standard measure of the world, +And seems to lighten everything beside. +Yet heap the other passions in the scale, +And balance them 'gainst that which gold outweighs-- +Against this love--and you shall see how light +The most supreme of them are in the poise! +I speak by book and history; for love +Slights my high fortunes. Under cloth of state +The urchin cowers from pompous etiquette, +Waiving his function at the scowl of power, +And seeks the rustic cot to stretch his limbs +In homely freedom. I fulfil a doom. +We who are topmost on this heap of life +Are nearer to heaven's hand than you below; +And so are used, as ready instruments, +To work its purposes. Let envy hide +Her witless forehead at a prince's name, +And fix her hopes upon a clown's content. +You, happy lowly, know not what it is +To groan beneath the crowned yoke of state, +And bear the goadings of the sceptre. Ah! +Fate drives us onward in a narrow way, +Despite our boasted freedom. + + [_Enter_ PAOLO, _with_ PAGES _bearing torches._] + + Gracious saints! +What brought you here? + + PAOLO. The bridegroom waits. + + FRANCESCA. He does? +Let him wait on forever! I'll not go! +O! dear Paolo-- + + PAOLO. Sister! + + FRANCESCA. It is well. +I have been troubled with a sleepless night. +My brain is wild. I know not what I say. +Pray, do not call me sister: it is cold. +I never had a brother, and the name +Sounds harshly to me. When you speak to me, +Call me Francesca. + + PAOLO. You shall be obeyed. + + FRANCESCA. I would not be obeyed. I'd have you do it +Because--because you love me--as a sister-- +And of your own good-will, not my command, +Would please me.--Do you understand? + + PAOLO. Too well! [_Aside._] +'Tis a nice difference. + + FRANCESCA. Yet you understand? +Say that you do. + + PAOLO. I do. + + FRANCESCA. That pleases me. +'Tis flattering if our--friends appreciate +Our nicer feelings. + + PAOLO. I await you, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my gloves.--Ah! yes, I have them on; +Though I'm not quite prepared. Arrange my veil; +It folds too closely. That will do; retire. [RITTA _retires._] +So, Count Paolo, you have come, hot haste, +To lead me to the church,--to have your share +In my undoing? And you came, in sooth, +Because they sent you? You are very tame! +And if they sent, was it for you to come? + + PAOLO. Lady, I do not understand this scorn. +I came, as is my duty, to escort +My brother's bride to him. When next you're called, +I'll send a lackey. + + FRANCESCA. I have angered you. + + PAOLO. With reason: I would not appear to you +Low or contemptible. + + FRANCESCA. Why not to me? + + PAOLO. Lady, I'll not be catechized. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! Count! + + PAOLO. No! if you press me further, I will say +A word to madden you.--Stand still! You stray +Around the margin of a precipice. +I know what pleasure 'tis to pluck the flowers +That hang above destruction, and to gaze +Into the dread abyss, to see such things +As may be safely seen. Tis perilous: +The eye grows dizzy as we gaze below, +And a wild wish possesses us to spring +Into the vacant air. Beware, beware! +Lest this unholy fascination grow +Too strong to conquer! + + FRANCESCA. You talk wildly, Count; +There's not a gleam of sense in what you say; +I cannot hit your meaning. + + PAOLO. Lady, come! + + FRANCESCA. Count, you are cruel! [_Weeps._ + + PAOLO. O! no; I would be kind. +But now, while reason over-rides my heart, +And seeming anger plays its braggart part-- +In heaven's name, come! + + FRANCESCA. One word--one question more: +Is it your wish this marriage should proceed? + + PAOLO. It is. + + FRANCESCA. Come on! You shall not take my hand: +I'll walk alone--now, and forever! + + PAOLO. [_Taking her hand._] Sister! + + [_Exeunt_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _with_ PAGES. + + RITTA. O! misery, misery!--it is plain as day-- +She loves Paolo! Why will those I love +Forever get themselves ensnared, and heaven +Forever call on me to succor them? +Here was the mystery, then--the sighs and tears, +The troubled slumbers, and the waking dreams! +And now she's walking through the chapel-door, +Her bridal robe above an aching heart, +Dressed up for sacrifice. Tis terrible! +And yet she'll smile and do it. Smile, for years, +Until her heart breaks; and the nurses ask +The doctor of the cause. He'll answer, too, +In hard thick Latin, and believe himself. +O! my dear mistress! Heaven, pray torture me! +Send back Giuseppe, let him ruin me, +And scorn me after; but, sweet heaven, spare her! +I'll follow her. O! what a world is this! [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. Interior of the Cathedral._ LANCIOTTO, FRANCESCA, PAOLO, +MALATESTA, GUIDO, RITTA, PEPE, LORDS, KNIGHTS, PRIESTS, PAGES, _a +bridal-train of_ LADIES, SOLDIERS, CITIZENS, ATTENDANTS, _etc., +discovered before the High Altar. Organ music. The rites being over, +they advance._ + + MALATESTA. By heaven-- + + PEPE. O! uncle, uncle, you're in church! + + MALATESTA. I'll break your head, knave! + + PEPE. I claim sanctuary. + + + MALATESTA. Why, bridegroom, will you never kiss the bride? +We all are mad to follow you. + + PEPE. Yes, yes; +Here was Paolo wetting his red lips +For the last minute. Kiss, and give him room. + + MALATESTA. You heaven-forsaken imp, be quiet now! + + PEPE. Then there'd be naught worth hearing. + + MALATESTA. Bridegroom, come! + + PEPE. Lord! he don't like it! Hey!--I told you so-- +He backs at the first step. Does he not know +His trouble's just begun? + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle Francesca, +Custom imposes somewhat on thy lips: +I'll make my levy. [_Kisses her. The others follow._] + [_Aside._] Ha! she shrank! I felt +Her body tremble, and her quivering lips +Seemed dying under mine! I heard a sigh, +Such as breaks hearts--O! no, a very groan; +And then she turned a sickly, miserable look +On pale Paolo, and he shivered too! +There is a mystery hangs around her,--ay, +Paolo knows it, too.--By all the saints, +I'll make him tell it, at the dagger's point! +Paolo!--here! I do adjure you, brother, +By the great love I bear you, to reveal +The secret of Francesca's grief. + + PAOLO. I cannot. + + LANCIOTTO. She told you nothing? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not a word? + + PAOLO. Not one. + + LANCIOTTO. What heard you at Ravenna, then? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Here? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not the slightest hint?-- +Don't stammer, man! Speak quick! I am in haste. + + PAOLO. Never. + + LANCIOTTO. What know you? + + PAOLO. Nothing that concerns +Your happiness, Lanciotto. If I did, +Would I not tell unquestioned? + + LANCIOTTO. Would you not? +You ask a question for me: answer it. + + PAOLO. I have. + + LANCIOTTO. You juggle, you turn deadly pale, +Fumble your dagger, stand with head half round, +Tapping your feet.--You dare not look at me! +By Satan! Count Paolo, let me say, +You look much like a full-convicted thief! + + PAOLO. Brother!-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! brother! You deceive me, sir: +You and that lady have a devil's league, +To keep a devil's secret. Is it thus +You deal with me? Now, by the light above +I'd give a dukedom for some fair pretext +To fly you all! She does not love me? Well, +I could bear that, and live away from her. +Love would be sweet, but want of it becomes +An early habit to such men as I. +But you--ah! there's the sorrow--whom I loved +An infant in your cradle; you who grew +Up in my heart, with every inch you gained; +You whom I loved for every quality, +Good, bad, and common, in your natural stock; +Ay, for your very beauty! It is strange, you'll say, +For such a crippled horror to do that, +Against the custom of his kind! O! yes, +I love, and you betray me! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +This is sheer frenzy. Join your bride. + + LANCIOTTO. I'll not! +What, go to her, to feel her very flesh +Crawl from my touch?--to hear her sigh and moan, +As if God plagued her? Must I come to that? +Must I endure your hellish mystery +With my own wife, and roll my eyes away +In sentimental bliss? No, no! until +I go to her, with confident belief +In her integrity and candid love, +I'll shun her as a leper. [_Alarm-bells toll._ + + MALATESTA. What is that? + + _Enter, hastily, a_ MESSENGER _in disorder._ + + MESSENGER. My lord, the Ghibelins are up-- + + LANCIOTTO. And I +Will put them down again! I thank thee, Heaven, +For this unlooked-for aid! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. What force have they? + + LANCIOTTO. It matters not,--nor yet the time, place, cause, +Of their rebellion. I would throttle it, +Were it a riot, or a drunken brawl! + + MALATESTA. Nay, son, your bride-- + + LANCIOTTO. My bride will pardon me; +Bless me, perhaps, as I am going forth;-- +Thank me, perhaps, if I should ne'er return. [_Aside._] +A soldier's duty has no bridals in it. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, this is folly. Let me take +Your usual place of honour. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! +What! thou, a tilt-yard soldier, lead my troops! +My wife will ask it shortly. Not a word +Of opposition from the new-made bride? +Nay, she looks happier. O! accursed day, +That I was mated to an empty heart! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. But, son-- + + LANCIOTTO. Well, father? + + PEPE. Uncle, let him go. +He'll find it cooler on a battle-field +Than in his-- + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! the fool speaks oracles. +You, soldiers, who are used to follow me, +And front our charges, emulous to bear +The shock of battle on your forward arms,-- +Why stand ye in amazement? Do your swords +Stick to their scabbards with inglorious rust? +Or has repose so weakened your big hearts, +That you can dream with trumpets at your ears? +Out with your steel! It shames me to behold +Such tardy welcome to my war-worn blade! [_Draws._] + [_The_ KNIGHTS _and_ SOLDIERS _draw._] +Ho! draw our forces out! Strike camp, sound drums, +And set us on our marches! As I live, +I pity the next foeman who relies +On me for mercy! Farewell! to you all-- +To all alike--a soldier's short farewell! [_Going._] + + [PAOLO _stands before him._] + +Out of my way, thou juggler! [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. He is gone! + + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _The Same. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PEPE, _singing._ + + PEPE. 'Tis jolly to walk in the shady greenwood + With a damsel by your side; + 'Tis jolly to walk from the chapel-door, + With the hand of your pretty bride; + 'Tis jolly to rest your weary head, + When life runs low and hope is fled, + On the heart where you confide: + 'Tis jolly, jolly, jolly, they say, + They say--but I never tried. + +Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls +In motley suits, and pair us, to increase +The race of fools. 'Twould be a noble thing, +A motley woman, had she wit enough +To bear the bell. But there's the misery: +You may make princes out of any stuff; +Fools come by nature. She'll make fifty kings-- +Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cruel governors-- +For one fine fool. There is Paolo, now, +A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart-- +Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. +Lo! here he comes. And there's fierce crook-back's bride +Walking beside him--O, how gingerly! +Take care, my love! that is the very pace +We trip to hell with. Hunchback is away-- +That was a fair escape for you; but, then, +The devil's ever with us, and that's worse. +See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta, +And melancholy as a cow.--How's this? +I'll step aside, and watch you, pretty folks. + [_Hides behind the bushes._ + +_Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _followed by_ RITTA. _He seats himself +in an arbour, and reads._ RITTA _and_ FRANCESCA _advance._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta. + + RITTA. My lady. + + FRANCESCA. You look tired. + + RITTA. I'm not. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your chamber. + + RITTA. I would rather stay. +If it may please you. I require a walk +And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers, +To stir my blood. I am not very well. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear. +Paolo has a book to read to me. + + RITTA. What, the romance? I should so love to hear! +I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo +Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. +I'm weary now, quite weary, and would rest. + + FRANCESCA. Just now you wished to walk. + + RITTA. Ah! did I so? +Walking or resting, I would stay with you. + + FRANCESCA. The Count objects. He told me, yesterday, +That you were restless while he read to me; +And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed, +And yawned, until he almost paused. + + RITTA. Indeed +I will be quiet. + + FRANCESCA. But he will not read. + + RITTA. Let me go ask him. [_Runs toward_ PAOLO. + + FRANCESCA. Stop! Come hither, Ritta. + [_She returns._] +I saw your new embroidery in the hall,-- +The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes; +It should be finished. + + RITTA. I will bring it here.-- +O no! my finger's sore; I cannot work. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your room. + + RITTA. Let me remain, I pray. +'Tis better, lady; you may wish for me: +I know you will be sorry if I go. + + FRANCESCA. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you. +Will you be headstrong? + + RITTA. Do you wish it, then? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, Ritta. + + RITTA. Yet you made pretexts enough, +Before you ordered. + + FRANCESCA. You are insolent. +Will you remain against my will? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; +Rather than not remain. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! impudent! + + RITTA. You wrong me, gentle mistress. Love like mine +Does not ask questions of propriety, +Nor stand on manners. I would do you good, +Even while you smote me; I would push you back, +With my last effort, from the crumbling edge +Of some high rock o'er which you toppled me. + + FRANCESCA. What do you mean? + + RITTA. I know. + + FRANCESCA. Know what? + + RITTA. Too much. +Pray, do not ask me. + + FRANCESCA. Speak! + + RITTA. I know--dear lady, +Be not offended-- + + FRANCESCA. Tell me, simpleton! + + RITTA. You know I worship you; you know I'd walk +Straight into ruin for a whim of yours; +You know-- + + FRANCESCA. I know you act the fool. Talk sense! + + RITTA. I know Paolo loves you. + + FRANCESCA. Should he not? +He is my brother. + + RITTA. More than brother should. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! are you certain? + + RITTA. Yes, of more than that. + + FRANCESCA. Of more? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; for you love him, too. +I've said it! Fling me to the carrion crows, +Kill me by inches, boil me in the pot +Count Guido promised me,--but, O, beware! +Back, while you may. Make me the sufferer, +But save yourself! + + FRANCESCA. Now, are you not ashamed, +To look me in the face with that bold brow? +I am amazed! + + RITTA. I am a woman, lady; +I too have been in love; I know its ways, +Its arts, and its deceits. Your frowning face, +And seeming indignation, do not cheat. +Your heart is in my hand. + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hence, +Thou wanton-hearted minion! hence, I say!-- +And never look me in the face again!-- +Hence, thou insulting slave! + + RITTA. [_Clinging to her._] O lady, lady-- + + FRANCESCA. Begone! [_Throws her off._ + + RITTA. I have no friends--no one to love-- +O, spare me! + + FRANCESCA. Hence! + + RITTA. Was it for this I loved-- +Cared for you more than my own happiness-- +Ever at heart your slave--without a wish +For greater recompense than your stray smiles? + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hurry! + + RITTA. I am gone. Alas! +God bless you, lady! God take care of you, +When I am far away! Alas, alas! [_Exit weeping._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor girl!--but were she all the world to me, +And held my future in her tender grasp, +I'd cast her off, without a second thought, +To savage death, for dear Paolo's sake! +Paolo, hither! Now he comes to me; +I feel his presence, though I see him not, +Stealing upon me like the fervid glow +Of morning sunshine. Now he comes too near-- +He touches me--O heaven! + + PAOLO. Our poem waits. +I have been reading while you talked with Ritta. +How did you get her off? + + FRANCESCA. By some device. +She will not come again. + + PAOLO. I hate the girl: +She seems to stand between me and the light. +And now for the romance. Where left we off? + + FRANCESCA. Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra strayed +Along the forest, in the youth of May. +You marked the figure of the birds that sang +Their melancholy farewell to the sun-- +Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified-- +Like gentle mourners o'er a great man's grave. +Was it not there? No, no; 'twas where they sat +Down on the bank, by one impulsive wish +That neither uttered. + + PAOLO. [_Turning over the book._] Here it is. [_Reads._] + "So sat +Guenevra and Sir Lancelot"--'Twere well +To follow them in that. [_They sit upon a bank._ + + FRANCESCA. I listen: read. +Nay, do not; I can wait, if you desire. + + PAOLO. My dagger frets me; let me take it off. [_Rises._] +In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by. + [_Lays aside his dagger, and sits again._] +Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day. [_Reads_] + "So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot, + Under the blaze of the descending sun, + But all his cloudy splendours were forgot. + Each bore a thought, the only secret one, + Which each had hidden from the other's heart, + Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun. + Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start, + Put by the ripples of her golden hair, + Gazing upon her with his lips apart. + He marvelled human thing could be so fair; + Essayed to speak; but in the very deed, + His words expired of self-betrayed despair. + Little she helped him, at his direst need, + Roving her eyes o'er hill, and wood, and sky, + Peering intently at the meanest weed; + Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot's eye. + Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe, + Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh; + Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew; + Until she felt Sir Lancelot's arm around + Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew. + While through his fingers timidly he wound + Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed + Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound: + For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed, + Firing her blood with most contagious heat, + Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed. + Each heart was listening to the other beat. + As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk, + Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet, + So met their faces. Down the forest walk + Sir Lancelot looked--he looked, east, west, north, south-- + No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk: + She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth." + [_Kisses_ FRANCESCA.] +I'll read no more! [_Starts up, dashing down the book._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. I am mad! +The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er, +The straining cord has broken, and my heart +Riots in free delirium! O, Heaven! +I struggled with it, but it mastered me! +I fought against it, but it beat me down! +I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me; +And every tear rolled backward on my heart, +To blight and poison! + + FRANCESCA. And dost thou regret? + + PAOLO. The love? No, no! I'd dare it all again, +Its direst agonies and meanest fears, +For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse! +Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand; +Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge! +Thou canst not name a terror so profound +That I will look or falter from. Be bold! +I know thy love--I knew it long ago-- +Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp +The peril to my breast, and ask of thee +A kindred desperation. + + FRANCESCA. [_Throwing herself into his arms._] Take me all, +Body and soul! The women of our clime +Do never give away but half a heart: +I have not part to give, part to withhold, +In selfish safety. When I saw thee first, +Riding alone amid a thousand men, +Sole in the lustre of thy majesty, +And Guido da Polenta said to me, +"Daughter, behold thy husband!" with a bound +My heart went forth to meet thee. He deceived, +He lied to me--ah! that's the aptest word-- +And I believed. Shall I not turn again, +And meet him, craft with craft? Paolo, love, +Thou'rt dull--thou'rt dying like a feeble fire +Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze, +A flash of glory, and a long, long night? + + PAOLO. No, darling, no! You could not bend me back; +My course is onward; but my heart is sick +With coming fears. + + FRANCESCA. Away with them! Must I +Teach thee to love? and reinform the ear +Of thy spent passion with some sorcery +To raise the chilly dead? + + PAOLO. Thy lips have not +A sorcery to rouse me as this spell. [_Kisses her._ + + FRANCESCA. I give thy kisses back to thee again: +And, like a spendthrift, only ask of thee +To take while I can give. + + PAOLO. Give, give forever! +Have we not touched the height of human bliss? +And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back +Among the prostrate, did we not soar once?-- +Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods +On high Olympus? If they cast us, now, +Amid the furies, shall we not go down +With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips, +And richer memories settled in our hearts? +Francesca. + + FRANCESCA. Love? + + PAOLO. The sun is sinking low +Upon the ashes of his fading pyre, +And gray possesses the eternal blue; +The evening star is stealing after him, +Fixed, like a beacon, on the prow of night; +The world is shutting up its heavy eye +Upon the stir and bustle of to-day;-- +On what shall it awake? + + FRANCESCA. On love that gives +Joy at all seasons, changes night to day, +Makes sorrow smile, plucks out the barbéd dart +Of moaning anguish, pours celestial balm +In all the gaping wounds of earth, and lulls +The nervous fancies of unsheltered fear +Into a slumber sweet as infancy's! +On love that laughs at the impending sword, +And puts aside the shield of caution: cries, +To all its enemies, "Come, strike me now!-- +Now, while I hold my kingdom, while my crown +Of amaranth and myrtle is yet green, +Undimmed, unwithered; for I cannot tell +That I shall e'er be happier!" Dear Paolo, +Would you lapse down from misery to death, +Tottering through sorrow and infirmity? +Or would you perish at a single blow, +Cut off amid your wildest revelry, +Falling among the wine-cups and the flowers, +And tasting Bacchus when your drowsy sense +First gazed around eternity? Come, love! +The present whispers joy to us; we'll hear +The voiceless future when its turn arrives. + + PAOLO. Thou art a siren. Sing, forever sing; +Hearing thy voice, I cannot tell what fate +Thou hast provided when the song is o'er;-- +But I will venture it. + + FRANCESCA. In, in, my love! [_Exeunt._ + + PEPE _steals from behind the bushes._ + + PEPE. O, brother Lanciotto!--O, my stars!-- +If this thing lasts, I simply shall go mad! + [_Laughs, and rolls on the ground._] +O Lord! to think my pretty lady puss +Had tricks like this, and we ne'er know of it! +I tell you, Lanciotto, you and I +Must have a patent for our foolery! +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth!"-- +There's the beginning; where's the end of it? +O poesy! debauch thee only once, +And thou'rt the greatest wanton in the world! +O cousin Lanciotto--ho, ho, ho! [_Laughing._] +Can a man die of laughter? Here we sat; +Mistress Francesca so demure and calm; +Paolo grand, poetical, sublime!-- +Eh! what is this? Paolo's dagger? Good! +Here is more proof, sweet cousin Broken-back. +"In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by!" + [_Mimicking_ PAOLO.] +That's very pretty! Here's its counterpart: +In thoughts of hate, we'll pick them up again! + [_Takes the dagger._] +Now for my soldier, now for crook-backed Mars! +Ere long all Rimini will be ablaze. +He'll kill me? Yes: what then? That's nothing new, +Except to me; I'll bear for custom's sake. +More blood will follow; like the royal sun, +I shall go down in purple. Fools for luck; +The proverb holds like iron. I must run, +Ere laughter smother me.--O, ho, ho, ho! [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_A Camp among the Hills. Before_ LANCIOTTO'S _tent. Enter, from the +tent,_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. The camp is strangely quiet. Not a sound +Breaks nature's high solemnity. The sun +Repeats again his every-day decline; +Yet all the world looks sadly after him, +As if the customary sight were new. +Yon moody sentinel goes slowly by, +Through the thick mists of evening, with his spear +Trailed at a funeral hold. Long shadows creep, +From things beyond the furthest range of sight, +Up to my very feet. These mystic shades +Are of the earth; the light that causes them, +And teaches us the quick comparison, +Is all from heaven. Ah! restless man might crawl +With patience through his shadowy destiny, +If he were senseless to the higher light +Towards which his soul aspires. How grand and vast +Is yonder show of heavenly pageantry! +How mean and narrow is the earthly stand +From which we gaze on it! Magnificent, +O God, art thou amid the sunsets! Ah! +What heart in Rimini is softened now, +Towards my defects, by this grand spectacle? +Perchance, Paolo now forgives the wrong +Of my hot spleen. Perchance, Francesca now +Wishes me back, and turns a tenderer eye +On my poor person and ill-mannered ways; +Fashions excuses for me, schools her heart +Through duty into love, and ponders o'er +The sacred meaning in the name of wife. +Dreams, dreams! Poor fools, we squander love away +On thankless borrowers; when bankrupt quite, +We sit and wonder of their honesty. +Love, take a lesson from the usurer, +And never lend but on security. +Captain! + + _Enter a_ CAPTAIN. + + CAPTAIN. My lord. + + LANCIOTTO. They worsted us to-day. + + CAPTAIN. Not much, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. With little loss, indeed. +Their strength is in position. Mark you, sir. + [_Draws on the ground with his sword._] +Here is the pass; it opens towards the plain, +With gradual widening, like a lady's fan. +The hills protect their flank on either hand; +And, as you see, we cannot show more front +Than their advance may give us. Then, the rocks +Are sorry footing for our horse. Just here, +Close in against the left-hand hills, I marked +A strip of wood, extending down the gorge: +Behind that wood dispose your force ere dawn. +I shall begin the onset, then give ground, +And draw them out; while you, behind the wood, +Must steal along, until their flank and rear +Oppose your column. Then set up a shout, +Burst from the wood, and drive them on our spears. +They have no outpost in the wood, I know; +'Tis too far from their centre. On the morrow, +When they are flushed with seeming victory, +And think my whole division in full rout, +They will not pause to scrutinize the wood; +So you may enter boldly. We will use +The heart to-day's repulse has given to them, +For our advantage. Do you understand? + + CAPTAIN. Clearly, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. If they discover you, +Before you gain your point, wheel, and retreat +Upon my rear. If your attack should fail +To strike them with a panic, and they turn +In too great numbers on your small command, +Scatter your soldiers through the wood: +Let each seek safety for himself. + + CAPTAIN. I see. + + LANCIOTTO. Have Pluto shod; he cast a shoe to-day: +Let it be done at once. My helmet, too, +Is worn about the lacing; look to that. +Where is my armourer? + + CAPTAIN. At his forge. + + LANCIOTTO. Your charge +Must be at sunrise--just at sunrise, sir-- +Neither before nor after. You must march +At moonset, then, to gain the point ere dawn. +That is enough. + + CAPTAIN. Good-even! [_Going._ + + LANCIOTTO. Stay, stay, stay! +My sword-hilt feels uneasy in my grasp; [_Gives his sword._] +Have it repaired; and grind the point. Strike hard! +I'll teach these Ghibelins a lesson. [_Loud laughter within._] +Ha! +What is that clamour? + + _Enter hastily_ PEPE, _tattered and travel-stained._ + + PEPE. News from Rimini! [_Falls exhausted._ + + LANCIOTTO. Is that you, Pepe? Captain, a good-night! + [_Exit CAPTAIN._] +I never saw you in such straits before. +Wit without words! + + PEPE. That's better than--O!--O!-- [_Panting._] +Words without wit. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] You'll die a jester, Pepe. + + PEPE. If so, I'll leave the needy all my wit. +You, you shall have it, cousin.--O! O! O! [_Panting._] +Those devils in the hills, the Ghibelins, +Ran me almost to death. My lord--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +It all comes back to me--O! Lord 'a mercy!-- +The garden, and the lady, and the Count! +Not to forget the poetry--ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +O! cousin Lanciotto, such a wife, +And such a brother! Hear me, ere I burst! + + LANCIOTTO. You're pleasant, Pepe! + + PEPE. Am I?--Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +You ought to be; your wife's a---- + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. A lady-- +A lady, I suppose, like all the rest. +I am not in their secrets. Such a fellow +As Count Paolo is your man for that. +I'll tell you something, if you'll swear a bit. + + LANCIOTTO. Swear what? + + PEPE. First, swear to listen till the end.-- +O! you may rave, curse, howl, and tear your hair; +But you must listen. + + LANCIOTTO. For your jest's sake? Well. + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I do. + + PEPE. Next, swear to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. The truth of a fool's story! + + PEPE. You mistake. +Now, look you, cousin! You have often marked-- +I know, for I have seen--strange glances pass +Between Paolo and your lady wife.-- + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! Pepe! + + PEPE. Now I touch you to the quick. +I know the reason of those glances. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Speak! or I'll throttle you! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Your way is odd. +Let go my gullet, and I'll talk you deaf. +Swear my last oath: only to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. But that may trouble me. + + PEPE. Your honour lies-- +Your precious honour, cousin Chivalry-- +Lies bleeding with a terrible great gash, +Without its knowledge. Swear! + + LANCIOTTO. My honour? Speak! + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I swear. Your news is ill, perchance? + + PEPE. Ill! would I bring it else? Am I inclined +To run ten leagues with happy news for you? +O, Lord, that's jolly! + + LANCIOTTO. You infernal imp, +Out with your story, ere I strangle you! + + PEPE. Then take a fast hold on your two great oaths, +To steady tottering manhood, and attend. +Last eve, about this hour, I took a stroll +Into the garden.--Are you listening, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. I am all ears. + + PEPE. Why, so an ass might say. + + LANCIOTTO. Will you be serious? + + PEPE. Wait a while, and we +Will both be graver than a church-yard. Well, +Down the long walk, towards me, came your wife, +With Count Paolo walking at her side. +It was a pretty sight, and so I stepped +Into the bushes. Ritta came with them; +And Lady Fanny had a grievous time +To get her off. That made me curious. +Anon, the pair sat down upon a bank, +To read a poem;--the tenderest romance, +All about Lancelot and Queen Guenevra. +The Count read well--I'll say that much for him-- +Only he stuck too closely to the text, +Got too much wrapped up in the poesy, +And played Sir Lancelot's actions, out and out, +On Queen Francesca. Nor in royal parts +Was she so backward. When he struck the line-- +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth;" +Your lady smiled, and, by the saints above, +Paolo carried out the sentiment! +Can I not move you? + + LANCIOTTO. With such trash as this? +And so you ran ten leagues to tell a lie?-- +Run home again. + + PEPE. I am not ready yet. +After the kiss, up springs our amorous Count, +Flings Queen Guenevra and Sir Lancelot +Straight to the devil; growls and snaps his teeth, +Laughs, weeps, howls, dances; talks about his love, +His madness, suffering, and the Lord knows what, +Bullying the lady like a thief. But she, +All this hot time, looked cool and mischievous; +Gave him his halter to the very end; +And when he calmed a little, up she steps +And takes him by the hand. You should have seen +How tame the furious fellow was at once! +How he came down, snivelled, and cowed to her, +And fell to kissing her again! It was +A perfect female triumph! Such a scene +A man might pass through life and never see. +More sentiment then followed--buckets full +Of washy words, not worth my memory. +But all the while she wound his Countship up, +Closer and closer; till at last--tu!--wit!-- +She scoops him up, and off she carries him, +Fish for her table! Follow, if you can; +My fancy fails me. All this time you smile! + + LANCIOTTO. You should have been a poet, not a fool. + + PEPE. I might be both. + + LANCIOTTO. You made no record, then? +Must this fine story die for want of ink? +Left you no trace in writing? + + PEPE. None. + + LANCIOTTO. Alas! +Then you have told it? Tis but stale, my boy; +I'm second hearer. + + PEPE. You are first, in faith. + + LANCIOTTO. In truth? + + PEPE. In sadness. You have got it fresh? +I had no time; I itched to reach your ear. +Now go to Rimini, and see yourself. +You'll find them in the garden. Lovers are +Like walking ghosts, they always haunt the spot +Of their misdeeds. + + LANCIOTTO. But have I heard you out? +You told me all? + + PEPE. All; I have nothing left. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, you brain-stricken idiot, to trust +Your story and your body in my grasp! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Unhand me, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. When I drop you, Pepe, +You'll be at rest. + + PEPE. I will betray you--O! + + LANCIOTTO. Not till the judgment day. [_They struggle._ + + PEPE. [_Drawing_ PAOLO'S _dagger._] Take that! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Wresting the dagger from him._] Well meant, +But poorly done! Here's my return. [_Stabs him._ + + PEPE. O! beast! [_Falls._] +This I expected; it is naught--Ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I'll go to sleep; but you--what will you bear! +Hunchback, come here! + + LANCIOTTO. Fie! say your prayers. + + PEPE. Hark, hark! +Paolo hired me, swine, to murder you. + + LANCIOTTO. That is a lie; you never cared for gold. + + PEPE. He did, I say! I'll swear to it, by heaven! +Do you believe me? + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PEPE. You lie! you lie! +Look at the dagger, cousin--Ugh!--good-night! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! horrible! It was a gift of mine-- +He never laid it by. Speak, speak, fool, speak! + [_Shakes the body._] +How didst thou get it?--speak! Thou'rt warm--not dead-- +Thou hast a tongue--O! speak! Come, come, a jest-- +Another jest from those thin mocking lips! +Call me a cripple--hunchback--what thou wilt; +But speak to me! He cannot. Now, by heaven, +I'll stir this business till I find the truth! +Am I a fool? It is a silly lie, +Coined by yon villain with his last base breath. +What ho! without there! + + _Enter_ CAPTAIN _and Soldiers._ + + CAPTAIN. Did you call, my lord? + + LANCIOTTO. Did Heaven thunder? Are you deaf, you louts? +Saddle my horse! What are you staring at? +Is it your first look at a dead man? Well, +Then look your fill. Saddle my horse, I say! +Black Pluto--stir! Bear that assassin hence. +Chop him to pieces, if he move. My horse! + + CAPTAIN. My lord, he's shoeing. + + LANCIOTTO. Did I ask for shoes? +I want my horse. Run, fellow, run! Unbarbed-- +My lightest harness on his back. Fly, fly! [_Exit a SOLDIER._] + [_The others pick up the body._] +Ask him, I pray you, if he did not lie! + + CAPTAIN. The man is dead, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Then do not ask him! + [_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS _with the body._] +By Jupiter, I shall go mad, I think! + [_Walks about._ + + CAPTAIN. Something disturbs him. Do you mark the spot +Of purple on his brow? [_Apart to a SOLDIER._ + + SOLDIER. Then blood must flow. + + LANCIOTTO. Boy, boy! [_Enter a_ PAGE.] My cloak and riding staff. Quick, quick! +How you all lag! [_Exit_ PAGE.] I ride to Rimini. +Skirmish to-morrow. Wait till my return-- +I shall be back at sundown. You shall see +What slaughter is then! + + CAPTAIN. Ho! turn out a guard!-- + + LANCIOTTO. I wish no guard; I ride alone. + [_Re-enter PAGE, with a cloak and staff._] + [_Taking them._] Well done! +Thou art a pretty boy.--And now my horse! + + _Enter a_ SOLDIER. + + SOLDIER. Pluto is saddled-- + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis a damned black lie! + + SOLDIER. Indeed, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. O! comrade, pardon me: +I talk at random. What, Paolo too,-- +boy whom I have trotted on my knee! +Poh! I abuse myself by such a thought. +Francesca may not love me, may love him-- +Indeed she ought; but when an angel comes +To play the wanton on this filthy earth, +Then I'll believe her guilty. Look you, sir! +Am I quite calm? + + CAPTAIN. Quite calm, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. You see +No trace of passion on my face?--No sign +Of ugly humours, doubts, or fears, or aught +That may disfigure God's intelligence? +I have a grievous charge against you, sir, +That may involve your life; and if you doubt +The candour of my judgment, choose your time: +Shall I arraign you now? + + CAPTAIN. Now, if you please. +I'll trust my cause to you and innocence +At any time. I am not conscious-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! +I try myself, not you. And I am calm-- +That is your verdict--and dispassionate? + + CAPTAIN. So far as I can judge. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis well, 'tis well! +Then I will ride to Rimini. Good-night! [_Exit._ + + _The others look after him amazedly, and exeunt._ + + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_Rimini. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Thou hast resolved? + + PAOLO. I've sworn it. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, you men +Can talk of love and duty in a breath; +Love while you like, forget when you are tired, +And salve your falsehood with some wholesome saw; +But we, poor women, when we give our hearts, +Give all, lose all, and never ask it back. + + PAOLO. What couldst thou ask for that I have not given? +With love I gave thee manly probity, +Innocence, honour, self-respect, and peace. +Lanciotto will return, and how shall I-- +O! shame, to think of it!--how shall I look +My brother in the face? take his frank hand? +Return his tender glances? I should blaze +With guilty blushes. + + FRANCESCA. Thou canst forsake me, then, +To spare thyself a little bashful pain? +Paolo, dost thou know what 'tis for me, +A woman--nay, a dame of highest rank-- +To lose my purity? to walk a path +Whose slightest slip may fill my ear with sounds +That hiss me out to infamy and death? +Have I no secret pangs, no self-respect, +No husband's look to bear? O! worse than these, +I must endure his loathsome touch; be kind +When he would dally with his wife, and smile +To see him play thy part. Pah! sickening thought! +From that thou art exempt. Thou shalt not go! +Thou dost not love me! + + PAOLO. Love thee! Standing here, +With countless miseries upon my head, +I say, my love for thee grows day by day. +It palters with my conscience, blurs my thoughts +Of duty, and confuses my ideas +Of right and wrong. Ere long, it will persuade +My shaking manhood that all this is just. + + FRANCESCA. Let it! I'll blazon it to all the world, +Ere I will lose thee. Nay, if I had choice, +Between our love and my lost innocence, +I tell thee calmly, I would dare again +The deed which we have done. O! thou art cruel +To fly me, like a coward, for thy ease. +When thou art gone, thou'lt flatter thy weak heart +With hopes and speculations; and thou'lt swear +I suffer naught, because thou dost not see. +I will not live to bear it! + + PAOLO. Die,--'twere best; +Tis the last desperate comfort of our sin. + + FRANCESCA. I'll kill myself! + + PAOLO. And so would I, with joy; +But crime has made a craven of me. O! +For some good cause to perish in! Something +A man might die for, looking in God's face; +Not slinking out of life with guilt like mine +Piled on the shoulders of a suicide! + + FRANCESCA. Where wilt thou go? + + PAOLO. I care not; anywhere +Out of this Rimini. The very things +That made the pleasures of my innocence +Have turned against me. There is not a tree, +Nor house, nor church, nor monument, whose face +Took hold upon my thoughts, that does not frown +Balefully on me. From their marble tombs +My ancestors scowl at me; and the night +Thickens to hear their hisses. I would pray, +But heaven jeers at it. Turn where'er I will, +A curse pursues me. + + FRANCESCA. Heavens! O, say not so! +I never cursed thee, love; I never moved +My little finger, ere I looked to thee +For my instruction. + + PAOLO. But my gentleness +Seems to reproach me; and, instead of joy, +It whispers horror! + + FRANCESCA. Cease! cease! + + PAOLO. I must go. + + FRANCESCA. And I must follow. All that I call life +Is bound in thee. I could endure for thee +More agonies than thou canst catalogue-- +For thy sake, love--bearing the ill for thee! +With thee, the devils could not so contrive +That I would blench or falter from my love! +Without thee, heaven were torture! + + PAOLO. I must go. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. O! no--Paolo--dearest!-- [_Clinging to him._ + + PAOLO. Loose thy hold! +'Tis for thy sake, and Lanciotto's; I +Am as a cipher in the reckoning. +I have resolved. Thou canst but stretch the time. +Keep me to-day, and I will fly to-morrow--Steal +from thee like a thief. [_Struggles with her._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo--love-- +Indeed, you hurt me!--Do not use me thus! +Kill me, but do not leave me. I will laugh-- +long, gay, ringing laugh--if thou wilt draw +Thy pitying sword, and stab me to the heart! + + [_Enter_ LANCIOTTO _behind._] + +Nay, then, one kiss! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing between them._] Take it: 'twill be the last. + + PAOLO. Lo! Heaven is just! + + FRANCESCA. The last! so be it. [_Kisses_ PAOLO. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Dare you these tricks before my very face? + + FRANCESCA. Why not? I've kissed him in the sight of heaven; +Are you above it? + + PAOLO. Peace, Francesca, peace! + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo--why, thou sad and downcast man, +Look up! I have some words to speak with thee. +Thou art not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes, I am. But she +Has been betrayed; so she is innocent. +Her father tampered with her. I-- + + FRANCESCA. 'Tis false! +The guilt is mine. Paolo was entrapped +By love and cunning. I am shrewder far +Than you suspect. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, shut thy ears; +She would deceive thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Silence, both of you! +Is guilt so talkative in its defense? +Then, let me make you judge and advocate +In your own cause. You are not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Deny it--but a word--say no. Lie, lie! +And I'll believe. + + PAOLO. I dare not. + + LANCIOTTO. Lady, you? + + FRANCESCA. If I might speak for him-- + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be: +Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt? + + FRANCESCA. No! I assert it; but-- + + LANCIOTTO. In heaven's name, hold! +Will neither of you answer no to me? +A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape. +Bethink you, life is centred in this thing. +Speak! I will credit either. No reply? +What does your crime deserve? + + PAOLO. Death. + + FRANCESCA. Death to both. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! You speak the law of Italy; +And by the dagger you designed for me, +In Pepe's hand,--your bravo? + + PAOLO. It is false! +If you received my dagger from his hand, +He stole it. + + LANCIOTTO. There, sweet heaven, I knew! And now +You will deny the rest? You see, my friends, +How easy of belief I have become!-- +How easy 'twere to cheat me! + + PAOLO. No; enough! +I will not load my groaning spirit more; +A lie would crush it. + + LANCIOTTO. Brother, once you gave +Life to this wretched piece of workmanship, +When my own hand resolved its overthrow. +Revoke the gift. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + PAOLO. [_Preventing him._] Hold, homicide! + + LANCIOTTO. But think, +You and Francesca may live happily, +After my death, as only lovers can. + + PAOLO. Live happily, after a deed like this! + + LANCIOTTO. Now, look ye! there is not one hour of life +Among us three. Paolo, you are armed-- +You have a sword, I but a dagger: see! +I mean to kill you. + + FRANCESCA. [_Whispers to_ PAOLO.] Give thy sword to me. + + PAOLO. Away! thou'rt frantic. I will never lift +This wicked hand against thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Coward, slave! +Art thou so faint? Does Malatesta's blood +Run in thy puny veins? Take that! [_Strikes him._ + + PAOLO. And more: +Thou canst not offer more than I will bear. + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt +Transformed thee to! Why, I have seen the time +When thou'dst have struck at heaven for such a thing! +Art thou afraid? + + PAOLO. I am. + + LANCIOTTO. O! infamy! +Can man sink lower? I will wake thee, though:-- +Thou shalt not die a coward. See! look here! + [_Stabs_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. O!--O!-- [_Falls._ + + PAOLO. Remorseless man, dare you do this, +And hope to live? Die, murderer! + [_Draws, rushes at him, but pauses._ + + LANCIOTTO. Strike, strike! +Ere thy heart fail. + + PAOLO. I cannot. [_Throws away his sword._ + + LANCIOTTO. Dost thou see +Yon bloated spider--hideous as myself-- +Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig? +When he has touched it, one of us must die. +Here is the dagger.--Look at me, I say! +Keep your eyes from that woman! Look, think, choose!-- +Turn here to me: thou shalt not look at her! + + PAOLO. O, heaven! + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis done! + + PAOLO. [_Struggling with him._] O! Lanciotto, hold! +Hold, for thy sake! Thou wilt repent this deed. + + LANCIOTTO. I know it. + + FRANCESCA. [_Rising._] Help!--O! murder!--help, help, help! + [_She totters towards them, and falls._ + + LANCIOTTO. Our honour, boy. [_Stabs_ PAOLO; _he falls._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. Hark! she calls. +I pray thee, brother, help me to her side. + + [LANCIOTTO _helps him to_ FRANCESCA. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! + + PAOLO. God bless thee! + + LANCIOTTO. Have I not done well? +What were the honour of the Malatesti, +With such a living slander fixed to it? +Cripple! that's something--cuckold! that is damned! +You blame me? + + PAOLO. No. + + LANCIOTTO. You, lady? + + FRANCESCA. No, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. May God forgive you! We are even now: +Your blood has cleared my honour, and our name +Shines to the world as ever. + + PAOLO. O!--O!-- + + FRANCESCA. Love, +Art suffering? + + PAOLO. But for thee. + + FRANCESCA. Here, rest thy head +Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood! +It stains thy ringlets. Ha! he dies! Kind saints, +I was first struck, why cannot I die first? +Paolo, wake!--God's mercy! wilt thou go +Alone--without me? Prithee, strike again! +Nay, I am better--love--now--O! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Sinks upon his knees._] Great heaven! + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] This way, I heard the cries. + + _Enter with_ GUIDO, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + GUIDO. O! horrible! + + MALATESTA. O! bloody spectacle! Where is thy brother? + + LANCIOTTO. So Cain was asked. Come here, old men! You shrink +From two dead bodies and a pool of blood-- +You soldiers, too! Come here! + [_Drags_ MALATESTA _and_ GUIDO _forward._ + + MALATESTA. O!--O!-- + + LANCIOTTO. You groan! +What must I do, then? Father, here it is,-- +The blood of Guido mingled with our own, +As my old nurse predicted. And the spot +Of her infernal baptism burns my brain +Till reason shudders! Down, upon your knees! +Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they'll wake. +Keep still! Kneel, kneel! You fear them? I shall prowl +About these bodies till the day of doom. + + MALATESTA. What hast thou done? + + GUIDO. Francesca!--O! my child! + + LANCIOTTO. Can howling make this sight more terrible? +Peace! You disturb the angels up in heaven, +While they are hiding from this ugly earth. +Be satisfied with what you see. You two +Began this tragedy, I finished it. +Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up +Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie! +A moment since, they walked, and talked, and kissed! +Defied me to my face, dishonoured me! +They had the power to do it then; but now, +Poor souls, who'll shield them in eternity? +Father, the honour of our house is safe: +I have the secret. I will to the wars, +And do more murders, to eclipse this one. +Back to the battles; there I breathe in peace; +And I will take a soldier's honour back.-- +Honour! what's that to me now? Ha! ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +A great thing, father! I am very ill. +I killed thy son for honour: thou mayst chide. +O God! I cannot cheat myself with words! +I loved him more than honour--more than life-- +This man, Paolo--this stark, bleeding corpse! +Here let me rest, till God awake us all! + [_Falls on PAOLO'S body._ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Representative Plays by American +Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini, by George Henry Boker + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13005 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..180b28f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13005 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13005) diff --git a/old/13005-8.txt b/old/13005-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57d7a1d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13005-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6395 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Representative Plays by American +Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini, by George Henry Boker + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini + +Author: George Henry Boker + +Release Date: July 23, 2004 [EBook #13005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCESCA DA RIMINI *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY_ + + Francesca, i tuoi martiri a lagrimar + mi fanno triato e pio.--DANTE. + +_Inferno, v. 75 seq._ + + + + +[Illustration: GEORGE HENRY BOKER] + + + + +GEORGE HENRY BOKER + +(1823-1890) + + +The name of George Henry Boker suggests a coterie of friendships--a +group of men pledged to the pursuit of letters, and worshippers at the +shrine of poetry. These men, in the pages of whose published letters +and impressions are embedded many pleasing aspects of Boker's +temperament and character, were Bayard Taylor, Richard Henry Stoddard, +and Charles Godfrey Leland, the latter known familiarly in American +literature as "Hans Breitmann." These four, in different periods of +their lives, might have been called "the inseparables"--so closely did +they watch each other's development, so intently did they await each +other's literary output, and write poetry to each other, and meet +at Boker's, now and again, for golden talks on Sundays. Poetry was +a passion with them, and even when two--Boker and Taylor--were sent +abroad on diplomatic missions, they could never have been said to +desert the Muse--their literary activity was merely arrested. One of +the four--Stoddard--often felt, in the presence of Boker, a certain +reticence due to lack of educational advantages; but in the face of +Boker's graciousness--a quality which comes with culture in its truest +sense,--he soon found himself writing Boker on matters of style, on +qualities of English diction, and on the status of American letters--a +stock topic of conversation those days. + +Boker was a Philadelphian, born there on October 6, 1823,--the son +of Charles S. Boker, a wealthy banker, whose financial expertness +weathered the Girard National Bank through the panic years of 1838-40, +and whose honour, impugned after his death, in 1857, was defended +many years later by his son in "The Book of the Dead," reflective of +Tennyson's "In Memoriam," and marked by a triteness of phrase +which was always Boker's chief limitation, both as a poet and as a +dramatist. + +He was brought up in an atmosphere of ease and refinement, receiving +his preparatory education in private schools, and entering Princeton +in 1840. On the testimony of Leland, who, being related to Boker, was +thrown with him in their early years, and who avows that he always +showed a love for the theatre, we learn that the young college student +bore that same distinction of manner which had marked him as a child, +and was to cling to him as a diplomat. Together as boys, these +two would read their "Percy's Reliques," "Don Quixote," Byron and +Scott--and while they were both in Princeton, Boker's room possessed +the only carpet in the dormitory, and his walls boasted shelves of the +handsomest books in college. + + "As a mere schoolboy," wrote Leland, "Boker's knowledge of + poetry was remarkable. I can remember that he even at nine + years of age manifested that wonderful gift that caused him + many years after to be characterized by some great actor--I + think it was Forrest--as the best reader in America.... While + at college ... Shakespeare and Byron were his favourites. He + used to quiz me sometimes for my predilections for Wordsworth + and Coleridge. We both loved Shelly passionately." + +In fact, Leland claims that Boker was given to ridicule the "Lakers;" +had he studied them instead, he would have added to his own poetry a +naturalness of expression which it lacked. + +He was quite the poet of Princeton in his day, quite the gentleman +Bohemian. "He was," writes Leland, "quite familiar, in a refined and +gentlemanly way, with all the dissipations of Philadelphia and New +York." His easy circumstances made it possible for him to balance his +ascetic taste for scholarship with riding horse-back. To which almost +perfect attainment, he added the skilled ability to box, fence and +dance. He graduated from Princeton in 1842, and the description of him +left to us by Leland reveals a young man of nineteen, six feet tall, +whose sculptured bust, made at this time, was not as much like him "as +the ordinary busts of Lord Byron." In later years he was said to bear +striking resemblance to Hawthorne. His marriage to Miss Julia Riggs, +of Maryland, followed shortly after his graduation, in fact, while he +was studying law, a profession which was to serve him in good stead +during his diplomatic years, but which he threw over for the stronger +pull of poetry, whose Muse he could court without the necessity of +driving it hard for support. Yet he was concerned about literature +as a paying profession for others. On April 26, 1851, he wrote to +Stoddard: "Alas! alas! Dick, is it not sad that an American author +cannot live by magazine writing? And this is wholly owing to the +want of our international copyright law. Of course it is little to me +whether magazine writers get paid or not; but it is so much to you, +and to a thousand others." The time, until 1847, was spent in foreign +travel, but it is interesting to note, as indication of no mean +literary attainment in the interim, that Princeton, during this +period, bestowed on him the degree of M.A., for merit in letters. + +1848 was a red-letter year for Boker. It witnessed the publication of +his first volume of verse, "The Lessons of Life, and other Poems," +and it introduced him to Bayard Taylor and to R.H. Stoddard. Of the +occasion, Taylor writes on October 13, to Mary Agnew: + + Young Boker, author of the tragedy, "Calaynos," a most + remarkable work, is here on a visit, and spent several + hours to-night with me. He is another hero,--a most notable, + glorious mortal! He is one of our band, and is, I think, + destined to high renown as an author. He is nearly my own age, + perhaps a year or two older, and he has lived through the same + sensations, fought the same fight, and now stands up with the + same defiant spirit. + +This friendship was one of excellent spiritual sympathy and remarkable +external similarities and contrasts. One authority has written of +their late years: + + In certain ways, he and his friend, Bayard Taylor, made an + interesting contrast with each other. Here was Boker [circa + 1878] who had just come back from diplomatic service abroad; + and here, too, was Taylor, who was just going abroad + as minister to Berlin. Both were poets; they were + fellow-Pennsylvanians and friends; and they were men of large + mould physically, and of impressive presence; yet they were + very dissimilar types. Boker, though massive and with a trace + of the phlegmatic in his manner (perhaps derived from his + Holland ancestors, the Bôchers, who had come thither from + France, and had then sent a branch into England, from which + the American family sprang), was courtly, polished, slightly + reserved. His English forefathers had belonged to the + Society of Friends, as had also Taylor's family in + Pennsylvania,--another point in common. But Taylor's + appearance, as his friends will remember, was somewhat bluff + and rugged; his manner was hearty and open. + +Launched in the literary life, therefore, Boker began to write +assiduously. "Calaynos," the tragedy referred to by Taylor, went into +two editions during 1848, and the following year was played by Samuel +Phelps at Sadler's Wells Theatre, London, May 10. From the New York +_Tribune_ office, on May 29, 1849, Taylor wrote: + + Your welcome letter came this morning, and from the bottom of + my heart was I rejoiced by it. I can well imagine your feeling + of triumph at this earnest of fame.... I instantly hunted + up the London "Times" and found "Calaynos" advertised for + performance,--second night. I showed it to Griswold, who was + nearly as much surprised and delighted as myself. Of course + he will make good mention of it in his book. It will _sell_ + immensely for you, and especially just now, when you are + coming out with "Anne Bullen" [sic.]. I shall not fail to have + a notice of it in to-morrow morning's "Tribune." + +Some authorities state that it was given by Phelps without Boker's +consent. Another, who examined Boker's manuscripts, in possession of +the poet's daughter-in-law, Mrs. George Boker, records that Barrett +made cuts in the play, preparatory to giving it, Boker, even, revising +it in part. The American première was reserved for James E. Murdoch, +at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theater, January 20, 1851, and it +was revived at the same playhouse in April, 1855, by E.L. Davenport. +As Stoddard says of it, one "should know something--the more the +better--about the plays that Dr. Bird and Judge Conrad wrote for +Forrest and his successors, about Poe's 'Politian', Sargent's +'Velasco', Longfellow's 'Spanish Student'." + +His choice of subject, in this, his first drama, indicated the +romantic aloofness of Boker's mind, for he was always anxious to +escape what Leland describes him as saying was a "practical, soulless, +Gradgrind age." In fact, Boker had not as yet found himself; he was +more the book-lover than the student of men he afterwards became. + + "Read Chaucer for strength," he advises Stoddard on January + 7, 1850, "read Spenser for ease and sweetness, read Milton for + sublimity and thought, read Shakespeare for all these things, + and for something else which is his alone. Get out of your age + as far as you can." + +These young men were not quickly received, and they regarded the +utilitarian spirit of the time as against them. To Stoddard Boker once +confessed: "Were poetry forged upon the anvil, cut out with the axe, +or spun in the mill, my heaven, how men would wonder at the process! +What power, what toil, what ingenuity!" + +Boker's correspondence with Stoddard began in a letter, dated +September 5, 1849, announcing overtures made by the London Haymarket +Theatre for his new tragedy, "Anne Boleyn," which he was contemplating +sending them in sheets. "I have also the assurance," he announces, +"that Miss Cushman will bring it out in this country, provided she +thinks her powers adapted to it." + +Boker's pen was energetic, and it moved at a gait which shows how +fertile was his imagination. "The inseparables" cheered the way for +each other in the face of official journalistic criticism. Taylor +declared "Anne Boleyn" far in advance of "Calaynos," prophesying that +it would last. "Go ahead, my dear poet," he admonishes, "it will soon +be your turn to damn those who would willingly damn you." Together +these friends were always planning to storm the citadel of public +favour with poetry, but Boker seems to have been the only one to whom +the theatre held out attraction. By August 12, 1850, he was sending +news to Stoddard that "The Betrothal" would be staged the following +month. In good spirits, he writes: + + The manager is getting it up with unusual care and splendour. + Spangles and red flannels flame through it from end to end. I + even think of appearing before the curtain on horseback, nay, + of making the whole performance equestrian, and of introducing + a hippopotamus in the fifth act. What think you? Have you + and your miserable lyrics ever known such glory? If the + play should take _here_, you benighted New-Yorkers will be + illuminated with it immediately after it has run its hundredth + night in the city which is so proud of its son. + +This was the second of his pieces to be given performance, "Anne +Boleyn" never seeing the boards. "The Betrothal" was produced at the +Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, on September 25, 1850, and opened +in New York, on November 18 of the same year. Taylor wrote to its +author, on December 4: "I saw the last night.... It is even better as +an acting play than I had anticipated, but it was very badly acted. +I have heard nothing but good of it, from all quarters." It was +Elizabethan in tone, quite in the spirit of that romantic drama +practised by such American authors as Willis, Sargent and others. How +it was received when presented in London, during 1853, is reflected in +Boker's letter to Stoddard, dated October 9, 1853: + + I have read the _Times_ notice of the "Betrothal." It is honey + to most of the other newspaper criticisms.... Notwithstanding, + and taking the accounts of my enemies for authority, the play + was unusually successful with the audience on that most trying + occasion, the first night.... The play stands a monument of + English injustice. Mark you, it was not prejudice that caused + the catastrophe; it was fear lest I should get a footing + on their stage, of which "Calaynos" had given them timely + warning. + +"The Widow's Marriage," in manuscript, and never published, was +accepted by Marshall, manager of the Walnut, and is noted by Boker, in +a letter to Stoddard, October 12, 1852, the chief handicap confronting +him being the inability to find someone suited to take the leading +rôle. Stoddard's own comment was: + + Whether [it] was ever produced I know not, but I should + say not, for the part of the principal character, _Lady + Goldstraw_, is one which no actress whom I remember could have + filled to the satisfaction of her creator. The fault of this + character (me judice) is that it is too good to be played on a + modern stage. It ought to have been written for antiquity two + hundred years ago. + +Boker was right when he referred to himself as "prolific" at this +time. He already had produced, in 1851, according to markings on the +manuscript, a piece called "All the World a Mask," and he had +written "The Podesta's Daughter," a dramatic sketch, issued, with +"Miscellaneous Poems," in 1852. Toward the end of this year, he +completed "Leonor de Guzman." + + "Her history," he writes to Stoddard, on November 14, "you + will find in Spanish Chronicles relating to the reigns of + Alfonso XII of Castile and his son, Peter the Cruel. There are + no such subjects for historical tragedy on earth as are to be + found in the Spanish history of that period. I am so much in + love with it that I design following up 'Leonor de Guzman' by + 'Don Pedro'. The present tragedy, according to the judgment + of Leland, is the very best play I have written, both for the + closet and the stage. Perhaps I am too ready to agree + with him, but long before he said it I had formed the same + judgment." + +This tragedy was performed at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, +on October 3, 1853, and at the New York Broadway Theatre, on April 24, +1854. Boker wrote to his friends, showing his customary concern about +an actress skilled enough for the rôle of his heroine. When, finally, +for the Philadelphia première, Julia Dean was decided upon, he thus +expressed his verdict to Stoddard, after the opening performance: +"Miss Dean, as far as her physique would admit, played the part +admirably, and with a full appreciation of all those things which you +call its beauties." + +During these years of correspondence with his friends, Boker was +determining to himself the distinction between _poetic_ and _dramatic_ +style. + + "Seriously, Dick," he writes to Stoddard, on October 6, 1850, + "there is, to my mind, no English diction for your purposes + equal to Milton's in his minor poems. Of course any man would + be an intensified ass who should attempt to reach the diction + of the 'Paradise Lost', or aspire to the tremendous style of + Shakespeare. You must not confound things, though. A Lyric + diction is one thing--a Dramatic diction is another, requiring + the utmost force and conciseness of expression,--and Epic + diction is still another; I conceive it to be something + between the Lyric and Dramatic, with all the luxuriance of the + former, and all the power of the latter." + +He must have written to Taylor in the same vein, for, in a letter from +the latter, there is assurance that he fully understands what a +slow growth dramatic style must be. But Boker was not wholly wed to +theatrical demands; he still approached the stage in the spirit of +the poet who was torn between loyalty to poetic indirectness, and +necessity for direct dialogue. On January 12, 1853, he writes to +Stoddard: + + Theatricals are in a fine state in this country; every + inducement is offered to me to burn my plays as fast as I + write them. Yet, what can I do? If I print my plays, the + actors take them up, butcher, alter and play them, without + giving me so much as a hand in my own damnation. This is + something beyond even heavenly rigour; and so I proceed to + my own destruction, with the proud consciousness that, at all + events, it is my own act. _À propos_, have you ever read the + English acting copy of my "Calaynos"? A viler thing was never + concocted from like materials. + +Whether or not the play, "The Bankrupt," preceded or followed +the writing of "Francesca da Rimini" in 1853, we have no way of +determining; but it would seem that it progressed no further in its +stage career than in manuscript form, it being the only play on a +modern theme attempted by Boker. Then, it seems, he was hot on the +trail of the Francesca love story told in Dante, and used by so many +writers in drama and poetry. It is this play, conceded to be his +best, which is included in the present collection, and which calls for +analysis and history by itself. + +Taylor's collection of "Poems at Home and Abroad," dedicated to Boker +in 1855, suggests that the two must have continually talked over the +possibilities of gathering their best effusions in book form. Did not +Taylor write, as early as June 30, 1850, "You must come out in the +Fall with a volume of poems. Stoddard will, and so, I think, will I. +You can get a capital volume, with your 'Song', 'Sir John', 'Goblet', +and other things.... The publishing showmen would of course parade our +wonderful qualities, and the snarling critics in the crowd would show +their teeth; but we would be as unmoved as the wax statues of Parkman +and Webster, except that there might now and then be a sly wink +at each other, when nobody was looking." The two friends had been +separated for some time, while Taylor wandered over the face of +the globe, writing from Cairo, in the shadow of the pyramids, and +exclaiming, in Constantinople (July 18, 1852), "There is a touch of +the East in your nature, George." + +In 1856, Boker prepared his two volumes of "Plays and Poems" for the +press. He had won considerable reputation as a sonneteer, and this was +further increased by the tradition that Daniel Webster had quoted him +at a state dinner in Washington. As yet he was merely a literary +poet, and a literary dramatist whose name is usually linked with that +Philadelphia group discussed in Vol. II of this collection.[A] + +Writing of the Philadelphia of 1868, Leland says: + +[It was] "the Philadelphia when 'Emily Schaumbeg' was the belle and +Penington's 'store' was the haunt of the booklover, when snow fell +with old fashioned violence, and Third Street was convulsed by +old-fashioned panics, when everybody went mad over Offenbach, when one +started for New York from the Walnut Street Ferry, when George Boker +was writing his dramas and George Childs was beginning to play the +public Maecenas." Oftentimes the sturdy figure of Walt Whitman could +be seen walking on Broad Street, while Horace Greely, buried in +newspapers, travelled aboard a boat between New York and Philadelphia. + +It was the Civil War that not only turned Boker's pen to the Union +Cause, but changed him politically from a Democrat to a staunch +Republican. In fact, his name is closely interwoven with the +rehabilitation of the Republican party in Philadelphia. He often +confessed that his conscience hurt him many times when he realized he +cast his first vote for Buchanan. "After that," he is quoted as having +said, "the sword was drawn; it struck me that politics had vanished +entirely from the scene--that it was now merely a question of +patriotism or disloyalty." His "Poems of the War," issued in 1864, +contained such examples of his martial and occasional ability as the +"Dirge for a Soldier," "On the Death of Philip Kearney" and "The +Black Regiment," besides "On Board the Cumberland" and the "Battle of +Lookout Mountain." + +About this time, there was founded the Union League Club, with Boker +as the leading spirit; through his efforts the war earnestness of the +city was concentrated here; from 1863-71 he served as its secretary; +from 1879-84 as its President; and his official attitude may be +measured in the various annual reports of the organization. But even +in those strenuous days--at the period when the Northern spirits +lagged over military reverses, and at the time when the indecision +of General McClellan drew from him the satiric broadside,--"Tardy +George"--privately printed in 1865--Boker's thoughts were concerned +with poetry. His official laureate consciousness did not serve to +improve the verse. His "Our Heroic Themes"--written for the Harvard +Phi Beta Kappa--was mediocre in everything but intent, recalling what +Taylor wrote to him: "My Harvard poem, [he had read it in 1850 before +the same fraternity] poor as it is, was received with great applause; +but, alas! I published it, and thus killed the tradition of its +excellence, which, had I not done so, might still have been floating +around Harvard." + +In 1869, Boker issued "Königsmark, The Legend of the Hounds and other +Poems," and this ended his dramatic career until his return from +abroad, and until Lawrence Barrett came upon the scene with his +revival of "Francesca da Rimini" and his interest in Boker's other +work, to the extent of encouraging him to recast "Calaynos" and to +prepare "Nydia" (1885), later enlarged from two acts to a full sized +drama in "Glaucus" (1886), both drawing for inspiration on Bulwer's +"The Last Days of Pompeii." + +President Grant sent Boker to Constantinople, as U.S. Minister (his +appointment dated November 3, 1871)--an honour undoubtedly bestowed in +recognition of his national service. Here he remained four years, "and +during that time secured the redress for wrongs done American subjects +by the Syrians, and successfully negotiated two treaties, one having +reference to the extradition of criminals, and the other to the +naturalization of subjects of little power in the dominions of the +other." A reception was tendered him on December 22, 1871, by members +of the Union League Club, and among those present were Bayard Taylor, +Col. George Boker, of the Governor's staff, and son of Boker, and Dr. +Charles S. Boker, his brother. Among those who spoke were Robeson, +Secretary of the Navy, and Cameron, U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania. +Congratulatory letters were received from Bryant, James T. Fields, +Stoddard, Lowell, Longfellow, Aldrich, Curtis, and Stedman. On this +occasion, Taylor said: "I know the ripeness and soundness of his mind, +the fine balance of his intellectual qualities." + +On December 24, 1871, Boker wrote to Leland: + + The scarcest thing with me just now is time. I might give you + a shilling at a pinch, but a half hour is an article which I + do not happen to have about me.... By the way, your rhapsody + over the East in "M.K." ["Meister Karl"] had something to do + with my acceptance of the Turkish Mission; and if you have + been lying, I shall find you out, old boy. + +Boker's enthusiasm for Turkish scenery was unbounded, but his +difficulties as a diplomat were due to his ignorance of the tongue, +and his distrust of interpreters. But by the time his Government was +ready to transfer him to another post--that of Minister to Russia +(January 3, 1875)--he was heartily sick of his wrangling with the +Crescent, and glad, as he wrote Leland, "to shake the dust of this +dismal old city from my shoes, and prepare my toes for a freezing at +St. Petersburg." He echoed his distaste in later years by writing: "I +hate the East so profoundly that I should not return to it if there +were no other land in which I could live." This promotion to the +Russian court--it was a Russian, Ignatieff, who characterized him as +"of true diplomatic stuff"--was made in 1875, and he remained there +two years. + + "While in Russia," we learn, "he was the only one of our + Ministers at foreign courts who was able to checkmate Spain in + her controversy with us about the _Virginius_. He baffled + the Spanish Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and influenced + Gortschakoff to send a despatch to Madrid, which caused Spain + to apologize to the United States; thus averting serious + complications." + +Diplomatic life was not wholly distasteful to him; he possessed social +distinction which made him popular at both courts, so much so, indeed, +that the Czar cabled to Washington, when a change of administration +brought Boker's tenure of office to a close, asking if it were not +possible to have him retained. He had had his difficulties at the +Porte, as Lowell had had at Madrid. But his artistic nature responded +quickly to the picturesqueness of his surroundings. "Within a mile of +me," he writes Leland from Turkey,--"for I am now living at Therapia +upon the Bosphorus--there is a delicious encampment of the black tents +of a tribe of Gypsies." While he was in Russia he was continually +supplying Leland with information about gypsies. + +He went to Egypt, at the invitation of the Sultan, and--as though +recalling Taylor's longing, in 1852, when he was in Cairo, to have +Boker with him--took a trip up the Nile, with Leland, whom he had +invited to accompany him. Under the palm trees at Misraim, he had his +first meeting with Emerson. The varied foreign travel had broadened +his taste, and he was quickly responsive to what he saw. Writes +Leland: + + I have been with him many times in the Louvre, the great + galleries of London and St. Petersburg, and studied with him + the stupendous and strange remains of Egyptian art in the + Boulak Museum and the Nile temples, but never knew anyone, + however learned he might be in such matters, who had a more + sincere enjoyment of their greatest results. I remember that + he manifested much more interest and deeper feeling for what + he saw in Egypt than did Emerson, who was there at the same + time, and with whom I conversed daily. + +On January 15, 1878, Boker withdrew from diplomatic life, returning to +the United States, where he resumed literary work, his chief interest +in the stage being revived by his association with Barrett. His home +in Philadelphia--one of the literary centres of the time,--bore traces +of his Turkish stay--carpets brought from Constantinople, Arabic +designs on the draperies, and rich Eastern colours in the tapestried +chairs. His experience was obliged to affect his writing, if not in +feeling, at least in expression. I note in his "Monody," written +at the time of the death of his friend, the poet, T. Buchanan Read +(1822-1872), such lines as "the hilly Bosphorus," and "... For +the hills of Ancient Asia through my trembling tears glimmer like +fabrics...." As early as 1855, he had written for the _U.S. Gazette +and North American_, an article on Read comparing his "New Pastoral" +with the poetry of Cowper and Thompson. But Read to-day is familiar +because of his "Sheridan's Ride." We are told that Boker had a +work-room where he delighted in designing metal scrolls. + +There was a slight revival of public interest in his poems, which +necessitated the reprinting of several of his books. + +"The last time when I saw him," Stoddard recalls in 1890, "was at the +funeral of Taylor, at Cedarcroft, a little more than ten years ago. We +rode to the grave, on a hillside, and we rode back to the house. And +now he has gone to the great majority!" Boker died in Philadelphia, +January 2, 1890. "He takes place with Motley on our roll of well-known +authors," George Parsons Lathrop has written, "and it is even more +remarkable that he should have cultivated poetry in Philadelphia, +where the conditions were unfavourable, than that Motley should +have taken up history in Boston, where the conditions were wholly +propitious." + +It is by "Francesca da Rimini" that Boker is best remembered. In a +letter to Stoddard, March 3, 1853, he writes: + + You will laugh at this, but the thing is so. "Francesca da + Rimini" is the title. Of course you know the story,--everyone + does; but you nor any one else, do not know it as I have + treated it. I have great faith in the successful issue of this + new attempt. I think all day, and write all night. This is one + of my peculiarities, by the bye: a subject seizes me soul and + body, which accounts for the rapidity of my execution. My muse + resembles a whirlwind: she catches me up, hurries me along, + and drops me all breathless at the end of her career. + +And soon this was followed by the letter so often quoted, showing the +white-heat of his enthusiasm: + + Now that "Francesca da Rimini" is done,--all but the + polishing,--I have time to look around and see how I have + been neglecting my friends during my state of "possession." + Of course you wish to know my opinion of the bantling; I + shall suppose you do, at all events. Well, then, I am better + satisfied with "Francesca da Rimini" than with any of my + previous plays. It is impossible for me to say what you, or + the world, will say of it; but if it do not please you both, + I do not know what I am about. The play is more dramatic than + former ones, fiercer in its display of intense passions, and, + so far as mere poetry goes, not inferior, if not superior, to + any of them. In this play I have dared more, risked more, than + I ever had courage to do before. _Ergo_, if it be not a great + triumph, it will certainly be a great failure. I doubt whether + you, in a hundred guesses, could hit upon the manner in which + I have treated the story. I shall not attempt to prejudice + you regarding the play; I would rather have you judge for + yourself, even if your decision be adverse. Am I not the devil + and all for rapid composition? My speed frightens me, and + makes me fearful of the merits of my work. Yet, on coolly + going over my work, I find little to object to, either as to + the main design or its details. I touch up, here and there, + but I do little more. The reason for my rapid writing is + that I never attempt putting pen to paper before my design is + perfectly mature. I never start with one idea, trusting to the + glow of poetical composition for the remainder. That will + do in lyrical poetry, but it would be death and damnation to + dramatic. But just think of it!--twenty-eight hundred lines in + about three weeks! To look back upon such labour is appalling! + Let me give you the whole history of my manner of composition + in a few words. If it be not interesting to you, you differ + from me, and I mistake the kind of matters that interest you. + While I am writing I eat little, I drink nothing, I meditate + my work, literally, all day. By the time night arrives I am in + a highly nervous and excited state. About nine o'clock I begin + writing and smoking, and I continue the two exercises, _pari + passu_, until about four o'clock in the morning. Then I reel + to bed, half crazy with cigar-smoke and poesy, sleep five + hours, and begin the next day as the former. Ordinarily, I + sleep from seven to eight hours; but when I am writing, but + five,--simply because I cannot sleep any longer at such times. + The consequence of this mode of life is that at the end of + a long work I sink at once like a spent horse, and have not + energy enough to perform the ordinary duties of life. I _feel_ + my health giving way under it, but really I do not care. I am + ambitious to be remembered among the martyrs. + +This letter is not only significant of Boker's method of workmanship; +it is, as well, measure of his charm as a letter writer. For, in +correspondence with his close friends, he was as natural with them, +as full of force and brightness, as he was in conversation. We find +Taylor thanking him at one time, when in distress over family illness +and death, for his sustaining words of comfort; we find Leland basking +in the warmth of his sheer animal spirits. To the latter, Boker once +wrote: + + Dear old Charley, you are the only man living with whom I can + play the fool through a long letter and be sure that I shall + be clearly understood at the end. To say that this privilege + is cheerful is to say little, for it is the breath of life to + a man of a certain humour. + +The "Francesca" note, therefore, is typical of Boker's enthusiasm. +When Stoddard read the play, we wonder whether he saw in it any +similarities to Leigh Hunt's poem on the same subject? For once he had +detected in Boker's verses the influence of Hunt. There are critics +who claim Boker had read closely Hugo's "Le Roi s'Amuse." But there is +only one real comparison to make--with Shakespeare, to the detriment +of Boker. His memory beat in Elizabethan rhythm, and beat haltingly. +The present Editor began noting on the margin of his copy parallelisms +of thought and expression in this "Francesca" and in the plays of +Shakespeare; these similarities became so many, were so apparent, that +it is thought best to omit them. The text used is not based on the +manuscripts left by Boker, nor has it been compared with the acting +copy made, in 1855, for E.L. Davenport, as has already been done +elsewhere in print. I have preferred to use the text finally prepared +by Boker for his published plays, this being the one which met with +his approval. In 1882, Lawrence Barrett, with the aid of William +Winter, prepared an acting version of "Francesca," and it was this +which Mr. Otis Skinner used, when he revived the piece in 1901. + +A notice in The New York _Tribune_ for 1882 suggests that when E.L. +Davenport first essayed "Francesca da Rimini," in 1855, it was in +one-act. I can find no corroboration of this statement. The play-bill +here reproduced specifically announces a _five_ act tragedy, and it +is to be inferred that the form of the play, as given at the Broadway +Theatre, New York, September 26, 1855,[B] was the only one used by +him. Winter claims that as _Lanciotto_, Davenport was "unimaginative, +mechanical, and melodramatic," and that the whole piece "proved +tedious." This is strange, considering the heroic and romantic +characteristics in Davenport's method of acting. It may be that he +attempted Boker's play because of his interest in the development +of American drama. He had assisted Mrs. Mowatt in her career as +playwright, and, during his full life, his name was identified with +Boker's "Calaynos," George H. Miles's tragedy, "De Soto, the Hero +of the Mississippi," and Conrad's "Jack Cade." But the concensus of +opinion is that Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as given by Davenport, +was a failure. + +An examination of the cast in the Davenport program with the cast as +it was when Boker issued the play, indicates that the text must have +been considerably changed, and certain characters omitted, when, +at the suggestion of Winter, Lawrence Barrett promised to revive it +during the summer of 1882. The scholarly turn of Barrett's mind must +have made him ponder it well during a trip he made abroad at the time, +and Boker, meanwhile, must have been cutting the cloth to suit the +actor's ideas. Barron, one of Barrett's biographers, claims that "Mr. +Barrett saw great possibilities in the work, and with his practical +assistance the play was suitably changed, new situations were +effected, a more picturesque colouring was given the scenes and story, +and all that was repellant in the too close following of Dante [!] +was removed." The play was given by Barrett, at Haverly's Theatre, +Chicago, on September 14, 1882, Otis Skinner playing _Paolo_, and +Marie Wainwright appearing as _Francesca_. In Winter's estimate of the +performance, we find the dominant characteristics being "moderation" +and "balanced growth." He says of _Lanciotto_: "Alertness of the brain +sustained it, at every point, in brilliant vigour, and it rose in +power, and expanded in terrible beauty, accordingly as it was wrought +upon by the pressure of circumstances and the conflict of passions." + +The memory of this must have affected the interpretation of Mr. +Skinner, when, as _Lanciotto_, in his revival of the piece at the +Chicago Grand Opera House, August 22, 1901, with Aubrey Boucicault +as _Paolo_, Marcia Van Dresser as _Francesca_, and William Norris as +_Pepe_, he met with such success. "D'Annunzio gives us the soldier and +the brute," he wrote me in 1904. "Boker's hero is an idealist--almost +a dreamer." The fact is, Boker was recalling his memories of _Othello_ +and _Richard III_, if not of _Hamlet_, as Skinner suggests. In another +respect did the Barrett performance affect the later revival. The +portrayal of _Pepe_, by Norris, was based on what he called "the James +tradition," Louis James having, as Winter wrote, "a laughter that is +more terrible than malice." + +Lawrence Barrett's interest in the American drama was never very +pronounced. He sought Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as he sought W.D. +Howells' "Yorick's Love" (given at Cleveland, Ohio, October 26, 1878), +because the rôles therein suited his temperament. Between him and +Boker, there was some misunderstanding of short duration, about +royalties, but this was bridged over, and Boker's final attempts at +playwriting were made for him. The reader is referred to Vol. 32, +n.s. Vol. XXV, no. 2, June, 1917, of the _Publications of the Modern +Language Association of America_, for statements as to Boker's +"profits" from the stage. + +After Otis Skinner's revival of "Francesca da Rimini," it was played +for a while by Frederick Ward and Louis James in association (1893) +and by Frank C. Bangs in 1892. + +Hosts of dramas have been written on "Francesca da Rimini," and +every poet has essayed at one time or another to surpass Dante's +incomparable lines. Music scores have glorified this passionate love +story, while marble and canvas have caught the external expression of +it. In its portrayal, actual history has taken on legendary character, +and so "Francesca da Rimini" now ranks as a theme with the history +of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde. It has become the +inspiration for Maeterlinck in "Pelléas and Mélisande," who has viewed +the Italian passion through a mirage of mysticism. + +Into "The Divine Comedy," the account of Francesca and Paolo is +dropped, keen, sensitive and delicate, as though the poet, a friend of +those concerned, wished to cover the hard fact of illicit love in an +ecstacy of human feeling. Dante, the supreme master of his age, the +incomparable lover of Beatrice, differentiated this tragedy from +countless incidents of like character which marked his age. Had the +story been preserved only in the form recorded by Boccaccio, it would +have been lost in its minor details of history; whereas Dante has +glorified it. + +By the very fact that Dante places the two lovers in the circle of the +Lustful, it is clear that he realized the enormity of their sin. +The theory that his friendship with Guido Novella, the nephew of +Francesca, made Dante refrain from entering fully into the incident, +will not hold, when it is remembered that the cantos of the Inferno +were written in 1300, seventeen years before the poet reached Ravenna, +and accepted the hospitality of the Polenta house. Dante's infinite +compassion is, therefore, the cause for the compressed poetry of this +famous passage. + +Dante's Francesca lines have been infinitely translated. Longfellow is +conscientious; Byron chafes to be freed of the original Italian, and +his lines are irksome; Rossetti sees and feels, but he is laboured. +Dante, infinitely translated, remains supreme. + +The poems on this ideal love legend are of infinite variety. Tassoni +describes Paolo, the warrior, consumed with ravishing love, "shrunk +with misery;" he fails to reach the youthful passion, and is as +mediævally chivalric as is Chaucer in "The Knightes Tale" of Palamon +and Arcite. Leigh Hunt resorts to stilted narrative and description. + +Byron once thought to write a drama on this subject; had he done so, +Silvio Pellico might have had a formidable rival. More or less, all +the playwrights have gone to Italian history, and the more exact they +became, the more gross the situation. F. Marion Crawford fell on this +rock of accuracy, when he wrote his Francesca play for Mme. Sarah +Bernhardt. + +Silvio Pellico, who wrote the first drama on "Francesca da Rimini" +known to modern playgoers, lived his early life in an intensely +religious atmosphere, and suffered imprisonment later because of his +patriotic tendencies; it is not surprising, therefore, to find in his +play--first a national appeal that was to win it applause from all +Italy, and then, more important still, a purity of tone that struggled +most nobly against an inevitable, passionate end. _Paolo_ is the +one who, after some scruples, succumbs; _Francesca_ is infinitely +conscious that she is a wife; _Giovanni_ is suspicious. It would +seem that Pellico's play is the first that realized the theatrical +possibilities of the story; research has brought to light no play +manuscript previous to his. + +In the handling of his details, Pellico's incongruities and +artificialities are many. _Paolo_ returns from knightly deeds in Asia, +to find his father dead--the _Malatesta Verucchio_ who died in 1312, +twenty-seven years after _Giovanni_ committed the murder; therefore +Pellico gives to the deformed brother the power that history does not +wholly accord. The dramatist would avoid the indelicacy he finds in +the reading incident, recounting it only in a situation during +which _Francesca_ holds aloof in a wild effort to stifle her love. +Throughout the play, there is this ruthless twisting, in a desire to +conceal wrong and unpardonable sin. + +Turning to Uhland's fragmentary ideas, which even he himself was +doubtful whether he could handle, an atmosphere confronts us as +mediævally German as the "Der arme Heinrich" of Hartmann von Aue, +which was the inspirational source for Longfellow's "The Golden +Legend." Uhland shows heaviness in conception, and a conventionality, +thoroughly at variance with the tragedy's original passion. Romantic +as he is, he has robbed the story of its warm southern nature, and has +thrown his Dante aside to deal with false situation. He seems willing +to let fact and spirit go. _Paolo_ is a knight who tilts and worships +a glove. Uhland thinks, and he is not alone in his belief, that +_Francesca_ had been promised to _Paolo_ before _Giovanni_ was wedded +to her; yet if _Paolo's_ marriage with _Orabile_, in 1269, is to be +recognized as correct, historically, logical deductions from dates +would discountenance the statement. Neither have I found commentaries +to support the theory that _Paolo_ was older than _Giovanni_, as +Uhland sets forth in his play. The servant in Boccaccio here becomes +a jealous lover. It is interesting to note the variations of this +counter-element in the many play versions of the story--the element +that urges _Giovanni's_ suspicion to quick action--the dramatic force +of _Pepe_ in Boker; the disappointed motherhood and embittered love of +_Lucrezia_ in Stephen Phillips; the inborn savagery of _Malatestino_ +in D'Annunzio; the innocent unconsciousness of _Concordia_ in +Crawford, which finds similarity in a scene in Maeterlinck's "Pelléas +and Mélisande" between father and little son. Further, in Uhland, +a distorted glimpse of a colourless reportorial figure of Dante, +gathering material for his poem, is as meaningless as it is +unnecessary for atmosphere. + +Stephen Phillips, in his Francesca drama, ignores altogether Italian +temperament; save for the fact that he occasionally mentions the +Tyrant of Rimini, Pesaro and Florence, and that he adheres to historic +names, there is more of the English hamlet romance in the piece, than +Italian passion. And that cannot be said of Shakespeare's "Romeo and +Juliet." Perhaps one may claim for Phillips some of the simplicity of +Dante, but there is not the humanity. Undeniably, the English poet is +happy in phrase and imagery, but his genius is not so dramatic as it +is poetic; he has some of the great lyrical feeling of Tennyson, and +he has that which distinguishes the poet from the dramatist--the +power to _describe_ situation. One cannot deny the appeal of his +girl-Francesca, nor the beauty of many of his haunting lines; but no +warm impression of the situation is gained, and the characters are +peculiarly inactive at inopportune times. Mr. Phillips's talent +was predominantly undramatic; he was too much the poet to allow his +feeling to be guided by historical material. Yet, as acted, the play +was charmingly simple. + +On the other hand, D'Annunzio, in his drama, saturates himself with +the history of Italy. In bulk, his play has not the slightest claim +to simplicity; the main object of the dramatist seemed to have been +to overweight the scenes with the licentious and rude Italy of the +thirteenth century; extraneous side-issues burden the progress of +the plot. Yet D'Annunzio has taken care that this does not affect his +central theme. On the stage, the scenes appear cumbersome, and the +action moves slowly; but, after analyzing the book, it may be claimed +for this "Francesca da Rimini," that it reflects the age in which the +tragedy occurred. Much artistic construction is shown in the contrast +of the Polenta and Malatesta families, and, repellent as he is at +times, D'Annunzio has moments of great poetic fervour; his fire swings +forth in many of _Francesca's_ speeches, that alternate with the +languor of her symbolic nature. + +That his drama on Francesca was definitely constructed for theatrical +effect, was openly avowed by Marion Crawford. At the beginning of the +French version made for Mme. Bernhardt, he placed material that showed +his intention of dealing with fact in the manner of a novelist, and +regardless of the sweetness of Dante. To him, _Concordia_ is fourteen, +since he considers 1289 as the date of the tragedy, and, with his +details from Boccaccio's commentary, he has coarsened _Francesca_, +making her bitterness full of the spleen that could only accompany +maturity. A striking point is to be noted in the strong vein of +Catholicism that colours many of the speeches. + +_Paolo's_ wife, _Orabile_, moves through the D'Annunzio play with +only slight mention--to show the husband's avoidance of her--to draw +attention to her deep-rooted aversion to _Francesca_. Mr. Crawford +also brings her on the scene, and has _Paolo_ the cause of her death, +wittingly distorting history, since _Orabile_ died many years after +the murder of her husband. + +The only American drama on the subject is that by Boker; it is a +peculiarly contradictory piece of work, since, from the standpoint +of the stage, it is essentially and effectively dramatic, while as +literature it is imitative of the Elizabethan style. Boker's +poetic imagery is distinctly borrowed, and his choice of words +disappointingly colloquial. Yet, over and above the mere story, he +has succeeded in portraying a strong character in his _Pepe_. The +historical setting of the play is slight, yet sufficient to localize +the piece, and his _dramatis personæ_ are faithfully distinct in +outline, though at times devoid of consuming passion. + +Phillips as a dramatist has the fault of being diffuse; Boker's style +is prosaically plain. Were it not for over-elaboration, D'Annunzio's +play might supplant all others because of its spirit. Could we take +from Phillips his simplicity, from D'Annunzio his Italian intensity, +and from Boker his proportion, and could we add these to Crawford's +realization of situation, toned away from his melodramatic tendencies, +an ideal drama on "Francesca da Rimini" might be constructed. + +But the revitalizing power that was given Shakespeare, has been +bequeathed to none who have followed Dante. The one beauty of the +Francesca story is the simple element that permeates the dark +motive. The genius required to deal with it lies in this: to make one +conscious of the tragedy in a touch that recalls the beauty of spring. + +It is strange that no other poet than Dante has succeeded in catching +this beauty. No poet, writing directly on the theme, has the subtle +feeling which may be compared with that of the Italian. Richard Le +Gallienne is infinitely superior to Hunt; Lowell and Gilder beyond +the lesser poets,--but all fade before the master. They treat of the +vision of Hell, with its whirling wind; of the two in close embrace; +there is the kiss that ends the reading of a self-same love; there is +the flash of a dagger that joins them eternally in death. These are +the themes for the songs. The artists have done with brush and pencil, +what the poets have tried in sonnets and verse. But it is Dante who +dominates them everyone. + +To me, after tracing in part the development of this Italian tragedy, +there remains the charm of Dante's simplicity, and were one to ask, +who, among the moderns, have partially reflected his passion, I should +turn to Keats' insatiable thirst for beauty in his sonnet, "A Dream, +After reading Dante's Episode of Paolo and Francesca," and his account +of it in a letter to George and Georgiana Keats (February 14, 1819), +and to Carlyle's appreciation of tragedy and love, in "The Hero as a +Poet." + +Boker's "Francesca da Rimini" will stand largely because, in structure +and in directness, it is strikingly effective for the stage. + + +[Footnote A: Duyckinck recalls that, in 1862, R.T. Conrad's +"Devotional Poems" were published, edited by Boker.] + +[Footnote B: We find a record of Mrs. John Drew having, as +_Francesca_, supported Davenport when the play was taken to +Philadelphia.] + + + +BROADWAY THEATRE + + * * * * * + +LESSEE MR. E.A. MARSHALL +STAGE MANAGER MR. W.R. BLAKE + + * * * * * + +SECOND WEEK OF THE + REGULAR SEASON! + + * * * * * + +CONTINUATION OF THE ENGAGEMENT OF THE EMINENT + + =AMERICAN ACTOR= + +MR. E.L. DAVENPORT + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE OF + +=THE TRAGEDY= + +by G.H. BOKER, Esq., author of "Calaynos," "Betrothal," &c called + +=Francesca da Rimini= + +Will appear in an entirely +ORIGINAL CHARACTER!! + + * * * * * + +This production of a popular and most talented Native Author will be +brought forward with the efficient aid of + +ESTABLISHED PERFORMERS! +NEW AND APPROPRIATE SCENERY!! +COSTUMES, PROPERTIES, DECORATIONS!!! +APPOINTMENTS, MUSIC and PAGANTRY!!!! + + * * * * * + +WEDNESDAY EVENING, SEPT 26, 1855 +Will be presented the Tragedy, in five acts, by G.H. BOKER, Esq., entitled + + =FRANCESCA= + =DA= + =RIMINI= + +CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. + +_GUELPHS._ + +Malatesto, (Lord of Rimini) Mr. Whiting +LANCIOTTO {his sons } Mr. E.L. DAVENPORT +Paolo { } Mr. Lanergan +Pepe, (the Jester) Mr. C. Flaher +Rosalvi { } Mr. Walters +Malvechi {Young Nobles--companions of Paolo } Mr. Harcourt +Civanti { } Mr. Cutter +Rene, (a Troubadour) Mr. Vincent +Nobles, Soldiers, Pages, Troubadours, Attendants, &c, &c. + +_GHIBELINS._ + +Guido da Polenta, (Lord of Ravenna) Mr. Canoll +The Cardinal Veechino Mr. Hodges +Florensi {Nobles of Malatesto's Court} Mr. Willet +Beppo { } Joraike +Henrico, (Captain of the Guard) Mr. Fordyck +Antonio, (A leader of the Forces) Mr. Wright +Nobles, Dignitaries of the Church, Soldiers, Pages, Banner + Bearers, Messengers, &c. + +Francesca da Rimini, (Daughter of Guido) Mme Poniat +Ritta, (her attendent) Miss J. Manners + + * * * * * + +TO-MORROW EVENING--A NEW TRAGEDY, in which + + =MR. E.L. DAVENPORT= + Will appear + + * * * * * + +TREASURER Mr. P. WARREN +ASSISTANT TREASURER Mr. NAGLE + * * * * * + +Doors open at three quarters past 6 o'clock--Performances will commence + an half past 7, precisely. + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS_[A] + +_By_ GEORGE H. BOKER + + +[Footnote A: The text that follows was compared with Lawrence +Barrett's copy of the second edition, now in the library of The +Players, New York. The title page reads: Plays and Poems: | by | +George H. Boker | In two volumes | Vol. I | Second Edition | Boston: | +Ticknor and Fields. | MDCCCLVII. | | Boker's copyright, 1856.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + +McVicker's Theatre, Chicago, November 6, 1882 + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. B.G. Rogers. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. F.C. Mosley. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Lawrence Barrett. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PEPÉ,[1] _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. Louis James. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Charles Rolfe. +RENÉ,[1] _A troubadour_ Mr. Percy Winter. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marie Wainwright. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Rosie Batchelder. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ + + +Grand Opera House, Chicago, August 26, 1901. + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. W.J. Constantine. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. E.A. Eberle. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Aubrey Boucicault. +PEPE, _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. William Norris. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Frederick von Rensselar. +RENE, _A troubadour_ Mr. Fletcher Norton. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marcia Van Dresser. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Gertrude Norman. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ +SCENE. _Rimini, Ravenna, and the neighbourhood._ +TIME. _About 1300 A.D._ + +[Footnote 1: In the original edition, the accents in the names of PEPÉ +and RENÉ are used only in the Dramatis Personæ, and not in the body of +the book.] + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. The Garden of the Palace. PAOLO and a number of +noblemen are discovered, seated under an arbour, surrounded by RENE, +and other troubadours, attendants, &c._ + + PAOLO. I prithee, Rene, charm our ears again +With the same song you sang me yesterday. +Here are fresh listeners. + + RENE. Really, my good lord, +My voice is out of joint. A grievous cold-- + + [_Coughs._ + + PAOLO. A very grievous, but convenient cold, +Which always racks you when you would not sing. + + RENE. O, no, my lord! Besides, I hoped to hear +My ditty warbled into fairer ears, +By your own lips; to better purpose, too. + + [_The NOBLEMEN all laugh._ + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Rene has hit it. Music runs to waste +In ears like ours. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Nay, nay; chaunt on, sweet Count. + + PAOLO. [_Coughing._] Alack! you hear, I've caught poor Rene's cough. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. That would not be, if we wore petticoats. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. O, fie! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. So runs the scandal to our ears. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Confirmed by all our other senses, Count. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Witnessed by many a doleful sigh, poured out +By many a breaking heart in Rimini. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Poor girls! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN.[_Mimicking a lady._] Sweet Count! sweet +Count Paolo! O! +Plant early violets upon my grave! +Thus go a thousand voices to one tune. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. 'Ods mercy! gentlemen, you do me wrong. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. And by how many hundred, more or less? + + PAOLO. Ah! rogues, you'd shift your sins upon my shoulders. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. You'd bear them stoutly. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. It were vain to give +Drops to god Neptune. You're the sea of love +That swallows all things. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. We the little fish +That meanly scull about within your depths. + + PAOLO. Goon, goon! Talk yourselves fairly out. + [PEPE _laughs without._ +But, hark! here comes the fool! Fit company +For this most noble company of wits! + + [_Enter_ PEPE, _laughing violently._] + +Why do you laugh? + + PEPE. I'm laughing at the world. +It has laughed long enough at me; and so +I'll turn the tables. Ho! ho! ho! I've heard +A better joke of Uncle Malatesta's +Than any I e'er uttered. [_Laughing._ + + ALL. Tell it, fool. + + PEPE. Why, do you know--upon my life, the best +And most original idea on earth: +A joke to put in practice, too. By Jove! +I'll bet my wit 'gainst the stupidity +Of the best gentleman among you all, +You cannot guess it. + + ALL. Tell us, tell us, fool. + + PEPE. Guess it, guess it, fools. + + PAOLO Come, disclose, disclose! + + PEPE. He has a match afoot.-- + + ALL. A match! + + PEPE. A marriage. + + ALL. Who?--who? + + PEPE. A marriage in his family. + + ALL. But, who? + + PEPE. Ah! there's the point. + + ALL. Paolo? + + PEPE. No. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. The others are well wived. Shall we turn Turks? + + PEPE. Why, there's the summit of his joke, good sirs. +By all the sacred symbols of my art-- +By cap and bauble, by my tinkling bell-- +He means to marry Lanciotto! + [_Laughs violently._ + + ALL. [Laughing.] Ho!-- + + PAOLO. Peace! peace! What tongue dare echo yon fool's laugh? +Nay, never raise your hands in wonderment: +I'll strike the dearest friend among ye all +Beneath my feet, as if he were a slave, +Who dares insult my brother with a laugh! + + PEPE. By Jove! ye're sad enough. Here's mirth's quick cure! +Pretty Paolo has a heavy fist, +I warn you, sirs. Ho! ho! I trapped them all; + [_Laughing._] +Now I'll go mar old Malatesta's message. [_Aside._ + [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. Shame on ye, sirs! I have mistaken you. +I thought I harboured better friends. Poor fops, +Who've slept in down and satin all your years, +Within the circle Lanciotto charmed +Round Rimini with his most potent sword!-- +Fellows whose brows would melt beneath a casque, +Whose hands would fray to grasp a brand's rough hilt, +Who ne'er launched more than braggart threats at foes!-- +Girlish companions of luxurious girls!-- +Danglers round troubadours and wine-cups!--Men +Whose best parts are their clothes! bundles of silk, +Scented like summer! rag-men, nothing more!-- +Creatures as generous as monkeys--brave +As hunted hares--courteous as grinning apes-- +Grateful as serpents--useful as lap-dogs-- + [_During this, the_ NOBLEMEN, _&c., steal off._] + Ha! +I am alone at last! So let me be, +Till Lanciotto fill the vacant room +Of these mean knaves, whose friendship is but breath. [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Hall in the Castle. Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ LANCIOTTO. + + MALATESTA. Guido, ay, Guido of Ravenna, son-- +Down on his knees, as full of abject prayers +For peace and mercy as a penitent. + + LANCIOTTO. His old trick, father. While his wearied arm +Is raised in seeming prayer, it only rests. +Anon, he'll deal you such a staggering blow, +With its recovered strength, as shall convert +You, and not him, into a penitent. + + MALATESTA. No, no; your last bout levelled him. He reeled +Into Ravenna, from the battle-field, +Like a stripped drunkard, and there headlong fell-- +A mass of squalid misery, a thing +To draw the jeering urchins. I have this +From faithful spies. There's not a hope remains +To break the shock of his great overthrow. +I pity Guido. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Sdeath! go comfort him! +I pity those who fought, and bled, and died, +Before the armies of this Ghibelin. +I pity those who halted home with wounds +Dealt by his hand. I pity widowed eyes +That he set running; maiden hearts that turn, +Sick with despair, from ranks thinned down by him; +Mothers that shriek, as the last stragglers fling +Their feverish bodies by the fountain-side, +Dumb with mere thirst, and faintly point to him, +Answering the dame's quick questions. I have seen +Unburied bones, and skulls--that seemed to ask, +From their blank eye-holes, vengeance at my hand-- +Shine in the moonlight on old battle-fields; +And even these--the happy dead, my lord-- +I pity more than Guido of Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. What would you have? + + LANCIOTTO. I'd see Ravenna burn, +Flame into heaven, and scorch the flying clouds; +I'd choke her streets with ruined palaces; +I'd hear her women scream with fear and grief, +As I have heard the maids of Rimini. +All this I'd sprinkle with old Guido's blood, +And bless the baptism. + + MALATESTA. You are cruel. + + LANCIOTTO. Not I; +But these things ache within my fretting brain. +The sight I first beheld was from the arms +Of my wild nurse, her husband hacked to death +By the fierce edges of these Ghibelins. +One cut across the neck--I see it now, +Ay, and have mimicked it a thousand times, +Just as I saw it, on our enemies.-- +Why, that cut seemed as if it meant to bleed +On till the judgment. My distracted nurse +Stooped down, and paddled in the running gore +With her poor fingers; then a prophetess, +Pale with the inspiration of the god, +She towered aloft, and with her dripping hand +Three times she signed me with the holy cross. +Tis all as plain as noon-day. Thus she spake,-- +"May this spot stand till Guido's dearest blood +Be mingled with thy own!" The soldiers say, +In the close battle, when my wrath is up, +The dead man's blood flames on my vengeful brow +Like a red planet; and when war is o'er, +It shrinks into my brain, defiling all +My better nature with its slaughterous lusts. +Howe'er it be, it shaped my earliest thought, +And it will shape my last. + + MALATESTA. You moody churl! +You dismal knot of superstitious dreams! +Do you not blush to empty such a head +Before a sober man? Why, son, the world +Has not given o'er its laughing humour yet, +That you should try it with such vagaries.--Poh! +I'll get a wife to teach you common sense. + + LANCIOTTO. A wife for me! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Ay, sir, a wife for you. +You shall be married, to insure your wits. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis not your wont to mock me. + + MALATESTA. How now, son! +I am not given to jesting. I have chosen +The fairest wife in Italy for you. +You won her bravely, as a soldier should: +And when you'd woo her, stretch your gauntlet out, +And crush her fingers in its steely grip. +If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say-- +No, by your leave. Should she refuse, howe'er, +With that same iron hand you shall go knock +Upon Ravenna's gates, till all the town +Ring with your courtship. I have made her hand +The price and pledge of Guido's future peace. + + LANCIOTTO. All this is done! + + MALATESTA. Done, out of hand; and now +I wait a formal answer, nothing more. +Guido dare not decline. No, by the saints, +He'd send Ravenna's virgins here in droves, +To buy a ten days' truce. + + LANCIOTTO. Sir, let me say, +You stretch paternal privilege too far, +To pledge my hand without my own consent. +Am I a portion of your household stuff, +That you should trade me off to Guido thus? +Who is the lady I am bartered for? + + MALATESTA. Francesca, Guido's daughter.--Never frown; +It shall be so! + + LANCIOTTO. By heaven, it shall not be! +My blood shall never mingle with his race. + + MALATESTA. According to your nurse's prophecy, +Fate orders it. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! + + MALATESTA. Now, then, I have struck +The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts. +Bah! on your sibyl and her prophecy! +Put Guido's blood aside, and yet, I say, +Marry you shall. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis most distasteful, sir. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto, look ye! You brave gentlemen, +So fond of knocking out poor people's brains, +In time must come to have your own knocked out: +What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands, +To carry on your business, and our house +Die out for lack of princes? + + LANCIOTTO. Wed my brothers: +They'll rear you sons, I'll slay you enemies. +Paolo and Francesca! Note their names; +They chime together like sweet marriage-bells. +A proper match. 'Tis said she's beautiful; +And he is the delight of Rimini,-- +The pride and conscious centre of all eyes, +The theme of poets, the ideal of art, +The earthly treasury of Heaven's best gifts! +I am a soldier; from my very birth, +Heaven cut me out for terror, not for love. +I had such fancies once, but now-- + + MALATESTA. Pshaw! son, +My faith is bound to Guido; and if you +Do not throw off your duty, and defy, +Through sickly scruples, my express commands, +You'll yield at once. No more: I'll have it so! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. Curses upon my destiny! What, I-- +Ho! I have found my use at last--What, I, +I, the great twisted monster of the wars, +The brawny cripple, the herculean dwarf, +The spur of panic, and the butt of scorn-- +be a bridegroom! Heaven, was I not cursed +More than enough, when thou didst fashion me +To be a type of ugliness,--a thing +By whose comparison all Rimini +Holds itself beautiful? Lo! here I stand, +A gnarléd, blighted trunk! There's not a knave +So spindle-shanked, so wry-faced, so infirm, +Who looks at me, and smiles not on himself. +And I have friends to pity me--great Heaven! +One has a favourite leg that he bewails,-- +Another sees my hip with doleful plaints,-- +A third is sorry o'er my huge swart arms,-- +A fourth aspires to mount my very hump, +And thence harangue his weeping brotherhood! +Pah! it is nauseous! Must I further bear +The sidelong shuddering glances of a wife? +The degradation of a showy love, +That over-acts, and proves the mummer's craft +Untouched by nature? And a fair wife, too!-- +Francesca, whom the minstrels sing about! +Though, by my side, what woman were not fair? +Circe looked well among her swine, no doubt; +Next me, she'd pass for Venus. Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +Would there were something merry in my laugh! +Now, in the battle, if a Ghibelin +Cry, "Wry-hip! hunchback!" I can trample him +Under my stallion's hoofs; or haggle him +Into a monstrous likeness of myself: +But to be pitied,--to endure a sting +Thrust in by kindness, with a sort of smile!-- +'Sdeath! it is miserable! + + [_Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. My lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. My fool! + + PEPE. We'll change our titles when your bride's bells ring-- +Ha, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. Even this poor fool has eyes, +To see the wretched plight in which I stand. + [_Aside._] +How, gossip, how? + + PEPE. I, being the court-fool, +Am lord of fools by my prerogative. + + LANCIOTTO. Who told you of my marriage? + + PEPE. Rimini! +A frightful liar; but true for once, I fear. +The messenger from Guido has returned, +And the whole town is wailing over him. +Some pity you, and some the bride; but I, +Being more catholic, I pity both. + + LANCIOTTO. Still, pity, pity! [_Aside. Bells toll._] Ha! whose knell is that? + + PEPE. Lord Malatesta sent me to the tower, +To have the bells rung for your marriage-news. +How, he said not; so I, as I thought fit, +Told the deaf sexton to ring out a knell. + [_Bells toll._] +How do you like it? + + LANCIOTTO. Varlet, have you bones, +To risk their breaking? I have half a mind +To thresh you from your motley coat! + [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Pardee! +Respect my coxcomb, cousin. Hark! ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] + [_Bells ring a joyful peal._] +Some one has changed my music. Heaven defend! +How the bells jangle. Yonder graybeard, now, +Rings a peal vilely. He's more used to knells, +And sounds them grandly. Only give him time, +And, I'll be sworn, he'll ring your knell out yet. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, you are but half a fool. + + PEPE. My lord, +I can return the compliment in full. + + LANCIOTTO. So, you are ready. + + PEPE. Truth is always so. + + LANCIOTTO. I shook you rudely; here's a florin. + [_Offers money._ + + PEPE. No: +My wit is merchandise, but not my honour. + + LANCIOTTO. Your honour, sirrah! + + PEPE. Why not? You great lords +Have something you call lordly honour; pray, +May not a fool have foolish honour, too? +Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat-- +'Twas the first sacrilege it ever knew--And +you shall pay it. Mark! I promise you. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! you bluster well. Upon my life, +You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath. +Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek-- +Thus, gossip, thus--[_Strikes him._] what would you then demand? + + PEPE. Your life! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! there is the camp-style, too, +A very cut-throat air! How this shrewd fool +Makes the punctilio of honour show! +Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles, +And what a figure is poor chivalry! +Thanks for your lesson, Pepe. + [_Exit._ + + PEPE. Ere I'm done, +You'll curse as heartily, you limping beast! +Ha! so we go--Lord Lanciotto, look! + [_Walks about, mimicking him._] +Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth, +To match your honour and nobility! +You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake, +Or strike in jest, a natural man like me?-- +You curséd lump, you chaos of a man, +To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good! + [_Bells ring._] +There go the bells rejoicing over you: +I'll change them back to the old knell again. +You marry, faugh! Beget a race of elves; +Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within +The limits of your nature! Here we go, +Tripping along to meet our promised bride, +Like a rheumatic elephant!--ha, ha! [_Laughing._ + + [_Exit, mimicking_ LANCIOTTO. + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in the Same. Enter_ LANCIOTTO, _hastily._ + + LANCIOTTO. Why do these prodigies environ me? +In ancient Rome, the words a fool might drop, +From the confusion of his vagrant thoughts, +Were held as omens, prophecies; and men +Who made earth tremble with majestic deeds, +Trembled themselves at fortune's lightest threat. +I like it not. My father named this match +While I boiled over with vindictive wrath +Towards Guido and Ravenna. Straight my heart +Sank down like lead; a weakness seized on me, +A dismal gloom that I could not resist; +I lacked the power to take my stand, and say-- +Bluntly, I will not! Am I in the toils? +Has fate so weakened me, to work its end? +There seems a fascination in it, too,-- +A morbid craving to pursue a thing +Whose issue may be fatal. Would that I +Were in the wars again! These mental weeds +Grow on the surface of inactive peace. +I'm haunted by myself. Thought preys on thought. +My mind seems crowded in the hideous mould +That shaped my body. What a fool am I +To bear the burden of my wretched life, +To sweat and toil under the world's broad eye, +Climb into fame, and find myself--O, what?-- +A most conspicuous monster! Crown my head, +Pile Cæsar's purple on me--and what then? +My hump shall shorten the imperial robe, +My leg peep out beneath the scanty hem, +My broken hip shall twist the gown awry; +And pomp, instead of dignifying me, +Shall be by me made quite ridiculous. +The faintest coward would not bear all this: +Prodigious courage must be mine, to live; +To die asks nothing but weak will, and I +Feel like a craven. Let me skulk away +Ere life o'ertask me. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. [_Seizing his hand._] Brother! what is this? +Lanciotto, are you mad? Kind Heaven! look here-- +Straight in my eyes. Now answer, do you know +How near you were to murder? Dare you bend +Your wicked hand against a heart I love? +Were it for you to mourn your wilful death, +With such a bitterness as would be ours, +The wish would ne'er have crossed you. While we're bound +Life into life, a chain of loving hearts, +Were it not base in you, the middle link, +To snap, and scatter all? Shame, brother, shame! +I thought you better metal. + + LANCIOTTO. Spare your words. +I know the seasons of our human grief, +And can predict them without almanac. +A few sobs o'er the body, and a few +Over the coffin; then a sigh or two, +Whose windy passage dries the hanging tear; +Perchance, some wandering memories, some regrets; +Then a vast influx of consoling thoughts-- +Based on the trials of the sadder days +Which the dead missed; and then a smiling face +Turned on to-morrow. Such is mortal grief. +It writes its histories within a span, +And never lives to read them. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I heard the bells of Rimini, just now, +Exulting o'er your coming marriage-day, +While you conspired to teach them gloomier sounds. +Why are you sad? + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, I am wretched; +Sad's a faint word. But of my marriage-bells-- +Heard you the knell that Pepe rang? + + PAOLO. 'Twas strange: +A sullen antic of his crabbed wit. + + LANCIOTTO. It was portentous. All dumb things find tongues +Against this marriage. As I passed the hall, +My armour glittered on the wall, and I +Paused by the harness, as before a friend +Whose well-known features slack our hurried gait; +Francesca's name was fresh upon my mind, +So I half-uttered it. Instant, my sword +Leaped from its scabbard, as with sudden life, +Plunged down and pierced into the oaken floor, +Shivering with fear! Lo! while I gazed upon it-- +Doubting the nature of the accident-- +Around the point appeared a spot of blood, +Oozing upon the floor, that spread and spread-- +As I stood gasping by in speechless horror-- +Ring beyond ring, until the odious tide +Crawled to my feet, and lapped them, like the tongues +Of angry serpents! O, my God! I fled +At the first touch of the infernal stain! +Go--you may see--go to the hall! + + PAOLO. Fie! man, +You have been ever played on in this sort +By your wild fancies. When your heart is high, +You make them playthings; but in lower moods, +They seem to sap the essence of your soul, +And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs. + + LANCIOTTO. Go look, go look! + + PAOLO. [_Goes to the door, and returns._] There sticks the sword, indeed, +Just as your tread detached it from its sheath; +Looking more like a blessed cross, I think, +Than a bad looking omen. As for blood--Ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] +It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this! +Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself +For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems, +Do wonders for us. Brother, come; I'll be +Your tiring-man, for once. + + LANCIOTTO. Array this lump-- +Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts +Best left imprisoned in the aching heart, +Lest the freed malefactors should dispread +Infamous ruin with their liberty. +There's not a man--the fairest of ye all-- +Who is not fouler than he seems. This life +Is one unending struggle to conceal +Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one +In vestal whiteness with a lecher's lust;-- +There sits a judge, holding law's scales in hands +That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch;-- +Here goes a priest with heavenward eyes, whose soul +Is Satan's council-chamber;--there a doctor, +With nature's secrets wrinkled round a brow +Guilty with conscious ignorance;--and here +A soldier rivals Hector's bloody deeds-- +Out-does the devil in audacity-- +With craven longings fluttering in a heart +That dares do aught but fly! Thus are we all +Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world, +That takes us at our seeming. + + PAOLO. Say 'tis true; +What do you drive at? + + LANCIOTTO. At myself, full tilt. +I, like the others, am not what I seem. +Men call me gentle, courteous, brave.--They lie! +I'm harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve +To cast my devils out upon the earth, +I'd show this laughing planet what a hell +Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn, +It has forced back to canker in the heart +Of one poor cripple! + + PAOLO. Ha! + + LANCIOTTO. Ay, now 'tis out! +A word I never breathed to man before. +Can you, who are a miracle of grace, +Feel what it is to be a wreck like me? +Paolo, look at me. Is there a line, +In my whole bulk of wretched contraries, +That nature in a nightmare ever used +Upon her shapes till now? Find me the man, +Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing, +So out of harmony with all things else, +And I'll go raving with bare happiness,-- +Ay, and I'll marry Helena of Greece, +And swear I do her honour! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I, who have known you from a stripling up, +Never observed, or, if I did, ne'er weighed +Your special difference from the rest of men. +You're not Apollo-- + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PAOLO. Nor yet are you +A second Pluto. Could I change with you-- +My graces for your nobler qualities-- +Your strength, your courage, your renown--by heaven, +We'd e'en change persons, to the finest hair. + + LANCIOTTO. You should be flatterer to an emperor. + + PAOLO. I am but just. Let me beseech you, brother. +To look with greater favour on yourself; +Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain +To take the place of sound realities. +Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull +Your cruel delusions in domestic peace. +Ghosts fly a fireside; 'tis their wont to stalk +Through empty houses, and through empty hearts. +I know Francesca will be proud of you. +Women admire you heroes. Rusty sages, +Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been +Their idols ever; while we fair plump fools +Are elbowed to the wall, or only used +For vacant pastime. + + LANCIOTTO. To Ravenna?--no! +In Rimini they know me; at Ravenna +I'd be a new-come monster, and exposed +To curious wonder. There will be parade +Of all the usual follies of the state; +Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands, +Would strut before me, like vain mountebanks +Before their monkeys. Then, I should be stared +Out of my modesty; and when they look, +How can I tell if 'tis the bridegroom's face +Or hump that draws their eyes? I will not go. +To please you all, I'll marry; but to please +The wonder-mongers of Ravenna--Ha! +Paolo, now I have it. You shall go, +To bring Francesca; and you'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am. +If she draw backward, give her rein; and say +That neither Guido-nor herself shall feel +The weight of my displeasure. You may say, +I pity her-- + + PAOLO. For what? + + LANCIOTTO. For wedding me. +In sooth, she'll need it. Say-- + + PAOLO. Nay, Lanciotto, +I'll be a better orator in your behalf, +Without your promptings. + + LANCIOTTO. She is fair, 'tis said; +And, dear Paolo, if she please your eye, +And move your heart to anything like love, +Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm +By such a match. + + PAOLO. [_Laughing._] Ha! that is right: be gay! +Ply me with jokes! I'd rather see you smile +Than see the sun shine. + + LANCIOTTO. I am serious. +I'll find another wife, less beautiful, +More on my level, and-- + + PAOLO. An empress, brother, +Were honoured by your hand. You are by much +Too humble in your reckoning of yourself. +I can count virtues in you, to supply +Half Italy, if they were parcelled out. +Look up! + + LANCIOTTO. I cannot: Heaven has bent me down. +To you, Paolo, I could look, however, +Were my hump made a mountain. Bless him, God! +Pour everlasting bounties on his head! +Make Croesus jealous of his treasury, +Achilles of his arms, Endymion +Of his fresh beauties,--though the coy one lay, +Blushing beneath Diana's earliest kiss, +On grassy Latmos; and may every good, +Beyond man's sight, though in the ken of heaven, +Round his fair fortune to a perfect end! +O, you have dried the sorrow of my eyes; +My heart is beating with a lighter pulse; +The air is musical; the total earth +Puts on new beauty, and within the arms +Of girding ocean dreams her time away, +And visions bright to-morrows! + + _Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ PEPE. + + MALATESTA. Mount, to horse! + + PEPE. [_Aside._] Good Lord! he's smiling! What's the matter now? +Has anybody broken a leg or back? +Has a more monstrous monster come to life? +Is hell burst open?--heaven burnt up? What, what +Can make yon eyesore grin?--I say, my lord, +What cow has calved? + + PAOLO. Your mother, by the bleat. + + PEPE. Right fairly answered--for a gentleman! +When did you take my trade up? + + PAOLO. When your wit +Went begging, sirrah. + + PEPE. Well again! My lord, +I think he'll do. + + MALATESTA. For what? + + PEPE. To take my place. +Once fools were rare, and then my office sped; +But now the world is overrun with them: +One gets one's fool in one's own family, +Without much searching. + + MALATESTA. Pepe, gently now. +Lanciotto, you are waited for. The train +Has passed the gate, and halted there for you. + + LANCIOTTO. I go not to Ravenna. + + MALATESTA. Hey! why not? + + PAOLO. For weighty reasons, father. Will you trust +Your greatest captain, hope of all the Guelfs, +With crafty Guido? Should the Ghibelins +Break faith, and shut Lanciotto in their walls-- +Sure the temptation would be great enough-- +What would you do? + + MALATESTA. I'd eat Ravenna up! + + PEPE. Lord! what an appetite! + + PAOLO. But Lanciotto +Would be a precious hostage. + + MALATESTA. True; you're wise; +Guido's a fox. Well, have it your own way. +What is your plan? + + PAOLO. I go there in his place. + + MALATESTA. Good! I will send a letter with the news. + + LANCIOTTO. I thank you, brother. [_Apart to PAOLO._ + + PEPE. Ha! ha! ha!--O! O! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Pepe, what now? + + PEPE. O! lord, O!--ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._ + + PAOLO. Well, giggler? + + PEPE. Hear my fable, uncle. + + MALATESTA. Ay. + + PEPE. Once on a time, Vulcan sent Mercury +To fetch dame Venus from a romp in heaven. +Well, they were long in coming, as he thought; +And so the god of spits and gridirons +Railed like himself--the devil. But--now mark-- +Here comes the moral. In a little while, +Vulcan grew proud, because he saw plain signs +That he should be a father; and so he +Strutted through hell, and pushed the devils by, +Like a magnifico of Venice. Ere long, +His heir was born; but then--ho! ho!--the brat +Had wings upon his heels, and thievish ways, +And a vile squint, like errant Mercury's, +Which honest Vulcan could not understand;-- +Can you? + + PAOLO. 'Sdeath! fool, I'll have you in the stocks. +Father, your fool exceeds his privilege. + + PEPE. [_Apart to_ PAOLO.] Keep your own bounds, Paolo. In the stocks +I'd tell more fables than you'd wish to hear. +And so ride forth. But, cousin, don't forget +To take Lanciotto's picture to the bride. +Ask her to choose between it and yourself. +I'll count the moments, while she hesitates, +And not grow gray at it. + + PAOLO. Peace, varlet, peace! + + PEPE. [_Apart to him._] Ah, now I have it. There's an elephant +Upon the scutcheon; show her that, and say-- +Here's Lanciotto in our heraldry! + + PAOLO. Here's for your counsel! + [_Strikes_ PEPE, _who runs behind MALATESTA._ + + MALATESTA. Son, son, have a care! +We who keep pets must bear their pecks sometimes. +Poor knave! Ha! ha! thou'rt growing villainous! + [_Laughs and pats PEPE._ + + PEPE. Another blow! another life for that! [_Aside._ + + PAOLO. Farewell, Lanciotto. You are dull again. + + LANCIOTTO. Nature will rule. + + MALATESTA. Come, come! + + LANCIOTTO. God speed you, brother! +I am too sad; my smiles all turn to sighs. + + PAOLO. More cause to haste me on my happy work. + [_Exit with_ MALATESTA. + + PEPE. I'm going, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Go. + + PEPE. Pray, ask me where. + + LANCIOTTO. Where, then? + + PEPE. To have my jewel carried home: +And, as I'm wise, the carrier shall be +A thief, a thief, by Jove! The fashion's new. + [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. In truth, I am too gloomy and irrational. +Paolo must be right. I always had +These moody hours and dark presentiments, +Without mischances following after them. +The camp is my abode. A neighing steed, +A fiery onset, and a stubborn fight, +Rouse my dull blood, and tire my body down +To quiet slumbers when the day is o'er, +And night above me spreads her spangled tent, +Lit by the dying cresset of the moon. +Ay, that is it; I'm homesick for the camp. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT II. + + + +SCENE I. _Ravenna. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and a_ +CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I warn thee, Count. + + GUIDO. I'll take the warning, father, +On one condition: show me but a way +For safe escape. + + CARDINAL. I cannot. + + GUIDO. There's the point. +We Ghibelins are fettered hand and foot. +There's not a florin in my treasury; +Not a lame soldier, I can lead to war; +Not one to man the walls. A present siege, +Pushed with the wonted heat of Lanciotto, +Would deal Ravenna such a mortal blow +As ages could not mend. Give me but time +To fill the drained arteries of the land. +The Guelfs are masters, we their slaves; and we +Were wiser to confess it, ere the lash +Teach it too sternly. It is well for you +To say you love Francesca. So do I; +But neither you nor I have any voice +For or against this marriage. + + CARDINAL. 'Tis too true. + + GUIDO. Say we refuse: Why, then, before a week, +We'll hear Lanciotto rapping at our door, +With twenty hundred ruffians at his back. +What's to say then? My lord, we waste our breath. +Let us look fortune in the face, and draw +Such comfort from the wanton as we may. + + CARDINAL. And yet I fear-- + + GUIDO. You fear! and so do I. +I fear Lanciotto as a soldier, though, +More than a son-in-law. + + CARDINAL. But have you seen him? + + GUIDO. Ay, ay, and felt him, too. I've seen him ride +The best battalions of my horse and foot +Down like mere stubble: I have seen his sword +Hollow a square of pikemen, with the ease +You'd scoop a melon out. + + CARDINAL. Report declares him +A prodigy of strength and ugliness. + + GUIDO. Were he the devil--But why talk of this?-- +Here comes Francesca. + + CARDINAL. Ah! unhappy child! + +GUIDO. Look you, my lord! you'll make the best of it; +You will not whimper. Add your voice to mine, +Or woe to poor Ravenna! + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! my lord-- +And you, my father!--But do I intrude +Upon your counsels? How severe you look! +Shall I retire? + + GUIDO. No, no. + + FRANCESCA. You moody men +Seem leagued against me. As I passed the hall, +I met your solemn Dante, with huge strides +Pacing in measure to his stately verse. +The sweeping sleeves of his broad scarlet robe +Blew out behind, like wide-expanded wings, +And seemed to buoy him in his level flight. +Thinking to pass, without disturbing him, +I stole on tip-toe; but the poet paused, +Subsiding into man, and steadily +Bent on my face the lustre of his eyes. +Then, taking both my trembling hands in his-- +You know how his God-troubled forehead awes-- +He looked into my eyes, and shook his head, +As if he dared not speak of what he saw; +Then muttered, sighed, and slowly turned away +The weight of his intolerable brow. +When I glanced back, I saw him, as before, +Sailing adown the hall on out-spread wings. +Indeed, my lord, he should not do these things; +They strain the weakness of mortality +A jot too far. As for poor Ritta, she +Fled like a doe, the truant. + + RITTA. Yes, forsooth: +There's something terrible about the man. +Ugh! if he touched me, I should turn to ice. +I wonder if Count Lanciotto looks-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, come here. [_Takes her apart._ + + RITTA. My lord. + + GUIDO. 'Twas my command, +You should say nothing of Count Lanciotto. + + RITTA. Nothing, my lord. + + GUIDO. You have said nothing, then? + + RITTA. Indeed, my lord. + + GUIDO. 'Tis well. Some years ago, +My daughter had a very silly maid, +Who told her sillier stories. So, one day, +This maiden whispered something I forbade-- +In strictest confidence, for she was sly: +What happened, think you? + + RITTA. I know not, my lord. + + GUIDO. I boiled her in a pot. + + RITTA. Good heaven! my lord. + + GUIDO. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot +Ready for the next boiling. + + [_Walks back to the others._ + + RITTA. Saints above! +I wonder if he ate her! Boil me--me! +I'll roast or stew with pleasure; but to boil +Implies a want of tenderness,--or rather +A downright toughness--in the matter boiled, +That's slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me-- +Boil me! O! mercy, how ridiculous! + + [_Retires, laughing._ + + _Enter a_ MESSENGER. + + MESSENGER. Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta. + [_Presents them, and exit._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Hear him, ye gods!--"from great Prince Malatesta!" +Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido. +Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down. + [_Reads._] +_"Fearing our treachery,"_--by heaven, that's blunt, +And Malatesta-like!--_"he will not send +His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"_-- +But what?--a groom, a porter? or will he +Have his prey sent him in an iron cage? +By Jove, he shall not have her! O! no, no; +_"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo, +To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."_ +That's well, if he had left his reasons out. +And, in a postscript--by the saints, 'tis droll!-- +_"'Twould not be worth your lordship's while to shut +Paolo in a prison; for, my lord, +I'll only pay his ransom in plain steel: +Besides, he's not worth having."_ Is there one, +Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths, +Who'd write such garbage to a gentleman? +Take that, and read it. [_Gives letter to_ CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I have done the most. +She seems suspicious. + + GUIDO. Ritta's work. + + CARDINAL. Farewell! + + FRANCESCA. Father, you seem distempered. + + GUIDO. No, my child, +I am but vexed. Your husband's on the road, +Close to Ravenna. What's the time of day? + + FRANCESCA. Past noon, my lord. + + GUIDO. We must be stirring, then. + + FRANCESCA. I do not like this marriage. + + GUIDO. But I do. + + FRANCESCA. But I do not. Poh! to be given away, +Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man +Whose face I never saw! + + RITTA. That's it, my lady. + + GUIDO. Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot +Boils to your liking. + + RITTA. [_Aside._] O! that pot again! +My lord, my heart betrays me; but you know +How true 'tis to my lady. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. What ails Ritta? + + GUIDO. The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. +Francesca, 'tis too late to beat retreat: +Old Malatesta has me--you, too, child-- +Safe in his clutch. If you are not content, +I must unclose Ravenna, and allow +His son to take you. Poh, poh! have a soul +Equal with your estate. A prince's child +Cannot choose husbands. Her desires must aim, +Not at herself, but at the public good. +Both as your prince and father, I command; +As subject and good daughter, you'll obey. + + FRANCESCA. I knew that it must be my destiny, +Some day, to give my hand without my heart; +But-- + + GUIDO. But, and I will but you back again! +When Guido da Polenta says to you, +Daughter, you must be married,--what were best? + + FRANCESCA. 'Twere best Francesca, of the self-same name, +Made herself bridal garments. [_Laughing._ + + GUIDO. Right! + + FRANCESCA. My lord, +Is Lanciotto handsome--ugly--fair-- +Black--sallow--crabbed--kind--or what is he? + + GUIDO. You'll know ere long. I could not alter him, +To please your taste. + + FRANCESCA. You always put me off; +You never have a whisper in his praise. + + GUIDO. The world reports it.--Count my soldiers' scars, +And you may sum Lanciotto's glories up. + + FRANCESCA. I shall be dutiful, to please you, father. +If aught befall me through my blind submission, +Though I may suffer, you must bear the sin. +Beware, my lord, for your own peace of mind! +My part has been obedience; and now +I play it over to complete my task; +And it shall be with smiles upon my lips,-- +Heaven only knows with what a sinking heart! + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. Before the Gates of the City. The walls hung with banners, +flowers, etc., and crowded with citizens. At the side of the scene is +a canopied dais, with chairs of state upon it. Music, bells, shouts, +and other sounds of rejoicing, are occasionally heard. Enter_ GUIDO, +_the_ CARDINAL, NOBLEMEN, KNIGHTS, GUARDS, _etc., with banners, arms, +etc._ + + GUIDO. My lord, I'll have it so. You talk in vain. +Paolo is a marvel in his way: +I've seen him often. If Francesca take +A fancy to his beauty, all the better; +For she may think that he and Lanciotto +Are like as blossoms of one parent branch. +In truth, they are, so far as features go-- +Heaven help the rest! Get her to Rimini, +By any means, and I shall be content. +The fraud cannot last long; but long enough +To win her favour to the family. + + CARDINAL. Tis a dull trick. Thou hast not dealt with her +Wisely nor kindly, and I dread the end. +If, when this marriage was enjoined on thee, +Thou hadst informed Francesca of the truth, +And said, Now daughter, choose between +Thy peace and all Ravenna's; who that knows +The constant nature of her noble heart +Could doubt the issue? There'd have been some tears, +Some frightful fancies of her husband's looks; +And then she'd calmly walk up to her fate, +And bear it bravely. Afterwards, perchance, +Lanciotto might prove better than her fears,-- +No one denies him many an excellence,-- +And all go happily. But, as thou wouldst plot, +She'll be prepared to see a paragon, +And find a satyr. It is dangerous. +Treachery with enemies is bad enough, +With friends 'tis fatal. + + GUIDO. Has your lordship done? + + CARDINAL. Never, Count Guido, with so good a text. +Do not stand looking sideways at the truth; +Craft has become thy nature. Go to her. + + GUIDO. I have not heart. + + CARDINAL. I have. [_Going._ + + GUIDO. Hold, Cardinal! +My plan is better. Get her off my hands, +And I care not. + + CARDINAL. What will she say of thee, +In Rimini, when she detects the cheat? + + GUIDO. I'll stop my ears up. + + CARDINAL. Guido, thou art weak, +And lack the common fortitude of man. + + GUIDO. And you abuse the license of your garb, +To lesson me. My lord, I do not dare +To move a finger in these marriage-rites. +Francesca is a sacrifice, I know,-- +A limb delivered to the surgeon's knife, +To save our general health. A truce to this. +Paolo has the business in his hands: +Let him arrange it as he will; for I +Will give Count Malatesta no pretext +To recommence the war. + + CARDINAL. Farewell, my lord. +I'll neither help nor countenance a fraud. +You crafty men take comfort to yourselves, +Saying, deceit dies with discovery. +'Tis false; each wicked action spawns a brood, +And lives in its succession. You, who shake +Man's moral nature into storm, should know +That the last wave which passes from your sight +Rolls in and breaks upon eternity! [_Exit._ + + GUIDO. Why, that's a very grand and solemn thought: +I'll mention it to Dante. Gentlemen, +What see they from the wall? + + NOBLEMAN. The train, my lord. + + GUIDO. Inform my daughter. + + NOBLEMAN. She is here, my lord. + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. See, father, what a merry face I have, +And how my ladies glisten! I will try +To do my utmost, in my love for you +And the good people of Ravenna. Now, +As the first shock is over, I expect +To feel quite happy. I will wed the Count, +Be he whate'er he may. I do not speak +In giddy recklessness. I've weighed it all,-- +'Twixt hope and fear, knowledge and ignorance,-- +And reasoned out my duty to your wish. +I have no yearnings towards another love: +So, if I show my husband a desire +To fill the place with which he honours me, +According to its duties, even he-- +Were he less noble than Count Lanciotto-- +Must smile upon my efforts, and reward +Good will with willing grace. One pang remains. +Parting from home and kindred is a thing +None but the heartless, or the miserable, +Can do without a tear. This home of mine +Has filled my heart with two-fold happiness, +Taking and giving love abundantly. +Farewell, Ravenna! If I bless thee not, +Tis that thou seem'st too blessed; and 'twere strange +In me to offer what thou'st always given. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] This is too much! If she would rail a while +At me and fortune, it could be endured. [_Shouts, music, etc., within._ + + FRANCESCA. Ha! there's the van just breaking through the wood! +Music! that's well; a welcome forerunner. +Now, Ritta--here--come talk to me. Alas! +How my heart trembles! What a world to me +Lies 'neath the glitter of yon cavalcade! +Is that the Count? + + RITTA. Upon the dapple-gray? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, yes. + + RITTA. No; that's his-- + + GUIDO. [_Apart to her._] Ritta! + + RITTA. Ay; that's--that's-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, the pot! [_Apart to her._ + + RITTA. O! but this lying chokes! [_Aside._] +Ay, that's Count Somebody, from Rimini. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it was. Is that not glorious? + + RITTA. My lady, what? + + FRANCESCA. To see a cavalier +Sit on his steed with such familiar grace. + + RITTA. To see a man astraddle on a horse! +It don't seem much to me. + + FRANCESCA. Fie! stupid girl! +But mark the minstrels thronging round the Count! +Ah! that is more than gallant horsemanship. +The soul that feeds itself on poesy, +Is of a quality more fine and rare +Than Heaven allows the ruder multitude. +I tell you, Ritta, when you see a man +Beloved by poets, made the theme of song, +And chaunted down to ages, as a gift +Fit for the rich embalmment of their verse, +There's more about him than the patron's gold. +If that's the gentleman my father chose, +He must have picked him out from all the world. +The Count alights. Why, what a noble grace +Runs through his slightest action! Are you sad? +You, too, my father? Have I given you cause? +I am content. If Lanciotto's mind +Bear any impress of his fair outside, +We shall not quarrel ere our marriage-day. +Can I say more? My blushes speak for me: +Interpret them as modesty's excuse +For the short-comings of a maiden's speech. + + RITTA. Alas! dear lady! [_Aside._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] 'Sdeath! my plot has failed, +By overworking its design. Come, come; +Get to your places. See, the Count draws nigh. + +GUIDO _and_ FRANCESCA _seat themselves upon the dais, surrounded by_ +RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, GUARDS, _etc. Music, shouts, ringing of +bells, etc. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with banners, etc.;_ PAGES _bearing +costly presents on cushions; then_ PAOLO, _surrounded by_ NOBLEMEN, +KNIGHTS, MINSTRELS, _etc., and followed by other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They +range themselves opposite the dais._ + + GUIDO. Ravenna welcomes you, my lord, and I +Add my best greeting to the general voice. +This peaceful show of arms from Rimini +Is a new pleasure, stranger to our sense +Than if the East blew zephyrs, or the balm +Of Summer loaded rough December's gales, +And turned his snows to roses. + + PAOLO. Noble sir, +We looked for welcome from your courtesy, +Not from your love; but this unhoped for sight +Of smiling faces, and the gentle tone +In which you greet us, leave us naught to win +Within your hearts. I need not ask, my lord, +Where bides the precious object of my search; +For I was sent to find the fairest maid +Ravenna boasts, among her many fair. +I might extend my travel many a league, +And yet return, to take her from your side. +I blush to bear so rich a treasure home, +As pledge and hostage of a sluggish peace; +For beauty such as hers was meant by Heaven +To spur our race to gallant enterprise, +And draw contending deities around +The dubious battles of a second Troy. + + GUIDO. Sir Count, you please to lavish on my child +The high-strained courtesy of chivalry; +Yet she has homely virtues that, I hope, +May take a deeper hold in Rimini, +After the fleeting beauty of her face +Is spoiled by time, or faded to the eye +By its familiar usage. + + PAOLO. As a man +Who ever sees Heaven's purpose in its works, +I must suppose so rare a tabernacle +Was framed for rarest virtues. Pardon me +My public admiration. If my praise +Clash with propriety, and bare my words +To cooler judgment, 'tis not that I wish +To win a flatterer's grudged recompense, +And gain by falsehood what I'd win through love. +When I have brushed my travel from my garb, +I'll pay my court in more befitting style. + + _Music. Exit with his train._ + + GUIDO. [_Advancing._] Now, by the saints, Lanciotto's deputy +Stands in this business with a proper grace, +Stretching his lord's instructions till they crack. +A zealous envoy! Not a word said he +Of Lanciotto--not a single word: +But stood there, staring in Francesca's face +With his devouring eyes.--By Jupiter, +I but half like it! + + FRANCESCA. [_Advancing._] Father? + + GUIDO. Well, my child. + + FRANCESCA. How do you like-- + + GUIDO. The coxcomb! I've done well! + + FRANCESCA. No, no; Count Lanciotto? + + GUIDO. Well enough. +But hang this fellow--hang your deputies! +I'll never woo by proxy. + + FRANCESCA. Deputies! +And woo by proxy! + + GUIDO. Come to me anon. +I'll strip this cuckoo of his gallantry! + [_Exit with_ GUARDS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my father has strange ways of late. + + RITTA. I wonder not. + + FRANCESCA. You wonder not? + + RITTA. No, lady: +He is so used to playing double games, +That even you must come in for your share. +Plague on his boiling! I will out with it. [_Aside._] +Lady, the gentleman who passed the gates-- + + FRANCESCA. Count Lanciotto? As I hope for grace, +A gallant gentleman! How well he spoke! +With what sincere and earnest courtesy +The rounded phrases glided from his lips! +He spoke in compliments that seemed like truth. +Methinks I'd listen through a summer's day, +To hear him woo.--And he must woo to me-- +I'll have our privilege--he must woo a space, +Ere I'll be won, I promise. + + RITTA. But, my lady, +He'll woo you for another. + + FRANCESCA. He?--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I should not think it from the prologue, Ritta. + + RITTA. Nor I. + + FRANCESCA. Nor any one. + + RITTA. 'Tis not the Count-- +'Tis not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. Gracious saints! +Have you gone crazy? Ritta, speak again, +Before I chide you. + + RITTA. 'Tis the solemn truth. +That gentleman is Count Paolo, lady, +Brother to Lanciotto, and no more +Like him than--than-- + + FRANCESCA. Than what? + + RITTA. Count Guido's pot, +For boiling waiting-maids, is like the bath +Of Venus on the arras. + + FRANCESCA. Are you mad,-- +Quite mad, poor Ritta? + + RITTA. Yes; perhaps I am. +Perhaps Lanciotto is a proper man-- +Perhaps I lie--perhaps I speak the truth-- +Perhaps I gabble like a fool. O! heavens, +That dreadful pot! + + FRANCESCA. Dear Ritta!-- + + RITTA. By the mass, +They shall not cozen you, my gentle mistress! +If my lord Guido boiled me, do you think +I should be served up to the garrison, +By way of pottage? Surely they would not waste me. + + FRANCESCA. You are an idle talker. Pranks like these +Fit your companions. You forget yourself. + + RITTA. Not you, though, lady. Boldly I repeat, +That he who looked so fair, and talked so sweet, +Who rode from Rimini upon a horse +Of dapple-gray, and walked through yonder gate, +Is not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. This you mean? + + RITTA. I do, indeed! + + FRANCESCA. Then I am more abused-- +More tricked, more trifled with, more played upon-- +By him, my father, and by all of you, +Than anything, suspected of a heart, +Was ever yet! + + RITTA. In Count Paolo, lady, +Perchance there was no meditated fraud. + + FRANCESCA. How, dare you plead for him? + + RITTA. I but suppose: +Though in your father--O! I dare not say. + + FRANCESCA. I dare. It was ill usage, gross abuse, +Treason to duty, meanness, craft--dishonour! +What if I'd thrown my heart before the feet +Of this sham husband! cast my love away +Upon a counterfeit! I was prepared +To force affection upon any man +Called Lanciotto. Anything of silk, +Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name, +Might have received me for the asking. Yes, +I was inclined to venture more than half +In this base business--shame upon my thoughts!-- +All for my father's peace and poor Ravenna's. +And this Paolo, with his cavalcade, +His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs, +His showy person, and his fulsome talk, +Almost made me contented with my lot. +O! what a fool--in faith, I merit it-- +Trapped by mere glitter! What an easy fool! +Ha! ha! I'm glad it went no further, girl; + [_Laughing._] +I'm glad I kept my heart safe, after all. +There was my cunning. I have paid them back, +I warrant you! I'll marry Lanciotto; +I'll seem to shuffle by this treachery. No! +I'll seek my father, put him face to face +With his own falsehood; and I'll stand between, +Awful as justice, meting out to him +Heaven's dreadful canons 'gainst his conscious guilt. +I'll marry Lanciotto. On my faith, +I would not live another wicked day +Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear +That I should take to lying, with the rest. +Ha! ha! it makes me merry, when I think +How safe I kept this little heart of mine! [_Laughing._ + [_Exit, with_ ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + RITTA. So, 'tis all ended--all except my boiling, +And that will make a holiday for some. +Perhaps I'm selfish. Fagot, axe, and gallows, +They have their uses, after all. They give +The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. +Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh; +And that's a point gained. I have seen a man-- +Poor Dora's uncle--shake himself with glee, +At the bare thought of the ridiculous style +In which some villain died. "Dancing," quoth he, +"To the poor music of a single string! +Biting," quoth he, "after his head was off! +What use of that?" Or, "Shivering," quoth he, +"As from an ague, with his beard afire!" +And then he'd roar until his ugly mouth +Split at the corners. But to see me boil-- +that will be the queerest thing of all! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag, +Like a great suet-ball? I'll go, and tell +Count Guido, on the instant. How he'll laugh +To think his pot has got an occupant! +I wonder if he really takes delight +In such amusements? Nay, I have kept faith; +I only said the man was not Lanciotto; +No word of Lanciotto's ugliness. +I may escape the pot, for all. Pardee! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag! + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and_ RITTA. + + RITTA. There now, my lord, that is the whole of it: +I love my mistress more than I fear you. +If I could save her finger from the axe, +I'd give my head to do it. So, my lord, +I am prepared to stew. + + GUIDO. Boil, Ritta, boil. + + RITTA. No; I prefer to stew. + + GUIDO. And I to boil. + + RITTA. Tis very hard, my lord, I cannot choose +My way of cooking. I shall laugh, I vow, +In the grim headsman's face, when I remember +That I am dying for my lady's love. +I leave no one to shed a tear for me; +Father nor mother, kith nor kin, have I, +To say, "Poor Ritta!" o'er my lifeless clay. +They all have gone before me, and 'twere well +If I could hurry after them. + + GUIDO. Poor child. [_Aside._] +But, baggage, said you aught of Lanciotto? + + RITTA. No, not a word; and he's so ugly, too! + + GUIDO. Is he so ugly? + + RITTA. Ugly! he is worse +Than Pilate on the hangings. + + GUIDO. Hold your tongue +Here, and at Rimini, about the Count, +And you shall prosper. + + RITTA. Am I not to boil? + + GUIDO. No, child. But be discreet at Rimini. +Old Malatesta is a dreadful man-- +Far worse than I--he bakes his people, Ritta; +Lards them, like geese, and bakes them in an oven. + + RITTA. Fire is my fate, I see that. + + GUIDO. Have a care +It do not follow you beyond this world. +Where is your mistress? + + RITTA. In her room, my lord. +After I told her of the Count Paolo, +She flew to have an interview with you; +But on the way--I know not why it was-- +She darted to her chamber, and there stays +Weeping in silence. It would do you good-- +More than a hundred sermons--just to see +A single tear, indeed it would, my lord. + + GUIDO. Ha! you are saucy. I have honoured you +Past prudence, malpert! Get you to your room! + [_Exit_ RITTA.] +More of my blood runs in yon damsel's veins +Than the world knows. Her mother to a shade; +The same high spirit, and strange martyr-wish +To sacrifice herself, body and soul, +For some loved end. All that she did for me; +And yet I loved her not. O! memory! +The darkest future has a ray of hope, +But thou art blacker than the sepulchre! +Thy horrid shapes lie round, like scattered bones, +Hopeless forever! I am sick at heart. +The past crowds on the present: as I sowed, +So am I reaping. Shadows from myself +Fall on the picture, as I trace anew +These rising spectres of my early life, +And add their gloom to what was dark before. +O! memory, memory! How my temples throb! [_Sits._ + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, _hastily._ + + FRANCESCA. My lord, this outrage-- + [_He looks up._] +Father, are you ill? +You seem unhappy. Have I troubled you? +You heard how passionate and bad I was, +When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. +Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask +A child's forgiveness. 'Twas undutiful +To doubt your wisdom. It is over now. +I only thought you might have trusted me +With any counsel. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Would I had! + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well, +I understand it all, and you were right. +Only the danger of it. Think, my lord, +If I had loved this man at the first sight: +We all have heard of such things. Think, again, +If I had loved him--as I then supposed +You wished me to--'twould have been very sad. +But no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure, +Nor will I loose it till you give the word. +I'm wiser than you thought me, you perceive. +But when we saw him, face to face, together, +Surely you might have told me then. + + GUIDO. Francesca, +My eyes are old--I did not clearly see--Faith, +it escaped my thoughts. Some other things +Came in my head. I was as ignorant +Of Count Paolo's coming as yourself. +The brothers are so like. + + FRANCESCA. Indeed? + + GUIDO. Yes, yes. +One is the other's counterpart, in fact; +And even now it may not be--O! shame! +I lie by habit. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Then there is a hope? +He may be Lanciotto, after all? +O! joy-- + + _Enter a_ SERVANT. + + SERVANT. The Count Paolo. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. Misery! +That name was not Lanciotto! + + GUIDO. Farewell, child. +I'll leave you with the Count: he'll make it plain. +It seems 'twas Count Paolo. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. Father! + + GUIDO. Well. + + FRANCESCA. You knew it from the first! [_Exit_ GUIDO.] + Let me begone: +I could not look him in the face again +With the old faith. Besides, 'twould anger him +To have a living witness of his fraud +Ever before him; and I could not trust-- +Strive as I might--my happiness to him, +As once I did. I could not lay my hand +Upon his shoulder, and look up to him, +Saying, Dear father, pilot me along +Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. +Saints, no! The gold that gave my life away +Might, even then, be rattling in his purse, +Warm from the buyer's hand. Look on me, Heaven! +Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes, +Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy, +With guardianship of a weak orphan girl, +Has fallen from grace, has paltered with his trust; +I have no mother to receive thy charge,-- +O! take it on thyself; and when I err, +Through mortal blindness, Heaven, be thou my guide! +Worse cannot fall me. Though my husband lack +A parent's tenderness, he yet may have +Faith, truth, and honour--the immortal bonds +That knit together honest hearts as one. +Let me away to Rimini. Alas! +It wrings my heart to have outlived the day +That I can leave my home with no regret! [_Weeps._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Pray, pardon me. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. You are quite welcome, Count +A foolish tear, a weakness, nothing more: +But present weeping clears our future sight. +They tell me you are love's commissioner, +A kind of broker in the trade of hearts: +Is it your usual business? or may I +Flatter myself, by claiming this essay +As your first effort? + + PAOLO. Lady, I believed +My post, at starting, one of weight and trust; +When I beheld you, I concluded it +A charge of honour and high dignity. +I did not think to hear you underrate +Your own importance, by dishonouring me. + + FRANCESCA. You are severe, my lord. + + PAOLO. No, not severe; +Say candid, rather. I am somewhat hurt +By my reception. If I feel the wound, +'Tis not because I suffer from the jest, +But that your lips should deal it. + + FRANCESCA. Compliments +Appear to be the staple of your speech. +You ravish one with courtesy, you pour +Fine words upon one, till the listening head +Is bowed with sweetness. Sir, your talk is drugged; +There's secret poppy in your sugared phrase: +I'll taste before I take it. + + PAOLO. Gentle lady-- + + FRANCESCA. I am not gentle, or I missed my aim. +I am no hawk to fly at every lure. +You courtly gentlemen draw one broad rule-- +All girls are fools. It may be so, in truth, +Yet so I'll not be treated. + + PAOLO. Have you been? +If I implied such slander by my words, +They wrong my purpose. If I compliment, +'Tis not from habit, but because I thought +Your face deserved my homage as its due. +When I have clearer insight, and you spread +Your inner nature o'er your lineaments, +Even that face may darken in the shades +Of my opinion. For mere loveliness +Needs inward light to keep it always bright. +All things look badly to unfriendly eyes. +I spoke my first impression; cooler thought +May work strange changes. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, Sir Count, at length +There's matter in your words. + + PAOLO. Unpleasant stuff, +To judge by your dark brows. I have essayed +Kindness and coldness, yet you are not pleased. + + FRANCESCA. How can I be? + + PAOLO. How, lady? + + FRANCESCA. Ay, sir, how? +Your brother--my good lord that is to be-- +Stings me with his neglect; and in the place +He should have filled, he sends a go-between, +A common carrier of others' love; +How can the sender, or the person sent, +Please overmuch? Now, were I such as you, +I'd be too proud to travel round the land +With other people's feelings in my heart; +Even to fill the void which you confess +By such employment. + + PAOLO. Lady, 'tis your wish +To nettle me, to break my breeding down, +And see what natural passions I have hidden +Behind the outworks of my etiquette. +I neither own nor feel the want of heart +With which you charge me. You are more than cruel; +You rouse my nerves until they ache with life, +And then pour fire upon them. For myself +I would not speak, unless you had compelled. +My task is odious to me. Since I came, +Heaven bear me witness how my traitor heart +Has fought against my duty; and how oft +I wished myself in Lanciotto's place. +Or him in mine. + + FRANCESCA. You riddle. + + PAOLO. Do I? Well, +Let it remain unguessed. + + FRANCESCA. You wished yourself +At Rimini, or Lanciotto here? +You may have reasons. + + PAOLO. Well interpreted! +The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands! + + FRANCESCA. It has become your turn to sneer. + + PAOLO. But I +Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you +Jest in the wanton ease of happiness. +Stop! there is peril in our talk. + + FRANCESCA. As how? + + PAOLO. 'Tis dangerous to talk about one's self; +It panders selfishness. My duty waits. + + FRANCESCA. My future lord's affairs? I quite forgot +Count Lanciotto. + + PAOLO. I, too, shame upon me. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Does he resemble you? + + PAOLO. Pray drop me, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Nay, answer me. + + PAOLO. Somewhat--in feature. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! +Is he so fair? + + PAOLO. No, darker. He was tanned +In long campaigns, and battles hotly fought, +While I lounged idly with the troubadours, +Under the shadow of his watchful sword. + + FRANCESCA. In person? + + PAOLO. He is shorter, I believe, +But broader, stronger, more compactly knit. + + FRANCESCA. What of his mind? + + PAOLO. Ah, now you strike the key! +A mind just fitted to his history, +An equal balance 'twixt desert and fame. +No future chronicler shall say of him, +His fame outran his merit; or his merit +Halted behind some adverse circumstance, +And never won the glory it deserved. +My love might weary you, if I rehearsed +The simple beauty of his character; +His grandeur and his gentleness of heart, +His warlike fire and peaceful love, his faith, +His courtesy, his truth. I'll not deny +Some human weakness, to attract our love, +Harbours in him, as in the rest of us. +Sometimes against our city's enemies +He thunders in the distance, and devotes +Their homes to ruin. When the brand has fallen, +He ever follows with a healing rain, +And in his pity shoulders by revenge. +A thorough soldier, lady. He grasps crowns, +While I pick at the laurel. + + FRANCESCA. Stay, my lord! +I asked your brother's value, with no wish +To hear you underrate yourself. Your worth +May rise in passing through another's lips. +Lanciotto is perfection, then? + + PAOLO. To me: +Others may think my brother over-nice +Upon the point of honour; over-keen +To take offence where no offence is meant; +A thought too prodigal of human life, +Holding it naught when weighed against a wrong; +Suspicious of the motives of his friends; +Distrustful of his own high excellence; +And with a certain gloom of temperament, +When thus disturbed, that makes him terrible +And rash in action. I have heard of this; +I never felt it. I distress you, lady? +Perhaps I throw these points too much in shade, +By catching at an enemy's report. +But, then, Lanciotto said, "You'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am." +He loathes deceit. + + FRANCESCA. That's noble! Have you done? +I have observed a strange reserve, at times, +An over-carefulness in choosing words, +Both in my father and his nearest friends, +When speaking of your brother; as if they +Picked their way slowly over rocky ground, +Fearing to stumble. Ritta, too, my maid, +When her tongue rattles on in full career, +Stops at your brother's name, and with a sigh +Settles herself to dismal silence. Count, +These things have troubled me. From you I look +For perfect frankness. Is there naught withheld? + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O base temptation! What if I betray +His crippled person--imitate his limp-- +Laugh at his hip, his back, his sullen moods +Of childish superstition?--tread his heart +Under my feet, to climb into his place?--Use +his own warrant 'gainst himself; and say, +Because I loved her, and misjudged your jest, +Therefore I stole her? Why, a common thief +Would hang for just such thinking! Ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +I reckon on her love, as if I held +The counsels of her bosom. No, I swear, +Francesca would despise so mean a deed. +Have I no honour either? Are my thoughts +All bound by her opinions? + + FRANCESCA. This is strange! +Is Lanciotto's name a spell to all? +I ask a simple question, and straight you +Start to one side, and mutter to yourself, +And laugh, and groan, and play the lunatic, +In such a style that you astound me more +Than all the others. It appears to me +I have been singled as a common dupe +By every one. What mystery is this +Surrounds Count Lanciotto? If there be +A single creature in the universe +Who has a right to know him as he is, +I am that one. + + PAOLO. I grant it. You shall see, +And shape your judgment by your own remark. +All that my honour calls for I have said. + + FRANCESCA. I am content. Unless I greatly err, +Heaven made your breast the seat of honest thoughts. +You know, my lord, that, once at Rimini, +There can be no retreat for me. By you, +Here at Ravenna, in your brother's name, +I shall be solemnly betrothed. And now +I thus extend my maiden hand to you; +If you are conscious of no secret guilt, +Take it. + + PAOLO. I do. [_Takes her hand._ + + FRANCESCA. You tremble! + + PAOLO. With the hand, +Not with the obligation. + + FRANCESCA. Farewell, Count! +'Twere cruel to tax your stock of compliments, +That waste their sweets upon a trammelled heart; +Go fly your fancies at some freer game. [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. O, Heaven, if I have faltered and am weak, +Tis from my nature! Fancies, more accursed +Than haunt a murderer's bedside, throng my brain-- +Temptations, such as mortal never bore +Since Satan whispered in the ear of Eve, +Sing in my ear--and all, all are accursed! +At heart I have betrayed my brother's trust, +Francesca's openly. Turn where I will, +As if enclosed within a mirrored hall, +I see a traitor. Now to stand erect, +Firm on my base of manly constancy; +Or, if I stagger, let me never quit +The homely path of duty, for the ways +That bloom and glitter with seductive sin! [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. A Room in the Castle._ LANCIOTTO _discovered +reading._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! fie, philosophy! This Seneca +Revels in wealth, and whines about the poor! +Talks of starvation while his banquet waits, +And fancies that a two hours' appetite +Throws light on famine! Doubtless he can tell, +As he skips nimbly through his dancing-girls, +How sad it is to limp about the world +A sightless cripple! Let him feel the crutch +Wearing against his heart, and then I'd hear +This sage talk glibly; or provide a pad, +Stuffed with his soft philosophy, to ease +His aching shoulder. Pshaw! he never felt, +Or pain would choke his frothy utterance. +'Tis easy for the doctor to compound +His nauseous simples for a sick man's health; +But let him swallow them, for his disease, +Without wry faces. Ah! the tug is there. +Show me philosophy in rags, in want, +Sick of a fever, with a back like mine, +Creeping to wisdom on these legs, and I +Will drink its comforts. Out! away with you! +There's no such thing as real philosophy! + [_Throws down the book._] + + [_Enter_ PEPE.] + +Here is a sage who'll teach a courtier +The laws of etiquette, a statesman rule, +A soldier discipline, a poet verse, +And each mechanic his distinctive trade; +Yet bring him to his motley, and how wide +He shoots from reason! We can understand +All business but our own, and thrust advice +In every gaping cranny of the world; +While habit shapes us to our own dull work, +And reason nods above his proper task. +Just so philosophy would rectify +All things abroad, and be a jade at home. +Pepe, what think you of the Emperor's aim +Towards Hungary? + + PEPE. A most unwise design; +For mark, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! the fact cries out. +Here's motley thinking for a diadem!-- +Ay, and more wisely in his own regard. + + PEPE. You flout me, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Have you aught that's new?-- +Some witty trifle, some absurd conceit? + + PEPE. Troth, no. + + LANCIOTTO. Why not give up the Emperor, +And bend your wisdom on your duties, Pepe? + + PEPE. Because the Emperor has more need of wisdom +Than the most barren fool of wit. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! +Mere habit brings the fool back to his art. +This jester is a rare philosopher. +Teach me philosophy, good fool. + + PEPE. No need. +You'll get a teacher when you take a wife. +If she do not instruct you in more arts +Than Aristotle ever thought upon, +The good old race of woman has declined +Into a sort of male stupidity. +I had a sweetheart once, she lectured grandly; +No matter on what subject she might hit, +T was all the same, she could talk and she would. +She had no silly modesty; she dashed +Straight in the teeth of any argument, +And talked you deaf, dumb, blind. Whatever struck +Upon her ear, by some machinery, +Set her tongue wagging. Thank the Lord, she died!-- +Dropped in the middle of a fierce harangue, +Like a spent horse. It was an even thing, +Whether she talked herself or me to death. +The latest sign of life was in her tongue; +It wagged till sundown, like a serpent's tail, +Long after all the rest of her was cold. +Alas! poor Zippa! + + LANCIOTTO. Were you married, fool? + + PEPE. Married! Have I the scars upon me? No; +I fell in love; and that was bad enough, +And far enough for a mere fool to go. +Married! why, marriage is love's purgatory, +Without a heaven beyond. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, atheist! +Would you abolish marriage? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Depopulate the world? + + PEPE. No fear of that. +I'd have no families, no Malatesti, +Strutting about the land, with pedigrees +And claims bequeathed them by their ancestors; +No fellows vapouring of their royal blood; +No one to seize a whole inheritance, +And rob the other children of the earth. +By Jove! you should not know your fathers, even! +I'd have you spring, like toadstools, from the soil-- +Mere sons of women--nothing more nor less-- +All base-born, and all equal. There, my lord, +There is a simple commonwealth for you! +In which aspiring merit takes the lead, +And birth goes begging. + + LANCIOTTO. It is so, in truth; +And by the simplest means I ever heard. + + PEPE. Think of it, cousin. Tell it to your friends, +The statesmen, soldiers, and philosophers; +Noise it about the earth, and let it stir +The sluggish spirits of the multitudes. +Pursue the thought, scan it, from end to end, +Through all its latent possibilities. +It is a great seed dropped, I promise you, +And it must sprout. Thought never wholly dies; +It only wants a name--a hard Greek name-- +Some few apostles, who may live on it-- +crowd of listeners, with the average dulness +That man possesses--and we organize; +Spread our new doctrine, like a general plague; +Talk of man's progress and development, +Wrongs of society, the march of mind, +The Devil, Doctor Faustus, and what not; +And, lo! this pretty world turns upside down, +All with a fool's idea! + + LANCIOTTO. By Jupiter, +You hit our modern teachers to a hair! +I knew this fool was a philosopher. +Pepe is right. Mechanic means advance; +Nature bows down to Science' haughty tread, +And turns the wheel of smutty artifice: +New governments arise, dilate, decay, +And foster creeds and churches to their tastes: +At each advance, we cry, "Behold, the end!" +Till some fresh wonder breaks upon the age. +But man, the moral creature, midst it all +Stands still unchanged; nor moves towards virtue more, +Nor comprehends the mysteries in himself, +More than when Plato taught academies, +Or Zeno thundered from his Attic porch. + + PEPE. I know not that; I only want my scheme +Tried for a while. I am a politician, +A wrongs-of-man man. Hang philosophy! +Let metaphysics swallow, at a gulp, +Its last two syllables, and purge itself +Clean of its filthy humours! I am one +Ready for martyrdom, for stake and fire, +If I can make my great idea take root! +Zounds! cousin, if I had an audience, +I'd make you shudder at my eloquence! +I have an itching to reform the world. + + LANCIOTTO. Begin at home, then. + + PEPE. Home is not my sphere; +Heaven picked me out to teach my fellow-men. +I am a very firebrand of truth-- +A self-consuming, doomed, devoted brand-- +That burns to ashes while I light the world! +I feel it in me. I am moved, inspired, +Stirred into utterance, by some mystic power +Of which I am the humble instrument. + + LANCIOTTO. A bad digestion, sage, a bilious turn, +A gnawing stomach, or a pinching shoe. + + PEPE. O! hear, but spare the scoffer! Spare the wretch +Who sneers at the anointed man of truth! +When we reached that, I and my followers +Would rend you limb from limb. There!--ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +Have I not caught the slang these fellows preach; +A grand, original idea, to back it; +And all the stock in trade of a reformer? + + LANCIOTTO. You have indeed; nor do I wonder, Pepe. +Fool as you are, I promise you success +In your new calling, if you'll set it up. +The thing is far too simple. + + _Trumpet sounds within._ + + PEPE. Hist! my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. That calls me to myself. + + PEPE. At that alarm, +All Rimini leaped up upon its feet. +Cousin, your bridal-train. You groan! 'Ods wounds! +Here is the bridegroom sorely malcontent-- +The sole sad face in Rimini. Since morn, +A quiet man could hardly walk the streets, +For flowers and streamers. All the town is gay. +Perhaps 'tis merry o'er your misery. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps; but that it knows not. + + PEPE. Yes, it does: +It knows that when a man's about to wed, +He's ripe to laugh at. Cousin, tell me, now, +Why is Paolo on the way so long? +Ravenna's but eight leagues from Rimini-- + + LANCIOTTO. That's just the measure of your tongue, good fool. +You trouble me. I've had enough of you-- +Begone! + + PEPE. I'm going; but you see I limp. +Have pity on a cripple, gentle Count. [_Limps._ + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe! + + PEPE. A miracle, a miracle! +See, see, my lord, at Pepe's saintly name +The lame jog on. + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] Come, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! +My father calls. + + PEPE. If he were mine, I'd go-- +That's a good boy! [_Pats_ LANCIOTTO'S _back._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Starting._] Hands off! you'll rue it else! [_Exit._ + + PEPE. [Laughing.] Ha! ha! I laid my hand upon his hump! +Heavens, how he squirmed! And what a wish I had +To cry, Ho! camel! leap upon his back, +And ride him to the devil! So, we've had +A pleasant flitting round philosophy! +The Count and Fool bumped heads, and struck ideas +Out by the contact! Quite a pleasant talk-- +A friendly conversation, nothing more-- +'Twixt nobleman and jester. Ho! my bird, +I can toss lures as high as any man. +So, I amuse you with my harmless wit? +Pepe's your friend now--you can trust in him-- +An honest, simple fool! Just try it once, +You ugly, misbegotten clod of dirt! +Ay, but the hump--the touch upon the hump-- +The start and wriggle--that was rare! Ha! ha! + + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. The Grand Square before the Castle. SOLDIERS on guard, with +banners, etc._ CITIZENS, _in holiday dresses, cross the scene. +The houses are hung with trophies, banners, garlands, etc. Enter_ +MALATESTA, _with_ GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + MALATESTA. Captain, take care the streets be not choked up +By the rude rabble. Send to Cæsar's bridge +A strong detachment of your men, and clear +The way before them. See that nothing check +The bride's first entrance into Rimini. +Station your veterans in the front. Count Guido +Comes with his daughter, and his eyes are sharp. +Keep up a show of strength before him, sir; +And set some labourers to work upon +The broken bastion. Make all things look bright; +As if we stood in eager readiness, +And high condition, to begin a war. + + CAPTAIN. I will, my lord. + + MALATESTA. Keep Guido in your eye; +And if you see him looking over-long +On any weakness of our walls, just file +Your bulkiest fellows round him; or get up +A scuffle with the people; anything-- +Even if you break a head or two--to draw +His vision off. But where our strength is great, +Take heed to make him see it. You conceive? + + CAPTAIN. Trust me, my lord. [_Exit with_ GUARDS. + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Room, room! A hall; a hall! +I pray you, good man, has the funeral passed? + + MALATESTA. Who is it asks? + + PEPE. Pepe of Padua, +A learned doctor of uncivil law. + + MALATESTA. But how a funeral? + + PEPE. You are weak of wit. +Francesca of Ravenna's borne to church, +And never issues thence. + + MALATESTA. How, doctor, pray? + + PEPE. Now, for a citizen of Rimini, +You're sadly dull. Does she not issue thence +Fanny of Rimini? A glorious change,-- +kind of resurrection in the flesh! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! thou cunning villain! I was caught. +I own it, doctor. + + PEPE. [_Aside._] This old fool would laugh +To see me break a straw, because the bits +Were of unequal lengths. My character +Carries more dulness, in the guise of wit, +Than would suffice to break an ass's back. + + [_Distant shouts, music, &c._] + +Hark! here comes Jeptha's daughter, jogging on +With timbrels and with dances. + + MALATESTA. Jeptha's daughter! +How so? + + PEPE. Her father's sacrifice. + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ho! ho! +You'll burst my belt! O! you outrageous wretch, +To jest at Scripture! + + PEPE. You outlandish heathen, +Tis not in Scripture! + + MALATESTA. Is it not? + + PEPE. No more +Than you are in heaven. Mere Hebrew history. +She went up to the mountains, to bewail +The too-long keeping of her honesty. +There's woman for you! there's a character! +What man would ever think of such a thing? +Ah! we of Rimini have little cause +For such a sorrow. Would she'd been my wife! +I'll marry any woman in her case. + + MALATESTA. Why, Pepe? + + PEPE. Why? because, in two months' time, +Along comes father Jeptha with his knife, +And there's an end. Where is your sacrifice? +Where's Isaac, Abraham? Build your altar up: +One pile will do for both. + + MALATESTA. That's Scripture, sure. + + PEPE. Then I'm a ram, and you may slaughter me +In Isaac's stead. + + MALATESTA. Here comes the vanguard. Where, +Where is that laggard? + + PEPE. At the mirror, uncle, +Making himself look beautiful. He comes, + [_Looking out._] +Fresh as a bridegroom! Mark his doublet's fit +Across the shoulders, and his hose!-- +By Jove, he nearly looks like any other man! + + MALATESTA. You'd best not let him hear you. Sirrah, knave, +I have a mind to swinge you! [_Seizes his ear._ + + PEPE. Loose my ear! +You've got the wrong sow, swineherd! You're unjust. +Being his father, I was fool sufficient +To think you fashioned him to suit yourself, +By way of a variety. The thought +Was good enough, the practice damnable. + + MALATESTA. Hush! or I'll clap you in the pillory. + + _Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + PEPE. [_Sings._] Ho, ho, ho, ho!--old Time has wings-- +We're born, we mourn, we wed, we bed, +We have a devilish aching head; + So down we lie, + And die, and fry; +And there's a merry end of things! + + [_Music, &c., within._] + +Here come Ravenna's eagles for a roost +In Rimini! The air is black with them. +When go they hence? Wherever yon bird builds, +The nest remains for ages. Have an eye, +Or Malatesta's elephant may feel +The eagle's talons. + + LANCIOTTO. You're a raven, croaker. + + PEPE. And you no white crow, to insure us luck. + + MALATESTA. There's matter in his croak. + + PEPE. There always is; +But men lack ears. + + MALATESTA. Then eyes must do our work. +Old Guido shall be looked to. If his force +Appear too great, I'll camp him out of town. + + LANCIOTTO. Father, you are a sorry host. + + MALATESTA. Well, well, +I'm a good landlord, though. I do not like +This flight of eagles more than Pepe. 'Sdeath! +Guido was ever treacherous. + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +You mar my holiday by such a thought. +My holiday! Dear saints! it seems to me +That all of you are mocking me. + + PEPE. So--so-- +Guido was ever treacherous?--so--so! + + MALATESTA. So--so! How so? + + PEPE. What if this treachery +Run in the blood? We'll tap a vein then--so! + + MALATESTA. Sew up your mouth, and mind your fooling fool! + + PEPE. Am I not fooling? Why, my lord, I thought +The fooling exquisite. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Aside._] This thoughtless knave +Hits near us sometimes with his random shafts. +Marriage for me! I cannot comprehend, +I cannot take it to my heart; the thing +Seems gross, absurd, ridiculous. Ah! well, +My father bears the folly of it all; +I'm but an actor in his comedy. +My part is bad, but I must through with it. + [_Retires._ + + _Shouts, music, &c., within._ + + PEPE. Look! here's the whole parade! Mark yonder knave-- +The head one with the standard. Nature, nature! +Hadst thou a hand in such a botch-work? Why, +A forest of his legs would scarcely make +A bunch of fagots. Mark old Guido, too! +He looks like Judas with his silver. Ho! +Here's news from sweet Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! + + PEPE. Ah! now the bride!--that's something--she is tooth-some. +Look you, my lord--now, while the progress halts-- +Cousin Paolo, has he got the dumps? +Mercy! to see him, one might almost think +'T was his own marriage. What a doleful face! +The boy is ill. He caught a fever, uncle, +Travelling across the marshes. Physic! physic! +If he be really dying, get a doctor, +And cut the matter short. 'Twere merciful. + + MALATESTA. For heaven's sake, cease your clamour! I shall have +No face to meet them else. 'Tis strange, for all: +What ails Paolo? + + PEPE. Dying, by this hand! + + MALATESTA. Then I will hang you. + + PEPE. Don't take up my craft. +Wit's such a stranger in your brain that I +Scarce knew my lodger venturing from your mouth. +Now they come on again. + + MALATESTA. Stand back! + + PEPE. [_Looking round._] The bridegroom? +He flies betimes, before the bride shows fight. + [_Walks back, looking for_ LANCIOTTO. + +_Music, shouts, ringing of bells, &c. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with +banners, &c_., GUIDO, CARDINAL, KNIGHTS, ATTENDANTS, &_c.; then_ +PAOLO, _conducting _FRANCESCA, _followed by _RITTA, LADIES, PAGES, +_&c., and other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They file around the stage, and halt._ + + MALATESTA. Welcome, to Rimini, Count Guido! Welcome, +And fair impressions of our poor abode, +To you, my daughter! You are well returned, +My son, Paolo! Let me bless you, son. + + [PAOLO _approaches._] +How many spears are in old Guido's train? + + [_Apart to_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Some ten-score. + + MALATESTA. Footmen? + + PAOLO. Double that. + + MALATESTA. 'Tis well. +Again I bid you welcome! Make no show +Of useless ceremony with us. Friends +Have closer titles than the empty name. +We have provided entertainment, Count, +For all your followers, in the midst of us. +We trust the veterans of Rimini +May prove your soldiers that our courtesy +Does not lag far behind their warlike zeal. +Let us drop Guelf and Ghibelin henceforth, +Coupling the names of Rimini and Ravenna +As bridegroom's to his bride's. + + GUIDO. Count Malatesta, +I am no rhetorician, or my words +Might keep more even with the love I feel: +Simply, I thank you. With an honest hand +I take the hand which you extend to me, +And hope our grasp may never lose its warmth.-- +You marked the bastion by the water-side? +Weak as a bulrush. [_Apart to a_ KNIGHT. + + KNIGHT. Tottering weak, my lord. + + GUIDO. Remember it; and when you're private, sir, +Draw me a plan. + + KNIGHT. I will, my lord. + + GUIDO. How's this? +I do not see my future son-in-law. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing._] I am here, my lord. + + FRANCESCA. [_Starting._] O! heaven! +Is that my husband, Count Paolo? You, +You then, among the rest, have played me false! +He is--[_Apart to _PAOLO. + + PAOLO My brother. + + LANCIOTTO [_Aside._] Ha! she turns from me. + + PEPE. [_Approaching _LANCIOTTO, _sings._] + + Around, around the lady turned, + She turned not to her lord; + She turned around to a gallant, gallant knight, + Who ate at his father's board. + +A pretty ballad! all on one string though. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, go hence! [PEPE _retires._] + [_Aside._] I saw her start and pale, +Turn off with horror; as if she had seen-- +What?--simply me. For, am I not enough, +And something over, to make ladies quail, +Start, hide their faces, whisper to their friends, +Point at me--dare she?--and perform such tricks +As women will when monsters blast their sight? +O! saints above me, have I come so low? +Yon damsel of Ravenna shall bewail +That start and shudder. I am mad, mad, mad! +I must be patient. They have trifled with her: +Lied to her, lied! There's half the misery +Of this broad earth, all crowded in one word. +Lied, lied!--Who has not suffered from a lie? +They're all aghast--all looking at me too. +Francesca's whiter than the brow of fear: +Paolo talks.--Brother, is that well meant? +What if I draw my sword, and fight my way +Out of this cursed town? 'Twould be relief. +Has shame no hiding-place? I've touched the depth +Of human infamy, and there I rest. +By heaven, I'll brave this business out! Shall they +Say at Ravenna that Count Lanciotto, +Who's driven their shivering squadrons to their homes, +Haggard with terror, turned before their eyes +And slunk away? They'll look me from the field, +When we encounter next. Why should not I +Strut with my shapeless body, as old Guido +Struts with his shapeless heart? I'll do it! [_Offers, but shrinks back._] 'Sdeath! +Am I so false as to forswear myself? +Lady Francesca! [_Approaches_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Sir--my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Dear lady, +I have a share in your embarrassment, +And know the feelings that possess you now. + + FRANCESCA. O! you do not. + + PAOLO. [_Advancing._] My lady-- + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle brother, +Leave this to me. [PAOLO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Pray do not send him off. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis fitter so. + + FRANCESCA. He comforts me. + + LANCIOTTO Indeed? +Do you need comfort? + + FRANCESCA. No, no--pardon me! +But then--he is--you are-- + + LANCIOTTO. Take breath, and speak. + + FRANCESCA. I am confused, 'tis true. But, then, my lord, +You are a stranger to me; and Paolo +I've known so long! + + LANCIOTTO. Since yesterday. + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well: +But the relationship between us two +Is of so close a nature, while the knowledge, +That each may have of each, so slender is +That the two jar. Besides, Paolo is +Nothing to me, while you are everything. +Can I not act? [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. I scarcely understand. +You say your knowledge of me, till to-day, +Was incomplete. Has naught been said of me +By Count Paolo or your father? + + FRANCESCA. Yes; +But nothing definite. + + LANCIOTTO. Perchance, no hint +As to my ways, my feelings, manners, or-- +Or--or--as I was saying--ha! ha!--or-- + [_Laughing._] +As to my person? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, as to that. + + LANCIOTTO. To what? + + FRANCESCA. Your--person. + + LANCIOTTO. That's the least of all. [_Turns aside._] +Now, had I Guido of Ravenna's head +Under this heel, I'd grind it into dust! +False villain, to betray his simple child! +And thou, Paolo--not a whit behind-- +Helping his craft with inconsiderate love!-- +Lady Francesca, when my brother left, +I charged him, as he loved me, to conceal +Nothing from you that bore on me: and now +That you have seen me, and conversed with me, +If you object to anything in me,-- +Go, I release you. + + FRANCESCA. But Ravenna's peace? + + LANCIOTTO. Shall not be perilled. + + GUIDO. [_Coming behind, whispers her._] Trust him not, my child; +I know his ways; he'd rather fight than wed. +Tis but a wish to have the war afoot. +Stand firm for poor Ravenna! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, my lady, +Shall we conclude a lasting peace between us +By truce or marriage rites? + + GUIDO. [_Whispers her._] The devil tempts thee: +Think of Ravenna, think of me! + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +I see my father waits you. + [GUIDO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Gentle sir, +You do me little honour in the choice. + + LANCIOTTO. My aim is justice. + + FRANCESCA. Would you cast me off? + + LANCIOTTO. Not for the world, if honestly obtained; +Not for the world would I obtain you falsely. + + FRANCESCA. The rites were half concluded ere we met. + + LANCIOTTO. Meeting, would you withdraw? + + FRANCESCA. No. Bitter word! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. No! Are you dealing fairly? + + FRANCESCA. I have said. + + LANCIOTTO. O! rapture, rapture! Can it be that I-- +Now I'll speak plainly; for a choice like thine +Implies such love as woman never felt. +Love me! Then monsters beget miracles, +And Heaven provides where human means fall short. +Lady, I'll worship thee! I'll line thy path +With suppliant kings! Thy waiting-maids shall be +Unransomed princesses! Mankind shall bow +One neck to thee, as Persia's multitudes +Before the rising sun! From this small town, +This centre of my conquests, I will spread +An empire touching the extremes of earth! +I'll raise once more the name of ancient Rome; +And what she swayed she shall reclaim again! +If I grow mad because you smile on me, +Think of the glory of thy love; and know +How hard it is, for such a one as I, +To gaze unshaken on divinity! +There's no such love as mine alive in man. +From every corner of the frowning earth, +It has been crowded back into my heart. +Now, take it all! If that be not enough, +Ask, and thy wish shall be omnipotent! +Your hand. [_Takes her hand._] It wavers. + + FRANCESCA. So does not my heart. + + LANCIOTTO. Bravo! Thou art every way a soldier's wife; +Thou shouldst have been a Caesar's! Father, hark! +I blamed your judgment, only to perceive +The weakness of my own. + + MALATESTA. What means all this? + + LANCIOTTO. It means that this fair lady--though I gave +Release to her, and to Ravenna--placed +The liberal hand, which I restored to her, +Back in my own, of her own free good-will. +Is it not wonderful? + + MALATESTA. How so? + + LANCIOTTO. How so! + + PAOLO. Alas! 'tis as I feared! [ _Aside._ + + MALATESTA. You're humble?--How? + + LANCIOTTO. Now shall I cry aloud to all the world, +Make my deformity my pride, and say, +Because she loves me, I may boast of it? [_Aside._] +No matter, father, I am happy; you, +As the blessed cause, shall share my happiness. +Let us be moving. Revels, dashed with wine, +Shall multiply the joys of this sweet day! +There's not a blessing in the cup of life +I have not tasted of within an hour! + + FRANCESCA. [_Aside._] Thus I begin the practice of deceit, +Taught by deceivers, at a fearful cost. +The bankrupt gambler has become the cheat, +And lives by arts that erewhile ruined me. +Where it will end, Heaven knows; but I-- +I have betrayed the noblest heart of all! + + LANCIOTTO. Draw down thy dusky vapours, sullen night-- +Refuse, ye stars, to shine upon the world-- +Let everlasting blackness wrap the sun, +And whisper terror to the universe! +We need ye not! we'll blind ye, if ye dare +Peer with lack-lustre on our revelry! +I have at heart a passion, that would make +All nature blaze with recreated light! [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. _The Same. An Apartment in the Castle. Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be that I have duped myself, +That my desire has played into the hand +Of my belief; yet such a thing might be. +We palm more frauds upon our simple selves +Than knavery puts upon us. Could I trust +The open candour of an angel's brow, +I must believe Francesca's. But the tongue +Should consummate the proof upon the brow, +And give the truth its word. The fault lies there. +I've tried her. Press her as I may to it, +She will not utter those three little words-- +"I love thee." She will say, "I'll marry you;-- +I'll be your duteous wife;--I'll cheer your days;-- +I'll do whate'er I can." But at the point +Of present love, she ever shifts the ground, +Winds round the word, laughs, calls me "Infidel!-- +How can I doubt?" So, on and on. But yet, +For all her dainty ways, she never says, +Frankly, I love thee. I am jealous--true! +Suspicious--true! distrustful of myself;-- +She knows all that. Ay, and she likewise knows, +A single waking of her morning breath +Would blow these vapours off. I would not take +The barren offer of a heartless hand, +If all the Indies cowered under it. +Perhaps she loves another? No; she said, +"I love you, Count, as well as any man;" +And laughed, as if she thought that precious wit. +I turn her nonsense into argument, +And think I reason. Shall I give her up? +Rail at her heartlessness, and bid her go +Back to Ravenna? But she clings to me, +At the least hint of parting. Ah! 'tis sweet, +Sweeter than slumber to the lids of pain, +To fancy that a shadow of true love +May fall on this God-stricken mould of woe, +From so serene a nature. Beautiful +Is the first vision of a desert brook, +Shining beneath its palmy garniture, +To one who travels on his easy way; +What is it to the blood-shot, aching eye +Of some poor wight who crawls with gory feet, +In famished madness, to its very brink; +And throws his sun-scorched limbs upon the cool +And humid margin of its shady strand, +To suck up life at every eager gasp? +Such seems Francesca to my thirsting soul; +Shall I turn off and die? + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Good-morning, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. Good-morning to your foolish majesty! + + PEPE. The same to your majestic foolery! + + LANCIOTTO. You compliment! + + PEPE. I am a troubadour, +A ballad-monger of fine mongrel ballads, +And therefore running o'er with elegance. +Wilt hear my verse? + + LANCIOTTO. With patience? + + PEPE. No, with rapture. +You must go mad--weep, rend your clothes, and roll +Over and over, like the ancient Greeks, +When listening to Iliad. + + LANCIOTTO. Sing, then, sing! +And if you equal Homer in your song, +Why, roll I must, by sheer compulsion. + + PEPE. Nay, +You lack the temper of the fine-eared Greek. +You will not roll; but that shall not disgrace +My gallant ballad, fallen on evil times. [_Sings._] + + My father had a blue-black head, + My uncle's head was reddish--maybe, + My mother's hair was noways red, + Sing high ho! the pretty baby! + +Mark the simplicity of that! 'Tis called +"The Babe's Confession," spoken just before +His father strangled him. + + LANCIOTTO. Most marvellous! +You struggle with a legend worth your art. + + PEPE. Now to the second stanza. Note the hint +I drop about the baby's parentage: +So delicately too! A maid might sing, +And never blush at it. Girls love these songs +Of sugared wickedness. They'll go miles about, +To say a foul thing in a cleanly way. +A decent immorality, my lord, +Is art's specific. Get the passions up, +But never wring the stomach. + + LANCIOTTO. Triumphant art! + + + + PEPE. [_Sings._] + + My father combed his blue-black head, + My uncle combed his red head--maybe, + My mother combed my head, and said, + Sing high ho! my red-haired baby. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, fie! go comb your hair in private. + + PEPE. What! +Will you not hear? Now comes the tragedy. [_Sings._] + + My father tore my red, red head, + My uncle tore my father's--maybe, + My mother tore both till they bled-- + Sing high ho! your brother's baby! + + LANCIOTTO. Why, what a hair-rending! + + PEPE. Thence wigs arose; +A striking epoch in man's history. +But did you notice the concluding line, +Sung by the victim's mother? There's a hit! + + "Sing high ho! your brother's baby!" + +Which brother's, pray you? That's the mystery, +The adumbration of poetic art, +And there I leave it to perplex mankind. +It has a moral, fathers should regard,-- +A black-haired dog breeds not a red-haired cur. +Treasure this knowledge: you're about to wive; +And no one knows what accident-- + + LANCIOTTO. Peace, fool! +So all this cunning thing was wound about, +To cast a jibe at my deformity? [_Tears off_ PEPE'S _cap._] +There lies your cap, the emblem that protects +Your head from chastisement. Now, Pepe, hark! +Of late you've taken to reviling me; +Under your motley, you have dared to jest +At God's inflictions. Let me tell you, fool, +No man e'er lived, to make a second jest +At me, before your time! + + PEPE. Boo! bloody-bones! +If you're a coward--which I hardly think-- +You'll have me flogged, or put into a cell, +Or fed to wolves. If you are bold of heart, +You'll let me run. Do not; I'll work you harm! +I, Beppo Pepe, standing as a man, +Without my motley, tell you, in plain terms, +I'll work you harm--I'll do you mischief, man! + + LANCIOTTO. I, Lanciotto, Count of Rimini, +Will hang you, then. Put on your jingling cap; +You please my father. But remember, fool, +No jests at me! + + PEPE. I will try earnest next. + + LANCIOTTO. And I the gallows. + + PEPE. Well, cry quits, cry quits! +I'll stretch your heart, and you my neck--quits, quits! + + LANCIOTTO. Go, fool! Your weakness bounds your malice. + + PEPE. Yes: +So you all think, you savage gentlemen, +Until you feel my sting. Hang, hang away! +It is an airy, wholesome sort of death, +Much to my liking. When I hang, my friend, +You'll be chief mourner, I can promise you. +Hang me! I've quite a notion to be hung: +I'll do my utmost to deserve it. Hang! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. I am bemocked on all sides. My sad state +Has given the licensed and unlicensed fool +Charter to challenge me at every turn. +The jester's laughing bauble blunts my sword, +His gibes cut deeper than its fearful edge; +And I, a man, a soldier, and a prince, +Before this motley patchwork of a man, +Stand all appalled, as if he were a glass +Wherein I saw my own deformity. +O Heaven! a tear--one little tear--to wash +This aching dryness of the heart away! + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. What ails the fool? He passed me, muttering +The strangest garbage in the fiercest tone. +"Ha! ha!" cried he, "they made a fool of me-- +motley man, a slave; as if I felt +No stir in me of manly dignity! +Ha! ha! a fool--a painted plaything, toy-- +For men to kick about this dirty world!-- +My world as well as theirs.--God's world, I trow! +I will get even with them yet--ha! ha! +In the democracy of death we'll square. +I'll crawl and lie beside a king's own son; +Kiss a young princess, dead lip to dead lip; +Pull the Pope's nose; and kick down Charlemagne, +Throne, crown, and all, where the old idiot sprawls, +Safe as he thinks, rotting in royal state!" +And then he laughed and gibbered, as if drunk +With some infernal ecstasy. + + LANCIOTTO. Poor fool! +That is the groundwork of his malice, then,-- +His conscious difference from the rest of men? +I, of all men, should pity him the most. +Poor Pepe! I'll be kinder. I have wronged +A feeling heart. Poor Pepe! + + PAOLO. Sad again! +Where has the rapture gone of yesterday? + + LANCIOTTO. Where are the leaves of Summer? Where the snows +Of last year's Winter? Where the joys and griefs +That shut our eyes to yesternight's repose, +And woke not on the morrow? Joys and griefs, +Huntsmen and hounds, ye follow us as game, +Poor panting outcasts of your forest-law! +Each cheers the others,--one with wild halloos, +And one with whines and howls.--A dreadful chase, +That only closes when horns sound _à mort!_ + + PAOLO. Thus ever up and down! Arouse yourself, +Balance your mind more evenly, and hunt +For honey in the wormwood. + + LANCIOTTO. Or find gall +Hid in the hanging chalice of the rose: +Which think you better? If my mood offend, +We'll turn to business,--to the empty cares +That make such pother in our feverish life. +When at Ravenna, did you ever hear +Of any romance in Francesca's life? +A love-tilt, gallantry, or anything +That might have touched her heart? + + PAOLO. Not lightly even. +I think her heart as virgin as her hand. + + LANCIOTTO. Then there is hope. + + PAOLO. Of what? + + LANCIOTTO. Of winning her. + + PAOLO. Grammercy! Lanciotto, are you sane? +You boasted yesterday-- + + LANCIOTTO. And changed to-day. +Is that so strange? I always mend the fault +Of yesterday with wisdom of to-day. +She does not love me. + + PAOLO. Pshaw! she marries you: +'Twere proof enough for me. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps, she loves you. + + PAOLO. Me, Lanciotto, me! For mercy's sake, +Blot out such thoughts--they madden me! What, love-- +She love--yet marry you! + + LANCIOTTO. It moves you much. +'Twas but a fleeting fancy, nothing more. + + PAOLO. You have such wild conjectures! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, to me +They seem quite tame; they are my bed-fellows. +Think, to a modest woman, what must be +The loathsome kisses of an unloved man-- +A gross, coarse ruffian! + + PAOLO. O! good heavens, forbear! + + LANCIOTTO. What shocks you so? + + PAOLO. The picture which you draw, +Wronging yourself by horrid images. + + LANCIOTTO. Until she love me, till I know, beyond +The cavil of a doubt, that she is mine-- +Wholly, past question--do you think that I +Could so afflict the woman whom I love? + + PAOLO. You love her, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Next to you, +Dearer than anything in nature's scope. + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O! Heaven, that I must bear this! Yes, and more,-- +More torture than I dare to think upon, +Spreads out before me with the coming years, +And holds a record blotted with my tears, +As that which I must suffer! + + LANCIOTTO. Come, Paolo, +Come help me woo. I need your guiding eye, +To signal me, if I should sail astray. + + PAOLO. O! torture, torture! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. You and I, perchance, +Joining our forces, may prevail at last. +They call love like a battle. As for me, +I'm not a soldier equal to such wars, +Despite my arduous schooling. Tutor me +In the best arts of amorous strategy. +I am quite raw, Paolo. Glances, sighs, +Sweets of the lip, and arrows of the eye, +Shrugs, cringes, compliments, are new to me; +And I shall handle them with little art. +Will you instruct me? + + PAOLO. Conquer for yourself. +Two captains share one honour: keep it all. +What if I ask to share the spoils? + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! +I'll trust you, brother. Let us go to her: +Francesca is neglected while we jest. +I know not how it is, but your fair face, +And noble figure, always cheer me up, +More than your words; there's healing in them, too, +For my worst griefs. Dear brother, let us in. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Chamber in the Same._ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA _discovered +at the bridal toilet._ + + RITTA. [_Sings._] + Ring high, ring high! to earth and sky; + A lady goes a-wedding; + The people shout, the show draws out, + And smiles the bride is shedding. + + No bell for you, ye ragged few; + A beggar goes a-wedding; + The people sneer, the thing's so queer, + And tears the bride is shedding. + + Ring low, ring low! dull bell of woe, + One tone will do for either; + The lady glad, and beggar sad, + Have both lain down together. + + FRANCESCA. A mournful ballad! + + RITTA. I scarce knew I sang. +I'm weary of this wreath. These orange-flowers +Will never be adjusted to my taste: +Strive as I will, they ever look awry. +My fingers ache! + + FRANCESCA. Not more than my poor head. +There, leave them so. + + RITTA. That's better, yet not well. + + FRANCESCA. They are but fading things, not worth your pains: +They'll scarce outlive the marriage merriment. +Ritta, these flowers are hypocrites; they show +An outside gayety, yet die within, +Minute by minute. You shall see them fall, +Black with decay, before the rites are o'er. + + RITTA. How beautiful you are! + + FRANCESCA. Fie, flatterer! +White silk and laces, pearls and orange-flowers, +Would do as much for any one. + + RITTA. No, no! +You give them grace, they nothing give to you. +Why, after all, you make the wreath look well; +But somewhat dingy, where it lies against +Your pulsing temple, sullen with disgrace. +Ah! well, your Count should be the proudest man +That ever led a lady into church, +Were he a modern Alexander. Poh! +What are his trophies to a face like that? + + FRANCESCA. I seem to please you, Ritta. + + RITTA. Please yourself, +And you will please me better. You are sad: +I marked it ever since you saw the Count. +I fear the splendour of his victories, +And his sweet grace of manner--for, in faith, +His is the gentlest, grandest character, +Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Well? + + RITTA. Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, what? + + RITTA. Despite his difference from Count Paolo.-- + [FRANCESCA _staggers._] +What is the matter? [_Supporting her._ + + FRANCESCA. Nothing; mere fatigue. +Hand me my kerchief. I am better now. +What were you saying? + + RITTA. That I fear the Count +Has won your love. + + FRANCESCA. Would that be cause for fear? + [_Laughing._ + + RITTA. O! yes, indeed! Once--long ago--I was +Just fool enough to tangle up my heart +With one of these same men. 'Twas terrible! +Morning or evening, waking or asleep, +I had no peace. Sighs, groans, and standing tears, +Counted my moments through the blessed day. +And then to this there was a dull, strange ache +Forever sleeping in my breast,--a numbing pain, +That would not for an instant be forgot. +O! but I loved him so, that very feeling +Became intolerable. And I believed +This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers, +The shrugs and glances, of my intimates. +They slandered me and him, yet I believed. +He was a noble, and his love to me +Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed. +He wearied of me, tried to shake me off, +Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt. +O! lady, I was true! Nor till I saw +Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door +With Dora, the rich usurer's niece, upon +The very arm to which I clung so oft, +Did I so much as doubt him. Even then-- +More is my shame--I made excuses for him. +"Just this or that had forced him to the course: +Perhaps, he loved me yet--a little yet. +His fortune, or his family, had driven +My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart. +The low are sorry judges for the great. +Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me!" But at last +I did awake. It might have been with less: +There was no need of crushing me, to break +My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced, +Dora and he went by me, and he laughed-- +A bold, bad laugh--right in my poor pale face, +And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed. +Ah! then I saw it all. I've been awake, +Ever since then, I warrant you. And now +I only pray for him sometimes, when friends +Tell his base actions towards his hapless wife.-- +O! I am lying--I pray every night! [_Weeps._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor Ritta. [_Weeping._ + + RITTA. No! blest Ritta! Thank kind heaven, +That kept me spotless when he tempted me, +And my weak heart was pleading with his tongue. +Pray, do not weep. You spoil your eyes for me. +But never love; O! it is terrible! + + FRANCESCA. I'll strive against it. + + RITTA. Do: because, my lady, +Even a husband may be false, you know; +Ay, even to so sweet a wife as you. +Men have odd tastes. They'll surfeit on the charms +Of Cleopatra, and then turn aside +To woo her blackamoor. 'Tis so, in faith; +Or Dora's uncle's gold had ne'er outbid +The boundless measure of a love like mine. +Think of it, lady, to weigh love with gold! +What could be meaner? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, nothing, Ritta. +Though gold's the standard measure of the world, +And seems to lighten everything beside. +Yet heap the other passions in the scale, +And balance them 'gainst that which gold outweighs-- +Against this love--and you shall see how light +The most supreme of them are in the poise! +I speak by book and history; for love +Slights my high fortunes. Under cloth of state +The urchin cowers from pompous etiquette, +Waiving his function at the scowl of power, +And seeks the rustic cot to stretch his limbs +In homely freedom. I fulfil a doom. +We who are topmost on this heap of life +Are nearer to heaven's hand than you below; +And so are used, as ready instruments, +To work its purposes. Let envy hide +Her witless forehead at a prince's name, +And fix her hopes upon a clown's content. +You, happy lowly, know not what it is +To groan beneath the crowned yoke of state, +And bear the goadings of the sceptre. Ah! +Fate drives us onward in a narrow way, +Despite our boasted freedom. + + [_Enter_ PAOLO, _with_ PAGES _bearing torches._] + + Gracious saints! +What brought you here? + + PAOLO. The bridegroom waits. + + FRANCESCA. He does? +Let him wait on forever! I'll not go! +O! dear Paolo-- + + PAOLO. Sister! + + FRANCESCA. It is well. +I have been troubled with a sleepless night. +My brain is wild. I know not what I say. +Pray, do not call me sister: it is cold. +I never had a brother, and the name +Sounds harshly to me. When you speak to me, +Call me Francesca. + + PAOLO. You shall be obeyed. + + FRANCESCA. I would not be obeyed. I'd have you do it +Because--because you love me--as a sister-- +And of your own good-will, not my command, +Would please me.--Do you understand? + + PAOLO. Too well! [_Aside._] +'Tis a nice difference. + + FRANCESCA. Yet you understand? +Say that you do. + + PAOLO. I do. + + FRANCESCA. That pleases me. +'Tis flattering if our--friends appreciate +Our nicer feelings. + + PAOLO. I await you, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my gloves.--Ah! yes, I have them on; +Though I'm not quite prepared. Arrange my veil; +It folds too closely. That will do; retire. [RITTA _retires._] +So, Count Paolo, you have come, hot haste, +To lead me to the church,--to have your share +In my undoing? And you came, in sooth, +Because they sent you? You are very tame! +And if they sent, was it for you to come? + + PAOLO. Lady, I do not understand this scorn. +I came, as is my duty, to escort +My brother's bride to him. When next you're called, +I'll send a lackey. + + FRANCESCA. I have angered you. + + PAOLO. With reason: I would not appear to you +Low or contemptible. + + FRANCESCA. Why not to me? + + PAOLO. Lady, I'll not be catechized. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! Count! + + PAOLO. No! if you press me further, I will say +A word to madden you.--Stand still! You stray +Around the margin of a precipice. +I know what pleasure 'tis to pluck the flowers +That hang above destruction, and to gaze +Into the dread abyss, to see such things +As may be safely seen. Tis perilous: +The eye grows dizzy as we gaze below, +And a wild wish possesses us to spring +Into the vacant air. Beware, beware! +Lest this unholy fascination grow +Too strong to conquer! + + FRANCESCA. You talk wildly, Count; +There's not a gleam of sense in what you say; +I cannot hit your meaning. + + PAOLO. Lady, come! + + FRANCESCA. Count, you are cruel! [_Weeps._ + + PAOLO. O! no; I would be kind. +But now, while reason over-rides my heart, +And seeming anger plays its braggart part-- +In heaven's name, come! + + FRANCESCA. One word--one question more: +Is it your wish this marriage should proceed? + + PAOLO. It is. + + FRANCESCA. Come on! You shall not take my hand: +I'll walk alone--now, and forever! + + PAOLO. [_Taking her hand._] Sister! + + [_Exeunt_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _with_ PAGES. + + RITTA. O! misery, misery!--it is plain as day-- +She loves Paolo! Why will those I love +Forever get themselves ensnared, and heaven +Forever call on me to succor them? +Here was the mystery, then--the sighs and tears, +The troubled slumbers, and the waking dreams! +And now she's walking through the chapel-door, +Her bridal robe above an aching heart, +Dressed up for sacrifice. Tis terrible! +And yet she'll smile and do it. Smile, for years, +Until her heart breaks; and the nurses ask +The doctor of the cause. He'll answer, too, +In hard thick Latin, and believe himself. +O! my dear mistress! Heaven, pray torture me! +Send back Giuseppe, let him ruin me, +And scorn me after; but, sweet heaven, spare her! +I'll follow her. O! what a world is this! [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. Interior of the Cathedral._ LANCIOTTO, FRANCESCA, PAOLO, +MALATESTA, GUIDO, RITTA, PEPE, LORDS, KNIGHTS, PRIESTS, PAGES, _a +bridal-train of_ LADIES, SOLDIERS, CITIZENS, ATTENDANTS, _etc., +discovered before the High Altar. Organ music. The rites being over, +they advance._ + + MALATESTA. By heaven-- + + PEPE. O! uncle, uncle, you're in church! + + MALATESTA. I'll break your head, knave! + + PEPE. I claim sanctuary. + + + MALATESTA. Why, bridegroom, will you never kiss the bride? +We all are mad to follow you. + + PEPE. Yes, yes; +Here was Paolo wetting his red lips +For the last minute. Kiss, and give him room. + + MALATESTA. You heaven-forsaken imp, be quiet now! + + PEPE. Then there'd be naught worth hearing. + + MALATESTA. Bridegroom, come! + + PEPE. Lord! he don't like it! Hey!--I told you so-- +He backs at the first step. Does he not know +His trouble's just begun? + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle Francesca, +Custom imposes somewhat on thy lips: +I'll make my levy. [_Kisses her. The others follow._] + [_Aside._] Ha! she shrank! I felt +Her body tremble, and her quivering lips +Seemed dying under mine! I heard a sigh, +Such as breaks hearts--O! no, a very groan; +And then she turned a sickly, miserable look +On pale Paolo, and he shivered too! +There is a mystery hangs around her,--ay, +Paolo knows it, too.--By all the saints, +I'll make him tell it, at the dagger's point! +Paolo!--here! I do adjure you, brother, +By the great love I bear you, to reveal +The secret of Francesca's grief. + + PAOLO. I cannot. + + LANCIOTTO. She told you nothing? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not a word? + + PAOLO. Not one. + + LANCIOTTO. What heard you at Ravenna, then? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Here? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not the slightest hint?-- +Don't stammer, man! Speak quick! I am in haste. + + PAOLO. Never. + + LANCIOTTO. What know you? + + PAOLO. Nothing that concerns +Your happiness, Lanciotto. If I did, +Would I not tell unquestioned? + + LANCIOTTO. Would you not? +You ask a question for me: answer it. + + PAOLO. I have. + + LANCIOTTO. You juggle, you turn deadly pale, +Fumble your dagger, stand with head half round, +Tapping your feet.--You dare not look at me! +By Satan! Count Paolo, let me say, +You look much like a full-convicted thief! + + PAOLO. Brother!-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! brother! You deceive me, sir: +You and that lady have a devil's league, +To keep a devil's secret. Is it thus +You deal with me? Now, by the light above +I'd give a dukedom for some fair pretext +To fly you all! She does not love me? Well, +I could bear that, and live away from her. +Love would be sweet, but want of it becomes +An early habit to such men as I. +But you--ah! there's the sorrow--whom I loved +An infant in your cradle; you who grew +Up in my heart, with every inch you gained; +You whom I loved for every quality, +Good, bad, and common, in your natural stock; +Ay, for your very beauty! It is strange, you'll say, +For such a crippled horror to do that, +Against the custom of his kind! O! yes, +I love, and you betray me! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +This is sheer frenzy. Join your bride. + + LANCIOTTO. I'll not! +What, go to her, to feel her very flesh +Crawl from my touch?--to hear her sigh and moan, +As if God plagued her? Must I come to that? +Must I endure your hellish mystery +With my own wife, and roll my eyes away +In sentimental bliss? No, no! until +I go to her, with confident belief +In her integrity and candid love, +I'll shun her as a leper. [_Alarm-bells toll._ + + MALATESTA. What is that? + + _Enter, hastily, a_ MESSENGER _in disorder._ + + MESSENGER. My lord, the Ghibelins are up-- + + LANCIOTTO. And I +Will put them down again! I thank thee, Heaven, +For this unlooked-for aid! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. What force have they? + + LANCIOTTO. It matters not,--nor yet the time, place, cause, +Of their rebellion. I would throttle it, +Were it a riot, or a drunken brawl! + + MALATESTA. Nay, son, your bride-- + + LANCIOTTO. My bride will pardon me; +Bless me, perhaps, as I am going forth;-- +Thank me, perhaps, if I should ne'er return. [_Aside._] +A soldier's duty has no bridals in it. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, this is folly. Let me take +Your usual place of honour. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! +What! thou, a tilt-yard soldier, lead my troops! +My wife will ask it shortly. Not a word +Of opposition from the new-made bride? +Nay, she looks happier. O! accursed day, +That I was mated to an empty heart! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. But, son-- + + LANCIOTTO. Well, father? + + PEPE. Uncle, let him go. +He'll find it cooler on a battle-field +Than in his-- + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! the fool speaks oracles. +You, soldiers, who are used to follow me, +And front our charges, emulous to bear +The shock of battle on your forward arms,-- +Why stand ye in amazement? Do your swords +Stick to their scabbards with inglorious rust? +Or has repose so weakened your big hearts, +That you can dream with trumpets at your ears? +Out with your steel! It shames me to behold +Such tardy welcome to my war-worn blade! [_Draws._] + [_The_ KNIGHTS _and_ SOLDIERS _draw._] +Ho! draw our forces out! Strike camp, sound drums, +And set us on our marches! As I live, +I pity the next foeman who relies +On me for mercy! Farewell! to you all-- +To all alike--a soldier's short farewell! [_Going._] + + [PAOLO _stands before him._] + +Out of my way, thou juggler! [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. He is gone! + + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _The Same. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PEPE, _singing._ + + PEPE. 'Tis jolly to walk in the shady greenwood + With a damsel by your side; + 'Tis jolly to walk from the chapel-door, + With the hand of your pretty bride; + 'Tis jolly to rest your weary head, + When life runs low and hope is fled, + On the heart where you confide: + 'Tis jolly, jolly, jolly, they say, + They say--but I never tried. + +Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls +In motley suits, and pair us, to increase +The race of fools. 'Twould be a noble thing, +A motley woman, had she wit enough +To bear the bell. But there's the misery: +You may make princes out of any stuff; +Fools come by nature. She'll make fifty kings-- +Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cruel governors-- +For one fine fool. There is Paolo, now, +A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart-- +Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. +Lo! here he comes. And there's fierce crook-back's bride +Walking beside him--O, how gingerly! +Take care, my love! that is the very pace +We trip to hell with. Hunchback is away-- +That was a fair escape for you; but, then, +The devil's ever with us, and that's worse. +See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta, +And melancholy as a cow.--How's this? +I'll step aside, and watch you, pretty folks. + [_Hides behind the bushes._ + +_Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _followed by_ RITTA. _He seats himself +in an arbour, and reads._ RITTA _and_ FRANCESCA _advance._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta. + + RITTA. My lady. + + FRANCESCA. You look tired. + + RITTA. I'm not. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your chamber. + + RITTA. I would rather stay. +If it may please you. I require a walk +And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers, +To stir my blood. I am not very well. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear. +Paolo has a book to read to me. + + RITTA. What, the romance? I should so love to hear! +I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo +Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. +I'm weary now, quite weary, and would rest. + + FRANCESCA. Just now you wished to walk. + + RITTA. Ah! did I so? +Walking or resting, I would stay with you. + + FRANCESCA. The Count objects. He told me, yesterday, +That you were restless while he read to me; +And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed, +And yawned, until he almost paused. + + RITTA. Indeed +I will be quiet. + + FRANCESCA. But he will not read. + + RITTA. Let me go ask him. [_Runs toward_ PAOLO. + + FRANCESCA. Stop! Come hither, Ritta. + [_She returns._] +I saw your new embroidery in the hall,-- +The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes; +It should be finished. + + RITTA. I will bring it here.-- +O no! my finger's sore; I cannot work. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your room. + + RITTA. Let me remain, I pray. +'Tis better, lady; you may wish for me: +I know you will be sorry if I go. + + FRANCESCA. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you. +Will you be headstrong? + + RITTA. Do you wish it, then? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, Ritta. + + RITTA. Yet you made pretexts enough, +Before you ordered. + + FRANCESCA. You are insolent. +Will you remain against my will? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; +Rather than not remain. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! impudent! + + RITTA. You wrong me, gentle mistress. Love like mine +Does not ask questions of propriety, +Nor stand on manners. I would do you good, +Even while you smote me; I would push you back, +With my last effort, from the crumbling edge +Of some high rock o'er which you toppled me. + + FRANCESCA. What do you mean? + + RITTA. I know. + + FRANCESCA. Know what? + + RITTA. Too much. +Pray, do not ask me. + + FRANCESCA. Speak! + + RITTA. I know--dear lady, +Be not offended-- + + FRANCESCA. Tell me, simpleton! + + RITTA. You know I worship you; you know I'd walk +Straight into ruin for a whim of yours; +You know-- + + FRANCESCA. I know you act the fool. Talk sense! + + RITTA. I know Paolo loves you. + + FRANCESCA. Should he not? +He is my brother. + + RITTA. More than brother should. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! are you certain? + + RITTA. Yes, of more than that. + + FRANCESCA. Of more? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; for you love him, too. +I've said it! Fling me to the carrion crows, +Kill me by inches, boil me in the pot +Count Guido promised me,--but, O, beware! +Back, while you may. Make me the sufferer, +But save yourself! + + FRANCESCA. Now, are you not ashamed, +To look me in the face with that bold brow? +I am amazed! + + RITTA. I am a woman, lady; +I too have been in love; I know its ways, +Its arts, and its deceits. Your frowning face, +And seeming indignation, do not cheat. +Your heart is in my hand. + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hence, +Thou wanton-hearted minion! hence, I say!-- +And never look me in the face again!-- +Hence, thou insulting slave! + + RITTA. [_Clinging to her._] O lady, lady-- + + FRANCESCA. Begone! [_Throws her off._ + + RITTA. I have no friends--no one to love-- +O, spare me! + + FRANCESCA. Hence! + + RITTA. Was it for this I loved-- +Cared for you more than my own happiness-- +Ever at heart your slave--without a wish +For greater recompense than your stray smiles? + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hurry! + + RITTA. I am gone. Alas! +God bless you, lady! God take care of you, +When I am far away! Alas, alas! [_Exit weeping._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor girl!--but were she all the world to me, +And held my future in her tender grasp, +I'd cast her off, without a second thought, +To savage death, for dear Paolo's sake! +Paolo, hither! Now he comes to me; +I feel his presence, though I see him not, +Stealing upon me like the fervid glow +Of morning sunshine. Now he comes too near-- +He touches me--O heaven! + + PAOLO. Our poem waits. +I have been reading while you talked with Ritta. +How did you get her off? + + FRANCESCA. By some device. +She will not come again. + + PAOLO. I hate the girl: +She seems to stand between me and the light. +And now for the romance. Where left we off? + + FRANCESCA. Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra strayed +Along the forest, in the youth of May. +You marked the figure of the birds that sang +Their melancholy farewell to the sun-- +Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified-- +Like gentle mourners o'er a great man's grave. +Was it not there? No, no; 'twas where they sat +Down on the bank, by one impulsive wish +That neither uttered. + + PAOLO. [_Turning over the book._] Here it is. [_Reads._] + "So sat +Guenevra and Sir Lancelot"--'Twere well +To follow them in that. [_They sit upon a bank._ + + FRANCESCA. I listen: read. +Nay, do not; I can wait, if you desire. + + PAOLO. My dagger frets me; let me take it off. [_Rises._] +In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by. + [_Lays aside his dagger, and sits again._] +Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day. [_Reads_] + "So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot, + Under the blaze of the descending sun, + But all his cloudy splendours were forgot. + Each bore a thought, the only secret one, + Which each had hidden from the other's heart, + Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun. + Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start, + Put by the ripples of her golden hair, + Gazing upon her with his lips apart. + He marvelled human thing could be so fair; + Essayed to speak; but in the very deed, + His words expired of self-betrayed despair. + Little she helped him, at his direst need, + Roving her eyes o'er hill, and wood, and sky, + Peering intently at the meanest weed; + Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot's eye. + Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe, + Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh; + Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew; + Until she felt Sir Lancelot's arm around + Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew. + While through his fingers timidly he wound + Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed + Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound: + For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed, + Firing her blood with most contagious heat, + Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed. + Each heart was listening to the other beat. + As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk, + Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet, + So met their faces. Down the forest walk + Sir Lancelot looked--he looked, east, west, north, south-- + No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk: + She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth." + [_Kisses_ FRANCESCA.] +I'll read no more! [_Starts up, dashing down the book._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. I am mad! +The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er, +The straining cord has broken, and my heart +Riots in free delirium! O, Heaven! +I struggled with it, but it mastered me! +I fought against it, but it beat me down! +I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me; +And every tear rolled backward on my heart, +To blight and poison! + + FRANCESCA. And dost thou regret? + + PAOLO. The love? No, no! I'd dare it all again, +Its direst agonies and meanest fears, +For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse! +Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand; +Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge! +Thou canst not name a terror so profound +That I will look or falter from. Be bold! +I know thy love--I knew it long ago-- +Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp +The peril to my breast, and ask of thee +A kindred desperation. + + FRANCESCA. [_Throwing herself into his arms._] Take me all, +Body and soul! The women of our clime +Do never give away but half a heart: +I have not part to give, part to withhold, +In selfish safety. When I saw thee first, +Riding alone amid a thousand men, +Sole in the lustre of thy majesty, +And Guido da Polenta said to me, +"Daughter, behold thy husband!" with a bound +My heart went forth to meet thee. He deceived, +He lied to me--ah! that's the aptest word-- +And I believed. Shall I not turn again, +And meet him, craft with craft? Paolo, love, +Thou'rt dull--thou'rt dying like a feeble fire +Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze, +A flash of glory, and a long, long night? + + PAOLO. No, darling, no! You could not bend me back; +My course is onward; but my heart is sick +With coming fears. + + FRANCESCA. Away with them! Must I +Teach thee to love? and reinform the ear +Of thy spent passion with some sorcery +To raise the chilly dead? + + PAOLO. Thy lips have not +A sorcery to rouse me as this spell. [_Kisses her._ + + FRANCESCA. I give thy kisses back to thee again: +And, like a spendthrift, only ask of thee +To take while I can give. + + PAOLO. Give, give forever! +Have we not touched the height of human bliss? +And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back +Among the prostrate, did we not soar once?-- +Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods +On high Olympus? If they cast us, now, +Amid the furies, shall we not go down +With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips, +And richer memories settled in our hearts? +Francesca. + + FRANCESCA. Love? + + PAOLO. The sun is sinking low +Upon the ashes of his fading pyre, +And gray possesses the eternal blue; +The evening star is stealing after him, +Fixed, like a beacon, on the prow of night; +The world is shutting up its heavy eye +Upon the stir and bustle of to-day;-- +On what shall it awake? + + FRANCESCA. On love that gives +Joy at all seasons, changes night to day, +Makes sorrow smile, plucks out the barbéd dart +Of moaning anguish, pours celestial balm +In all the gaping wounds of earth, and lulls +The nervous fancies of unsheltered fear +Into a slumber sweet as infancy's! +On love that laughs at the impending sword, +And puts aside the shield of caution: cries, +To all its enemies, "Come, strike me now!-- +Now, while I hold my kingdom, while my crown +Of amaranth and myrtle is yet green, +Undimmed, unwithered; for I cannot tell +That I shall e'er be happier!" Dear Paolo, +Would you lapse down from misery to death, +Tottering through sorrow and infirmity? +Or would you perish at a single blow, +Cut off amid your wildest revelry, +Falling among the wine-cups and the flowers, +And tasting Bacchus when your drowsy sense +First gazed around eternity? Come, love! +The present whispers joy to us; we'll hear +The voiceless future when its turn arrives. + + PAOLO. Thou art a siren. Sing, forever sing; +Hearing thy voice, I cannot tell what fate +Thou hast provided when the song is o'er;-- +But I will venture it. + + FRANCESCA. In, in, my love! [_Exeunt._ + + PEPE _steals from behind the bushes._ + + PEPE. O, brother Lanciotto!--O, my stars!-- +If this thing lasts, I simply shall go mad! + [_Laughs, and rolls on the ground._] +O Lord! to think my pretty lady puss +Had tricks like this, and we ne'er know of it! +I tell you, Lanciotto, you and I +Must have a patent for our foolery! +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth!"-- +There's the beginning; where's the end of it? +O poesy! debauch thee only once, +And thou'rt the greatest wanton in the world! +O cousin Lanciotto--ho, ho, ho! [_Laughing._] +Can a man die of laughter? Here we sat; +Mistress Francesca so demure and calm; +Paolo grand, poetical, sublime!-- +Eh! what is this? Paolo's dagger? Good! +Here is more proof, sweet cousin Broken-back. +"In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by!" + [_Mimicking_ PAOLO.] +That's very pretty! Here's its counterpart: +In thoughts of hate, we'll pick them up again! + [_Takes the dagger._] +Now for my soldier, now for crook-backed Mars! +Ere long all Rimini will be ablaze. +He'll kill me? Yes: what then? That's nothing new, +Except to me; I'll bear for custom's sake. +More blood will follow; like the royal sun, +I shall go down in purple. Fools for luck; +The proverb holds like iron. I must run, +Ere laughter smother me.--O, ho, ho, ho! [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_A Camp among the Hills. Before_ LANCIOTTO'S _tent. Enter, from the +tent,_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. The camp is strangely quiet. Not a sound +Breaks nature's high solemnity. The sun +Repeats again his every-day decline; +Yet all the world looks sadly after him, +As if the customary sight were new. +Yon moody sentinel goes slowly by, +Through the thick mists of evening, with his spear +Trailed at a funeral hold. Long shadows creep, +From things beyond the furthest range of sight, +Up to my very feet. These mystic shades +Are of the earth; the light that causes them, +And teaches us the quick comparison, +Is all from heaven. Ah! restless man might crawl +With patience through his shadowy destiny, +If he were senseless to the higher light +Towards which his soul aspires. How grand and vast +Is yonder show of heavenly pageantry! +How mean and narrow is the earthly stand +From which we gaze on it! Magnificent, +O God, art thou amid the sunsets! Ah! +What heart in Rimini is softened now, +Towards my defects, by this grand spectacle? +Perchance, Paolo now forgives the wrong +Of my hot spleen. Perchance, Francesca now +Wishes me back, and turns a tenderer eye +On my poor person and ill-mannered ways; +Fashions excuses for me, schools her heart +Through duty into love, and ponders o'er +The sacred meaning in the name of wife. +Dreams, dreams! Poor fools, we squander love away +On thankless borrowers; when bankrupt quite, +We sit and wonder of their honesty. +Love, take a lesson from the usurer, +And never lend but on security. +Captain! + + _Enter a_ CAPTAIN. + + CAPTAIN. My lord. + + LANCIOTTO. They worsted us to-day. + + CAPTAIN. Not much, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. With little loss, indeed. +Their strength is in position. Mark you, sir. + [_Draws on the ground with his sword._] +Here is the pass; it opens towards the plain, +With gradual widening, like a lady's fan. +The hills protect their flank on either hand; +And, as you see, we cannot show more front +Than their advance may give us. Then, the rocks +Are sorry footing for our horse. Just here, +Close in against the left-hand hills, I marked +A strip of wood, extending down the gorge: +Behind that wood dispose your force ere dawn. +I shall begin the onset, then give ground, +And draw them out; while you, behind the wood, +Must steal along, until their flank and rear +Oppose your column. Then set up a shout, +Burst from the wood, and drive them on our spears. +They have no outpost in the wood, I know; +'Tis too far from their centre. On the morrow, +When they are flushed with seeming victory, +And think my whole division in full rout, +They will not pause to scrutinize the wood; +So you may enter boldly. We will use +The heart to-day's repulse has given to them, +For our advantage. Do you understand? + + CAPTAIN. Clearly, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. If they discover you, +Before you gain your point, wheel, and retreat +Upon my rear. If your attack should fail +To strike them with a panic, and they turn +In too great numbers on your small command, +Scatter your soldiers through the wood: +Let each seek safety for himself. + + CAPTAIN. I see. + + LANCIOTTO. Have Pluto shod; he cast a shoe to-day: +Let it be done at once. My helmet, too, +Is worn about the lacing; look to that. +Where is my armourer? + + CAPTAIN. At his forge. + + LANCIOTTO. Your charge +Must be at sunrise--just at sunrise, sir-- +Neither before nor after. You must march +At moonset, then, to gain the point ere dawn. +That is enough. + + CAPTAIN. Good-even! [_Going._ + + LANCIOTTO. Stay, stay, stay! +My sword-hilt feels uneasy in my grasp; [_Gives his sword._] +Have it repaired; and grind the point. Strike hard! +I'll teach these Ghibelins a lesson. [_Loud laughter within._] +Ha! +What is that clamour? + + _Enter hastily_ PEPE, _tattered and travel-stained._ + + PEPE. News from Rimini! [_Falls exhausted._ + + LANCIOTTO. Is that you, Pepe? Captain, a good-night! + [_Exit CAPTAIN._] +I never saw you in such straits before. +Wit without words! + + PEPE. That's better than--O!--O!-- [_Panting._] +Words without wit. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] You'll die a jester, Pepe. + + PEPE. If so, I'll leave the needy all my wit. +You, you shall have it, cousin.--O! O! O! [_Panting._] +Those devils in the hills, the Ghibelins, +Ran me almost to death. My lord--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +It all comes back to me--O! Lord 'a mercy!-- +The garden, and the lady, and the Count! +Not to forget the poetry--ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +O! cousin Lanciotto, such a wife, +And such a brother! Hear me, ere I burst! + + LANCIOTTO. You're pleasant, Pepe! + + PEPE. Am I?--Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +You ought to be; your wife's a---- + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. A lady-- +A lady, I suppose, like all the rest. +I am not in their secrets. Such a fellow +As Count Paolo is your man for that. +I'll tell you something, if you'll swear a bit. + + LANCIOTTO. Swear what? + + PEPE. First, swear to listen till the end.-- +O! you may rave, curse, howl, and tear your hair; +But you must listen. + + LANCIOTTO. For your jest's sake? Well. + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I do. + + PEPE. Next, swear to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. The truth of a fool's story! + + PEPE. You mistake. +Now, look you, cousin! You have often marked-- +I know, for I have seen--strange glances pass +Between Paolo and your lady wife.-- + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! Pepe! + + PEPE. Now I touch you to the quick. +I know the reason of those glances. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Speak! or I'll throttle you! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Your way is odd. +Let go my gullet, and I'll talk you deaf. +Swear my last oath: only to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. But that may trouble me. + + PEPE. Your honour lies-- +Your precious honour, cousin Chivalry-- +Lies bleeding with a terrible great gash, +Without its knowledge. Swear! + + LANCIOTTO. My honour? Speak! + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I swear. Your news is ill, perchance? + + PEPE. Ill! would I bring it else? Am I inclined +To run ten leagues with happy news for you? +O, Lord, that's jolly! + + LANCIOTTO. You infernal imp, +Out with your story, ere I strangle you! + + PEPE. Then take a fast hold on your two great oaths, +To steady tottering manhood, and attend. +Last eve, about this hour, I took a stroll +Into the garden.--Are you listening, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. I am all ears. + + PEPE. Why, so an ass might say. + + LANCIOTTO. Will you be serious? + + PEPE. Wait a while, and we +Will both be graver than a church-yard. Well, +Down the long walk, towards me, came your wife, +With Count Paolo walking at her side. +It was a pretty sight, and so I stepped +Into the bushes. Ritta came with them; +And Lady Fanny had a grievous time +To get her off. That made me curious. +Anon, the pair sat down upon a bank, +To read a poem;--the tenderest romance, +All about Lancelot and Queen Guenevra. +The Count read well--I'll say that much for him-- +Only he stuck too closely to the text, +Got too much wrapped up in the poesy, +And played Sir Lancelot's actions, out and out, +On Queen Francesca. Nor in royal parts +Was she so backward. When he struck the line-- +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth;" +Your lady smiled, and, by the saints above, +Paolo carried out the sentiment! +Can I not move you? + + LANCIOTTO. With such trash as this? +And so you ran ten leagues to tell a lie?-- +Run home again. + + PEPE. I am not ready yet. +After the kiss, up springs our amorous Count, +Flings Queen Guenevra and Sir Lancelot +Straight to the devil; growls and snaps his teeth, +Laughs, weeps, howls, dances; talks about his love, +His madness, suffering, and the Lord knows what, +Bullying the lady like a thief. But she, +All this hot time, looked cool and mischievous; +Gave him his halter to the very end; +And when he calmed a little, up she steps +And takes him by the hand. You should have seen +How tame the furious fellow was at once! +How he came down, snivelled, and cowed to her, +And fell to kissing her again! It was +A perfect female triumph! Such a scene +A man might pass through life and never see. +More sentiment then followed--buckets full +Of washy words, not worth my memory. +But all the while she wound his Countship up, +Closer and closer; till at last--tu!--wit!-- +She scoops him up, and off she carries him, +Fish for her table! Follow, if you can; +My fancy fails me. All this time you smile! + + LANCIOTTO. You should have been a poet, not a fool. + + PEPE. I might be both. + + LANCIOTTO. You made no record, then? +Must this fine story die for want of ink? +Left you no trace in writing? + + PEPE. None. + + LANCIOTTO. Alas! +Then you have told it? Tis but stale, my boy; +I'm second hearer. + + PEPE. You are first, in faith. + + LANCIOTTO. In truth? + + PEPE. In sadness. You have got it fresh? +I had no time; I itched to reach your ear. +Now go to Rimini, and see yourself. +You'll find them in the garden. Lovers are +Like walking ghosts, they always haunt the spot +Of their misdeeds. + + LANCIOTTO. But have I heard you out? +You told me all? + + PEPE. All; I have nothing left. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, you brain-stricken idiot, to trust +Your story and your body in my grasp! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Unhand me, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. When I drop you, Pepe, +You'll be at rest. + + PEPE. I will betray you--O! + + LANCIOTTO. Not till the judgment day. [_They struggle._ + + PEPE. [_Drawing_ PAOLO'S _dagger._] Take that! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Wresting the dagger from him._] Well meant, +But poorly done! Here's my return. [_Stabs him._ + + PEPE. O! beast! [_Falls._] +This I expected; it is naught--Ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I'll go to sleep; but you--what will you bear! +Hunchback, come here! + + LANCIOTTO. Fie! say your prayers. + + PEPE. Hark, hark! +Paolo hired me, swine, to murder you. + + LANCIOTTO. That is a lie; you never cared for gold. + + PEPE. He did, I say! I'll swear to it, by heaven! +Do you believe me? + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PEPE. You lie! you lie! +Look at the dagger, cousin--Ugh!--good-night! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! horrible! It was a gift of mine-- +He never laid it by. Speak, speak, fool, speak! + [_Shakes the body._] +How didst thou get it?--speak! Thou'rt warm--not dead-- +Thou hast a tongue--O! speak! Come, come, a jest-- +Another jest from those thin mocking lips! +Call me a cripple--hunchback--what thou wilt; +But speak to me! He cannot. Now, by heaven, +I'll stir this business till I find the truth! +Am I a fool? It is a silly lie, +Coined by yon villain with his last base breath. +What ho! without there! + + _Enter_ CAPTAIN _and Soldiers._ + + CAPTAIN. Did you call, my lord? + + LANCIOTTO. Did Heaven thunder? Are you deaf, you louts? +Saddle my horse! What are you staring at? +Is it your first look at a dead man? Well, +Then look your fill. Saddle my horse, I say! +Black Pluto--stir! Bear that assassin hence. +Chop him to pieces, if he move. My horse! + + CAPTAIN. My lord, he's shoeing. + + LANCIOTTO. Did I ask for shoes? +I want my horse. Run, fellow, run! Unbarbed-- +My lightest harness on his back. Fly, fly! [_Exit a SOLDIER._] + [_The others pick up the body._] +Ask him, I pray you, if he did not lie! + + CAPTAIN. The man is dead, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Then do not ask him! + [_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS _with the body._] +By Jupiter, I shall go mad, I think! + [_Walks about._ + + CAPTAIN. Something disturbs him. Do you mark the spot +Of purple on his brow? [_Apart to a SOLDIER._ + + SOLDIER. Then blood must flow. + + LANCIOTTO. Boy, boy! [_Enter a_ PAGE.] My cloak and riding staff. Quick, quick! +How you all lag! [_Exit_ PAGE.] I ride to Rimini. +Skirmish to-morrow. Wait till my return-- +I shall be back at sundown. You shall see +What slaughter is then! + + CAPTAIN. Ho! turn out a guard!-- + + LANCIOTTO. I wish no guard; I ride alone. + [_Re-enter PAGE, with a cloak and staff._] + [_Taking them._] Well done! +Thou art a pretty boy.--And now my horse! + + _Enter a_ SOLDIER. + + SOLDIER. Pluto is saddled-- + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis a damned black lie! + + SOLDIER. Indeed, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. O! comrade, pardon me: +I talk at random. What, Paolo too,-- +boy whom I have trotted on my knee! +Poh! I abuse myself by such a thought. +Francesca may not love me, may love him-- +Indeed she ought; but when an angel comes +To play the wanton on this filthy earth, +Then I'll believe her guilty. Look you, sir! +Am I quite calm? + + CAPTAIN. Quite calm, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. You see +No trace of passion on my face?--No sign +Of ugly humours, doubts, or fears, or aught +That may disfigure God's intelligence? +I have a grievous charge against you, sir, +That may involve your life; and if you doubt +The candour of my judgment, choose your time: +Shall I arraign you now? + + CAPTAIN. Now, if you please. +I'll trust my cause to you and innocence +At any time. I am not conscious-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! +I try myself, not you. And I am calm-- +That is your verdict--and dispassionate? + + CAPTAIN. So far as I can judge. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis well, 'tis well! +Then I will ride to Rimini. Good-night! [_Exit._ + + _The others look after him amazedly, and exeunt._ + + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_Rimini. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Thou hast resolved? + + PAOLO. I've sworn it. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, you men +Can talk of love and duty in a breath; +Love while you like, forget when you are tired, +And salve your falsehood with some wholesome saw; +But we, poor women, when we give our hearts, +Give all, lose all, and never ask it back. + + PAOLO. What couldst thou ask for that I have not given? +With love I gave thee manly probity, +Innocence, honour, self-respect, and peace. +Lanciotto will return, and how shall I-- +O! shame, to think of it!--how shall I look +My brother in the face? take his frank hand? +Return his tender glances? I should blaze +With guilty blushes. + + FRANCESCA. Thou canst forsake me, then, +To spare thyself a little bashful pain? +Paolo, dost thou know what 'tis for me, +A woman--nay, a dame of highest rank-- +To lose my purity? to walk a path +Whose slightest slip may fill my ear with sounds +That hiss me out to infamy and death? +Have I no secret pangs, no self-respect, +No husband's look to bear? O! worse than these, +I must endure his loathsome touch; be kind +When he would dally with his wife, and smile +To see him play thy part. Pah! sickening thought! +From that thou art exempt. Thou shalt not go! +Thou dost not love me! + + PAOLO. Love thee! Standing here, +With countless miseries upon my head, +I say, my love for thee grows day by day. +It palters with my conscience, blurs my thoughts +Of duty, and confuses my ideas +Of right and wrong. Ere long, it will persuade +My shaking manhood that all this is just. + + FRANCESCA. Let it! I'll blazon it to all the world, +Ere I will lose thee. Nay, if I had choice, +Between our love and my lost innocence, +I tell thee calmly, I would dare again +The deed which we have done. O! thou art cruel +To fly me, like a coward, for thy ease. +When thou art gone, thou'lt flatter thy weak heart +With hopes and speculations; and thou'lt swear +I suffer naught, because thou dost not see. +I will not live to bear it! + + PAOLO. Die,--'twere best; +Tis the last desperate comfort of our sin. + + FRANCESCA. I'll kill myself! + + PAOLO. And so would I, with joy; +But crime has made a craven of me. O! +For some good cause to perish in! Something +A man might die for, looking in God's face; +Not slinking out of life with guilt like mine +Piled on the shoulders of a suicide! + + FRANCESCA. Where wilt thou go? + + PAOLO. I care not; anywhere +Out of this Rimini. The very things +That made the pleasures of my innocence +Have turned against me. There is not a tree, +Nor house, nor church, nor monument, whose face +Took hold upon my thoughts, that does not frown +Balefully on me. From their marble tombs +My ancestors scowl at me; and the night +Thickens to hear their hisses. I would pray, +But heaven jeers at it. Turn where'er I will, +A curse pursues me. + + FRANCESCA. Heavens! O, say not so! +I never cursed thee, love; I never moved +My little finger, ere I looked to thee +For my instruction. + + PAOLO. But my gentleness +Seems to reproach me; and, instead of joy, +It whispers horror! + + FRANCESCA. Cease! cease! + + PAOLO. I must go. + + FRANCESCA. And I must follow. All that I call life +Is bound in thee. I could endure for thee +More agonies than thou canst catalogue-- +For thy sake, love--bearing the ill for thee! +With thee, the devils could not so contrive +That I would blench or falter from my love! +Without thee, heaven were torture! + + PAOLO. I must go. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. O! no--Paolo--dearest!-- [_Clinging to him._ + + PAOLO. Loose thy hold! +'Tis for thy sake, and Lanciotto's; I +Am as a cipher in the reckoning. +I have resolved. Thou canst but stretch the time. +Keep me to-day, and I will fly to-morrow--Steal +from thee like a thief. [_Struggles with her._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo--love-- +Indeed, you hurt me!--Do not use me thus! +Kill me, but do not leave me. I will laugh-- +long, gay, ringing laugh--if thou wilt draw +Thy pitying sword, and stab me to the heart! + + [_Enter_ LANCIOTTO _behind._] + +Nay, then, one kiss! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing between them._] Take it: 'twill be the last. + + PAOLO. Lo! Heaven is just! + + FRANCESCA. The last! so be it. [_Kisses_ PAOLO. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Dare you these tricks before my very face? + + FRANCESCA. Why not? I've kissed him in the sight of heaven; +Are you above it? + + PAOLO. Peace, Francesca, peace! + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo--why, thou sad and downcast man, +Look up! I have some words to speak with thee. +Thou art not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes, I am. But she +Has been betrayed; so she is innocent. +Her father tampered with her. I-- + + FRANCESCA. 'Tis false! +The guilt is mine. Paolo was entrapped +By love and cunning. I am shrewder far +Than you suspect. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, shut thy ears; +She would deceive thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Silence, both of you! +Is guilt so talkative in its defense? +Then, let me make you judge and advocate +In your own cause. You are not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Deny it--but a word--say no. Lie, lie! +And I'll believe. + + PAOLO. I dare not. + + LANCIOTTO. Lady, you? + + FRANCESCA. If I might speak for him-- + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be: +Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt? + + FRANCESCA. No! I assert it; but-- + + LANCIOTTO. In heaven's name, hold! +Will neither of you answer no to me? +A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape. +Bethink you, life is centred in this thing. +Speak! I will credit either. No reply? +What does your crime deserve? + + PAOLO. Death. + + FRANCESCA. Death to both. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! You speak the law of Italy; +And by the dagger you designed for me, +In Pepe's hand,--your bravo? + + PAOLO. It is false! +If you received my dagger from his hand, +He stole it. + + LANCIOTTO. There, sweet heaven, I knew! And now +You will deny the rest? You see, my friends, +How easy of belief I have become!-- +How easy 'twere to cheat me! + + PAOLO. No; enough! +I will not load my groaning spirit more; +A lie would crush it. + + LANCIOTTO. Brother, once you gave +Life to this wretched piece of workmanship, +When my own hand resolved its overthrow. +Revoke the gift. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + PAOLO. [_Preventing him._] Hold, homicide! + + LANCIOTTO. But think, +You and Francesca may live happily, +After my death, as only lovers can. + + PAOLO. Live happily, after a deed like this! + + LANCIOTTO. Now, look ye! there is not one hour of life +Among us three. Paolo, you are armed-- +You have a sword, I but a dagger: see! +I mean to kill you. + + FRANCESCA. [_Whispers to_ PAOLO.] Give thy sword to me. + + PAOLO. Away! thou'rt frantic. I will never lift +This wicked hand against thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Coward, slave! +Art thou so faint? Does Malatesta's blood +Run in thy puny veins? Take that! [_Strikes him._ + + PAOLO. And more: +Thou canst not offer more than I will bear. + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt +Transformed thee to! Why, I have seen the time +When thou'dst have struck at heaven for such a thing! +Art thou afraid? + + PAOLO. I am. + + LANCIOTTO. O! infamy! +Can man sink lower? I will wake thee, though:-- +Thou shalt not die a coward. See! look here! + [_Stabs_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. O!--O!-- [_Falls._ + + PAOLO. Remorseless man, dare you do this, +And hope to live? Die, murderer! + [_Draws, rushes at him, but pauses._ + + LANCIOTTO. Strike, strike! +Ere thy heart fail. + + PAOLO. I cannot. [_Throws away his sword._ + + LANCIOTTO. Dost thou see +Yon bloated spider--hideous as myself-- +Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig? +When he has touched it, one of us must die. +Here is the dagger.--Look at me, I say! +Keep your eyes from that woman! Look, think, choose!-- +Turn here to me: thou shalt not look at her! + + PAOLO. O, heaven! + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis done! + + PAOLO. [_Struggling with him._] O! Lanciotto, hold! +Hold, for thy sake! Thou wilt repent this deed. + + LANCIOTTO. I know it. + + FRANCESCA. [_Rising._] Help!--O! murder!--help, help, help! + [_She totters towards them, and falls._ + + LANCIOTTO. Our honour, boy. [_Stabs_ PAOLO; _he falls._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. Hark! she calls. +I pray thee, brother, help me to her side. + + [LANCIOTTO _helps him to_ FRANCESCA. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! + + PAOLO. God bless thee! + + LANCIOTTO. Have I not done well? +What were the honour of the Malatesti, +With such a living slander fixed to it? +Cripple! that's something--cuckold! that is damned! +You blame me? + + PAOLO. No. + + LANCIOTTO. You, lady? + + FRANCESCA. No, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. May God forgive you! We are even now: +Your blood has cleared my honour, and our name +Shines to the world as ever. + + PAOLO. O!--O!-- + + FRANCESCA. Love, +Art suffering? + + PAOLO. But for thee. + + FRANCESCA. Here, rest thy head +Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood! +It stains thy ringlets. Ha! he dies! Kind saints, +I was first struck, why cannot I die first? +Paolo, wake!--God's mercy! wilt thou go +Alone--without me? Prithee, strike again! +Nay, I am better--love--now--O! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Sinks upon his knees._] Great heaven! + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] This way, I heard the cries. + + _Enter with_ GUIDO, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + GUIDO. O! horrible! + + MALATESTA. O! bloody spectacle! Where is thy brother? + + LANCIOTTO. So Cain was asked. Come here, old men! You shrink +From two dead bodies and a pool of blood-- +You soldiers, too! Come here! + [_Drags_ MALATESTA _and_ GUIDO _forward._ + + MALATESTA. O!--O!-- + + LANCIOTTO. You groan! +What must I do, then? Father, here it is,-- +The blood of Guido mingled with our own, +As my old nurse predicted. And the spot +Of her infernal baptism burns my brain +Till reason shudders! Down, upon your knees! +Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they'll wake. +Keep still! Kneel, kneel! You fear them? I shall prowl +About these bodies till the day of doom. + + MALATESTA. What hast thou done? + + GUIDO. Francesca!--O! my child! + + LANCIOTTO. Can howling make this sight more terrible? +Peace! You disturb the angels up in heaven, +While they are hiding from this ugly earth. +Be satisfied with what you see. You two +Began this tragedy, I finished it. +Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up +Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie! +A moment since, they walked, and talked, and kissed! +Defied me to my face, dishonoured me! +They had the power to do it then; but now, +Poor souls, who'll shield them in eternity? +Father, the honour of our house is safe: +I have the secret. I will to the wars, +And do more murders, to eclipse this one. +Back to the battles; there I breathe in peace; +And I will take a soldier's honour back.-- +Honour! what's that to me now? Ha! ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +A great thing, father! I am very ill. +I killed thy son for honour: thou mayst chide. +O God! I cannot cheat myself with words! +I loved him more than honour--more than life-- +This man, Paolo--this stark, bleeding corpse! +Here let me rest, till God awake us all! + [_Falls on PAOLO'S body._ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Representative Plays by American +Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini, by George Henry Boker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCESCA DA RIMINI *** + +***** This file should be named 13005-8.txt or 13005-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/0/0/13005/ + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini + +Author: George Henry Boker + +Release Date: July 23, 2004 [EBook #13005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCESCA DA RIMINI *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY_ + + Francesca, i tuoi martiri a lagrimar + mi fanno triato e pio.--DANTE. + +_Inferno, v. 75 seq._ + + + + +[Illustration: GEORGE HENRY BOKER] + + + + +GEORGE HENRY BOKER + +(1823-1890) + + +The name of George Henry Boker suggests a coterie of friendships--a +group of men pledged to the pursuit of letters, and worshippers at the +shrine of poetry. These men, in the pages of whose published letters +and impressions are embedded many pleasing aspects of Boker's +temperament and character, were Bayard Taylor, Richard Henry Stoddard, +and Charles Godfrey Leland, the latter known familiarly in American +literature as "Hans Breitmann." These four, in different periods of +their lives, might have been called "the inseparables"--so closely did +they watch each other's development, so intently did they await each +other's literary output, and write poetry to each other, and meet +at Boker's, now and again, for golden talks on Sundays. Poetry was +a passion with them, and even when two--Boker and Taylor--were sent +abroad on diplomatic missions, they could never have been said to +desert the Muse--their literary activity was merely arrested. One of +the four--Stoddard--often felt, in the presence of Boker, a certain +reticence due to lack of educational advantages; but in the face of +Boker's graciousness--a quality which comes with culture in its truest +sense,--he soon found himself writing Boker on matters of style, on +qualities of English diction, and on the status of American letters--a +stock topic of conversation those days. + +Boker was a Philadelphian, born there on October 6, 1823,--the son +of Charles S. Boker, a wealthy banker, whose financial expertness +weathered the Girard National Bank through the panic years of 1838-40, +and whose honour, impugned after his death, in 1857, was defended +many years later by his son in "The Book of the Dead," reflective of +Tennyson's "In Memoriam," and marked by a triteness of phrase +which was always Boker's chief limitation, both as a poet and as a +dramatist. + +He was brought up in an atmosphere of ease and refinement, receiving +his preparatory education in private schools, and entering Princeton +in 1840. On the testimony of Leland, who, being related to Boker, was +thrown with him in their early years, and who avows that he always +showed a love for the theatre, we learn that the young college student +bore that same distinction of manner which had marked him as a child, +and was to cling to him as a diplomat. Together as boys, these +two would read their "Percy's Reliques," "Don Quixote," Byron and +Scott--and while they were both in Princeton, Boker's room possessed +the only carpet in the dormitory, and his walls boasted shelves of the +handsomest books in college. + + "As a mere schoolboy," wrote Leland, "Boker's knowledge of + poetry was remarkable. I can remember that he even at nine + years of age manifested that wonderful gift that caused him + many years after to be characterized by some great actor--I + think it was Forrest--as the best reader in America.... While + at college ... Shakespeare and Byron were his favourites. He + used to quiz me sometimes for my predilections for Wordsworth + and Coleridge. We both loved Shelly passionately." + +In fact, Leland claims that Boker was given to ridicule the "Lakers;" +had he studied them instead, he would have added to his own poetry a +naturalness of expression which it lacked. + +He was quite the poet of Princeton in his day, quite the gentleman +Bohemian. "He was," writes Leland, "quite familiar, in a refined and +gentlemanly way, with all the dissipations of Philadelphia and New +York." His easy circumstances made it possible for him to balance his +ascetic taste for scholarship with riding horse-back. To which almost +perfect attainment, he added the skilled ability to box, fence and +dance. He graduated from Princeton in 1842, and the description of him +left to us by Leland reveals a young man of nineteen, six feet tall, +whose sculptured bust, made at this time, was not as much like him "as +the ordinary busts of Lord Byron." In later years he was said to bear +striking resemblance to Hawthorne. His marriage to Miss Julia Riggs, +of Maryland, followed shortly after his graduation, in fact, while he +was studying law, a profession which was to serve him in good stead +during his diplomatic years, but which he threw over for the stronger +pull of poetry, whose Muse he could court without the necessity of +driving it hard for support. Yet he was concerned about literature +as a paying profession for others. On April 26, 1851, he wrote to +Stoddard: "Alas! alas! Dick, is it not sad that an American author +cannot live by magazine writing? And this is wholly owing to the +want of our international copyright law. Of course it is little to me +whether magazine writers get paid or not; but it is so much to you, +and to a thousand others." The time, until 1847, was spent in foreign +travel, but it is interesting to note, as indication of no mean +literary attainment in the interim, that Princeton, during this +period, bestowed on him the degree of M.A., for merit in letters. + +1848 was a red-letter year for Boker. It witnessed the publication of +his first volume of verse, "The Lessons of Life, and other Poems," +and it introduced him to Bayard Taylor and to R.H. Stoddard. Of the +occasion, Taylor writes on October 13, to Mary Agnew: + + Young Boker, author of the tragedy, "Calaynos," a most + remarkable work, is here on a visit, and spent several + hours to-night with me. He is another hero,--a most notable, + glorious mortal! He is one of our band, and is, I think, + destined to high renown as an author. He is nearly my own age, + perhaps a year or two older, and he has lived through the same + sensations, fought the same fight, and now stands up with the + same defiant spirit. + +This friendship was one of excellent spiritual sympathy and remarkable +external similarities and contrasts. One authority has written of +their late years: + + In certain ways, he and his friend, Bayard Taylor, made an + interesting contrast with each other. Here was Boker [circa + 1878] who had just come back from diplomatic service abroad; + and here, too, was Taylor, who was just going abroad + as minister to Berlin. Both were poets; they were + fellow-Pennsylvanians and friends; and they were men of large + mould physically, and of impressive presence; yet they were + very dissimilar types. Boker, though massive and with a trace + of the phlegmatic in his manner (perhaps derived from his + Holland ancestors, the Bochers, who had come thither from + France, and had then sent a branch into England, from which + the American family sprang), was courtly, polished, slightly + reserved. His English forefathers had belonged to the + Society of Friends, as had also Taylor's family in + Pennsylvania,--another point in common. But Taylor's + appearance, as his friends will remember, was somewhat bluff + and rugged; his manner was hearty and open. + +Launched in the literary life, therefore, Boker began to write +assiduously. "Calaynos," the tragedy referred to by Taylor, went into +two editions during 1848, and the following year was played by Samuel +Phelps at Sadler's Wells Theatre, London, May 10. From the New York +_Tribune_ office, on May 29, 1849, Taylor wrote: + + Your welcome letter came this morning, and from the bottom of + my heart was I rejoiced by it. I can well imagine your feeling + of triumph at this earnest of fame.... I instantly hunted + up the London "Times" and found "Calaynos" advertised for + performance,--second night. I showed it to Griswold, who was + nearly as much surprised and delighted as myself. Of course + he will make good mention of it in his book. It will _sell_ + immensely for you, and especially just now, when you are + coming out with "Anne Bullen" [sic.]. I shall not fail to have + a notice of it in to-morrow morning's "Tribune." + +Some authorities state that it was given by Phelps without Boker's +consent. Another, who examined Boker's manuscripts, in possession of +the poet's daughter-in-law, Mrs. George Boker, records that Barrett +made cuts in the play, preparatory to giving it, Boker, even, revising +it in part. The American premiere was reserved for James E. Murdoch, +at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theater, January 20, 1851, and it +was revived at the same playhouse in April, 1855, by E.L. Davenport. +As Stoddard says of it, one "should know something--the more the +better--about the plays that Dr. Bird and Judge Conrad wrote for +Forrest and his successors, about Poe's 'Politian', Sargent's +'Velasco', Longfellow's 'Spanish Student'." + +His choice of subject, in this, his first drama, indicated the +romantic aloofness of Boker's mind, for he was always anxious to +escape what Leland describes him as saying was a "practical, soulless, +Gradgrind age." In fact, Boker had not as yet found himself; he was +more the book-lover than the student of men he afterwards became. + + "Read Chaucer for strength," he advises Stoddard on January + 7, 1850, "read Spenser for ease and sweetness, read Milton for + sublimity and thought, read Shakespeare for all these things, + and for something else which is his alone. Get out of your age + as far as you can." + +These young men were not quickly received, and they regarded the +utilitarian spirit of the time as against them. To Stoddard Boker once +confessed: "Were poetry forged upon the anvil, cut out with the axe, +or spun in the mill, my heaven, how men would wonder at the process! +What power, what toil, what ingenuity!" + +Boker's correspondence with Stoddard began in a letter, dated +September 5, 1849, announcing overtures made by the London Haymarket +Theatre for his new tragedy, "Anne Boleyn," which he was contemplating +sending them in sheets. "I have also the assurance," he announces, +"that Miss Cushman will bring it out in this country, provided she +thinks her powers adapted to it." + +Boker's pen was energetic, and it moved at a gait which shows how +fertile was his imagination. "The inseparables" cheered the way for +each other in the face of official journalistic criticism. Taylor +declared "Anne Boleyn" far in advance of "Calaynos," prophesying that +it would last. "Go ahead, my dear poet," he admonishes, "it will soon +be your turn to damn those who would willingly damn you." Together +these friends were always planning to storm the citadel of public +favour with poetry, but Boker seems to have been the only one to whom +the theatre held out attraction. By August 12, 1850, he was sending +news to Stoddard that "The Betrothal" would be staged the following +month. In good spirits, he writes: + + The manager is getting it up with unusual care and splendour. + Spangles and red flannels flame through it from end to end. I + even think of appearing before the curtain on horseback, nay, + of making the whole performance equestrian, and of introducing + a hippopotamus in the fifth act. What think you? Have you + and your miserable lyrics ever known such glory? If the + play should take _here_, you benighted New-Yorkers will be + illuminated with it immediately after it has run its hundredth + night in the city which is so proud of its son. + +This was the second of his pieces to be given performance, "Anne +Boleyn" never seeing the boards. "The Betrothal" was produced at the +Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, on September 25, 1850, and opened +in New York, on November 18 of the same year. Taylor wrote to its +author, on December 4: "I saw the last night.... It is even better as +an acting play than I had anticipated, but it was very badly acted. +I have heard nothing but good of it, from all quarters." It was +Elizabethan in tone, quite in the spirit of that romantic drama +practised by such American authors as Willis, Sargent and others. How +it was received when presented in London, during 1853, is reflected in +Boker's letter to Stoddard, dated October 9, 1853: + + I have read the _Times_ notice of the "Betrothal." It is honey + to most of the other newspaper criticisms.... Notwithstanding, + and taking the accounts of my enemies for authority, the play + was unusually successful with the audience on that most trying + occasion, the first night.... The play stands a monument of + English injustice. Mark you, it was not prejudice that caused + the catastrophe; it was fear lest I should get a footing + on their stage, of which "Calaynos" had given them timely + warning. + +"The Widow's Marriage," in manuscript, and never published, was +accepted by Marshall, manager of the Walnut, and is noted by Boker, in +a letter to Stoddard, October 12, 1852, the chief handicap confronting +him being the inability to find someone suited to take the leading +role. Stoddard's own comment was: + + Whether [it] was ever produced I know not, but I should + say not, for the part of the principal character, _Lady + Goldstraw_, is one which no actress whom I remember could have + filled to the satisfaction of her creator. The fault of this + character (me judice) is that it is too good to be played on a + modern stage. It ought to have been written for antiquity two + hundred years ago. + +Boker was right when he referred to himself as "prolific" at this +time. He already had produced, in 1851, according to markings on the +manuscript, a piece called "All the World a Mask," and he had +written "The Podesta's Daughter," a dramatic sketch, issued, with +"Miscellaneous Poems," in 1852. Toward the end of this year, he +completed "Leonor de Guzman." + + "Her history," he writes to Stoddard, on November 14, "you + will find in Spanish Chronicles relating to the reigns of + Alfonso XII of Castile and his son, Peter the Cruel. There are + no such subjects for historical tragedy on earth as are to be + found in the Spanish history of that period. I am so much in + love with it that I design following up 'Leonor de Guzman' by + 'Don Pedro'. The present tragedy, according to the judgment + of Leland, is the very best play I have written, both for the + closet and the stage. Perhaps I am too ready to agree + with him, but long before he said it I had formed the same + judgment." + +This tragedy was performed at the Philadelphia Walnut Street Theatre, +on October 3, 1853, and at the New York Broadway Theatre, on April 24, +1854. Boker wrote to his friends, showing his customary concern about +an actress skilled enough for the role of his heroine. When, finally, +for the Philadelphia premiere, Julia Dean was decided upon, he thus +expressed his verdict to Stoddard, after the opening performance: +"Miss Dean, as far as her physique would admit, played the part +admirably, and with a full appreciation of all those things which you +call its beauties." + +During these years of correspondence with his friends, Boker was +determining to himself the distinction between _poetic_ and _dramatic_ +style. + + "Seriously, Dick," he writes to Stoddard, on October 6, 1850, + "there is, to my mind, no English diction for your purposes + equal to Milton's in his minor poems. Of course any man would + be an intensified ass who should attempt to reach the diction + of the 'Paradise Lost', or aspire to the tremendous style of + Shakespeare. You must not confound things, though. A Lyric + diction is one thing--a Dramatic diction is another, requiring + the utmost force and conciseness of expression,--and Epic + diction is still another; I conceive it to be something + between the Lyric and Dramatic, with all the luxuriance of the + former, and all the power of the latter." + +He must have written to Taylor in the same vein, for, in a letter from +the latter, there is assurance that he fully understands what a +slow growth dramatic style must be. But Boker was not wholly wed to +theatrical demands; he still approached the stage in the spirit of +the poet who was torn between loyalty to poetic indirectness, and +necessity for direct dialogue. On January 12, 1853, he writes to +Stoddard: + + Theatricals are in a fine state in this country; every + inducement is offered to me to burn my plays as fast as I + write them. Yet, what can I do? If I print my plays, the + actors take them up, butcher, alter and play them, without + giving me so much as a hand in my own damnation. This is + something beyond even heavenly rigour; and so I proceed to + my own destruction, with the proud consciousness that, at all + events, it is my own act. _A propos_, have you ever read the + English acting copy of my "Calaynos"? A viler thing was never + concocted from like materials. + +Whether or not the play, "The Bankrupt," preceded or followed +the writing of "Francesca da Rimini" in 1853, we have no way of +determining; but it would seem that it progressed no further in its +stage career than in manuscript form, it being the only play on a +modern theme attempted by Boker. Then, it seems, he was hot on the +trail of the Francesca love story told in Dante, and used by so many +writers in drama and poetry. It is this play, conceded to be his +best, which is included in the present collection, and which calls for +analysis and history by itself. + +Taylor's collection of "Poems at Home and Abroad," dedicated to Boker +in 1855, suggests that the two must have continually talked over the +possibilities of gathering their best effusions in book form. Did not +Taylor write, as early as June 30, 1850, "You must come out in the +Fall with a volume of poems. Stoddard will, and so, I think, will I. +You can get a capital volume, with your 'Song', 'Sir John', 'Goblet', +and other things.... The publishing showmen would of course parade our +wonderful qualities, and the snarling critics in the crowd would show +their teeth; but we would be as unmoved as the wax statues of Parkman +and Webster, except that there might now and then be a sly wink +at each other, when nobody was looking." The two friends had been +separated for some time, while Taylor wandered over the face of +the globe, writing from Cairo, in the shadow of the pyramids, and +exclaiming, in Constantinople (July 18, 1852), "There is a touch of +the East in your nature, George." + +In 1856, Boker prepared his two volumes of "Plays and Poems" for the +press. He had won considerable reputation as a sonneteer, and this was +further increased by the tradition that Daniel Webster had quoted him +at a state dinner in Washington. As yet he was merely a literary +poet, and a literary dramatist whose name is usually linked with that +Philadelphia group discussed in Vol. II of this collection.[A] + +Writing of the Philadelphia of 1868, Leland says: + +[It was] "the Philadelphia when 'Emily Schaumbeg' was the belle and +Penington's 'store' was the haunt of the booklover, when snow fell +with old fashioned violence, and Third Street was convulsed by +old-fashioned panics, when everybody went mad over Offenbach, when one +started for New York from the Walnut Street Ferry, when George Boker +was writing his dramas and George Childs was beginning to play the +public Maecenas." Oftentimes the sturdy figure of Walt Whitman could +be seen walking on Broad Street, while Horace Greely, buried in +newspapers, travelled aboard a boat between New York and Philadelphia. + +It was the Civil War that not only turned Boker's pen to the Union +Cause, but changed him politically from a Democrat to a staunch +Republican. In fact, his name is closely interwoven with the +rehabilitation of the Republican party in Philadelphia. He often +confessed that his conscience hurt him many times when he realized he +cast his first vote for Buchanan. "After that," he is quoted as having +said, "the sword was drawn; it struck me that politics had vanished +entirely from the scene--that it was now merely a question of +patriotism or disloyalty." His "Poems of the War," issued in 1864, +contained such examples of his martial and occasional ability as the +"Dirge for a Soldier," "On the Death of Philip Kearney" and "The +Black Regiment," besides "On Board the Cumberland" and the "Battle of +Lookout Mountain." + +About this time, there was founded the Union League Club, with Boker +as the leading spirit; through his efforts the war earnestness of the +city was concentrated here; from 1863-71 he served as its secretary; +from 1879-84 as its President; and his official attitude may be +measured in the various annual reports of the organization. But even +in those strenuous days--at the period when the Northern spirits +lagged over military reverses, and at the time when the indecision +of General McClellan drew from him the satiric broadside,--"Tardy +George"--privately printed in 1865--Boker's thoughts were concerned +with poetry. His official laureate consciousness did not serve to +improve the verse. His "Our Heroic Themes"--written for the Harvard +Phi Beta Kappa--was mediocre in everything but intent, recalling what +Taylor wrote to him: "My Harvard poem, [he had read it in 1850 before +the same fraternity] poor as it is, was received with great applause; +but, alas! I published it, and thus killed the tradition of its +excellence, which, had I not done so, might still have been floating +around Harvard." + +In 1869, Boker issued "Koenigsmark, The Legend of the Hounds and other +Poems," and this ended his dramatic career until his return from +abroad, and until Lawrence Barrett came upon the scene with his +revival of "Francesca da Rimini" and his interest in Boker's other +work, to the extent of encouraging him to recast "Calaynos" and to +prepare "Nydia" (1885), later enlarged from two acts to a full sized +drama in "Glaucus" (1886), both drawing for inspiration on Bulwer's +"The Last Days of Pompeii." + +President Grant sent Boker to Constantinople, as U.S. Minister (his +appointment dated November 3, 1871)--an honour undoubtedly bestowed in +recognition of his national service. Here he remained four years, "and +during that time secured the redress for wrongs done American subjects +by the Syrians, and successfully negotiated two treaties, one having +reference to the extradition of criminals, and the other to the +naturalization of subjects of little power in the dominions of the +other." A reception was tendered him on December 22, 1871, by members +of the Union League Club, and among those present were Bayard Taylor, +Col. George Boker, of the Governor's staff, and son of Boker, and Dr. +Charles S. Boker, his brother. Among those who spoke were Robeson, +Secretary of the Navy, and Cameron, U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania. +Congratulatory letters were received from Bryant, James T. Fields, +Stoddard, Lowell, Longfellow, Aldrich, Curtis, and Stedman. On this +occasion, Taylor said: "I know the ripeness and soundness of his mind, +the fine balance of his intellectual qualities." + +On December 24, 1871, Boker wrote to Leland: + + The scarcest thing with me just now is time. I might give you + a shilling at a pinch, but a half hour is an article which I + do not happen to have about me.... By the way, your rhapsody + over the East in "M.K." ["Meister Karl"] had something to do + with my acceptance of the Turkish Mission; and if you have + been lying, I shall find you out, old boy. + +Boker's enthusiasm for Turkish scenery was unbounded, but his +difficulties as a diplomat were due to his ignorance of the tongue, +and his distrust of interpreters. But by the time his Government was +ready to transfer him to another post--that of Minister to Russia +(January 3, 1875)--he was heartily sick of his wrangling with the +Crescent, and glad, as he wrote Leland, "to shake the dust of this +dismal old city from my shoes, and prepare my toes for a freezing at +St. Petersburg." He echoed his distaste in later years by writing: "I +hate the East so profoundly that I should not return to it if there +were no other land in which I could live." This promotion to the +Russian court--it was a Russian, Ignatieff, who characterized him as +"of true diplomatic stuff"--was made in 1875, and he remained there +two years. + + "While in Russia," we learn, "he was the only one of our + Ministers at foreign courts who was able to checkmate Spain in + her controversy with us about the _Virginius_. He baffled + the Spanish Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and influenced + Gortschakoff to send a despatch to Madrid, which caused Spain + to apologize to the United States; thus averting serious + complications." + +Diplomatic life was not wholly distasteful to him; he possessed social +distinction which made him popular at both courts, so much so, indeed, +that the Czar cabled to Washington, when a change of administration +brought Boker's tenure of office to a close, asking if it were not +possible to have him retained. He had had his difficulties at the +Porte, as Lowell had had at Madrid. But his artistic nature responded +quickly to the picturesqueness of his surroundings. "Within a mile of +me," he writes Leland from Turkey,--"for I am now living at Therapia +upon the Bosphorus--there is a delicious encampment of the black tents +of a tribe of Gypsies." While he was in Russia he was continually +supplying Leland with information about gypsies. + +He went to Egypt, at the invitation of the Sultan, and--as though +recalling Taylor's longing, in 1852, when he was in Cairo, to have +Boker with him--took a trip up the Nile, with Leland, whom he had +invited to accompany him. Under the palm trees at Misraim, he had his +first meeting with Emerson. The varied foreign travel had broadened +his taste, and he was quickly responsive to what he saw. Writes +Leland: + + I have been with him many times in the Louvre, the great + galleries of London and St. Petersburg, and studied with him + the stupendous and strange remains of Egyptian art in the + Boulak Museum and the Nile temples, but never knew anyone, + however learned he might be in such matters, who had a more + sincere enjoyment of their greatest results. I remember that + he manifested much more interest and deeper feeling for what + he saw in Egypt than did Emerson, who was there at the same + time, and with whom I conversed daily. + +On January 15, 1878, Boker withdrew from diplomatic life, returning to +the United States, where he resumed literary work, his chief interest +in the stage being revived by his association with Barrett. His home +in Philadelphia--one of the literary centres of the time,--bore traces +of his Turkish stay--carpets brought from Constantinople, Arabic +designs on the draperies, and rich Eastern colours in the tapestried +chairs. His experience was obliged to affect his writing, if not in +feeling, at least in expression. I note in his "Monody," written +at the time of the death of his friend, the poet, T. Buchanan Read +(1822-1872), such lines as "the hilly Bosphorus," and "... For +the hills of Ancient Asia through my trembling tears glimmer like +fabrics...." As early as 1855, he had written for the _U.S. Gazette +and North American_, an article on Read comparing his "New Pastoral" +with the poetry of Cowper and Thompson. But Read to-day is familiar +because of his "Sheridan's Ride." We are told that Boker had a +work-room where he delighted in designing metal scrolls. + +There was a slight revival of public interest in his poems, which +necessitated the reprinting of several of his books. + +"The last time when I saw him," Stoddard recalls in 1890, "was at the +funeral of Taylor, at Cedarcroft, a little more than ten years ago. We +rode to the grave, on a hillside, and we rode back to the house. And +now he has gone to the great majority!" Boker died in Philadelphia, +January 2, 1890. "He takes place with Motley on our roll of well-known +authors," George Parsons Lathrop has written, "and it is even more +remarkable that he should have cultivated poetry in Philadelphia, +where the conditions were unfavourable, than that Motley should +have taken up history in Boston, where the conditions were wholly +propitious." + +It is by "Francesca da Rimini" that Boker is best remembered. In a +letter to Stoddard, March 3, 1853, he writes: + + You will laugh at this, but the thing is so. "Francesca da + Rimini" is the title. Of course you know the story,--everyone + does; but you nor any one else, do not know it as I have + treated it. I have great faith in the successful issue of this + new attempt. I think all day, and write all night. This is one + of my peculiarities, by the bye: a subject seizes me soul and + body, which accounts for the rapidity of my execution. My muse + resembles a whirlwind: she catches me up, hurries me along, + and drops me all breathless at the end of her career. + +And soon this was followed by the letter so often quoted, showing the +white-heat of his enthusiasm: + + Now that "Francesca da Rimini" is done,--all but the + polishing,--I have time to look around and see how I have + been neglecting my friends during my state of "possession." + Of course you wish to know my opinion of the bantling; I + shall suppose you do, at all events. Well, then, I am better + satisfied with "Francesca da Rimini" than with any of my + previous plays. It is impossible for me to say what you, or + the world, will say of it; but if it do not please you both, + I do not know what I am about. The play is more dramatic than + former ones, fiercer in its display of intense passions, and, + so far as mere poetry goes, not inferior, if not superior, to + any of them. In this play I have dared more, risked more, than + I ever had courage to do before. _Ergo_, if it be not a great + triumph, it will certainly be a great failure. I doubt whether + you, in a hundred guesses, could hit upon the manner in which + I have treated the story. I shall not attempt to prejudice + you regarding the play; I would rather have you judge for + yourself, even if your decision be adverse. Am I not the devil + and all for rapid composition? My speed frightens me, and + makes me fearful of the merits of my work. Yet, on coolly + going over my work, I find little to object to, either as to + the main design or its details. I touch up, here and there, + but I do little more. The reason for my rapid writing is + that I never attempt putting pen to paper before my design is + perfectly mature. I never start with one idea, trusting to the + glow of poetical composition for the remainder. That will + do in lyrical poetry, but it would be death and damnation to + dramatic. But just think of it!--twenty-eight hundred lines in + about three weeks! To look back upon such labour is appalling! + Let me give you the whole history of my manner of composition + in a few words. If it be not interesting to you, you differ + from me, and I mistake the kind of matters that interest you. + While I am writing I eat little, I drink nothing, I meditate + my work, literally, all day. By the time night arrives I am in + a highly nervous and excited state. About nine o'clock I begin + writing and smoking, and I continue the two exercises, _pari + passu_, until about four o'clock in the morning. Then I reel + to bed, half crazy with cigar-smoke and poesy, sleep five + hours, and begin the next day as the former. Ordinarily, I + sleep from seven to eight hours; but when I am writing, but + five,--simply because I cannot sleep any longer at such times. + The consequence of this mode of life is that at the end of + a long work I sink at once like a spent horse, and have not + energy enough to perform the ordinary duties of life. I _feel_ + my health giving way under it, but really I do not care. I am + ambitious to be remembered among the martyrs. + +This letter is not only significant of Boker's method of workmanship; +it is, as well, measure of his charm as a letter writer. For, in +correspondence with his close friends, he was as natural with them, +as full of force and brightness, as he was in conversation. We find +Taylor thanking him at one time, when in distress over family illness +and death, for his sustaining words of comfort; we find Leland basking +in the warmth of his sheer animal spirits. To the latter, Boker once +wrote: + + Dear old Charley, you are the only man living with whom I can + play the fool through a long letter and be sure that I shall + be clearly understood at the end. To say that this privilege + is cheerful is to say little, for it is the breath of life to + a man of a certain humour. + +The "Francesca" note, therefore, is typical of Boker's enthusiasm. +When Stoddard read the play, we wonder whether he saw in it any +similarities to Leigh Hunt's poem on the same subject? For once he had +detected in Boker's verses the influence of Hunt. There are critics +who claim Boker had read closely Hugo's "Le Roi s'Amuse." But there is +only one real comparison to make--with Shakespeare, to the detriment +of Boker. His memory beat in Elizabethan rhythm, and beat haltingly. +The present Editor began noting on the margin of his copy parallelisms +of thought and expression in this "Francesca" and in the plays of +Shakespeare; these similarities became so many, were so apparent, that +it is thought best to omit them. The text used is not based on the +manuscripts left by Boker, nor has it been compared with the acting +copy made, in 1855, for E.L. Davenport, as has already been done +elsewhere in print. I have preferred to use the text finally prepared +by Boker for his published plays, this being the one which met with +his approval. In 1882, Lawrence Barrett, with the aid of William +Winter, prepared an acting version of "Francesca," and it was this +which Mr. Otis Skinner used, when he revived the piece in 1901. + +A notice in The New York _Tribune_ for 1882 suggests that when E.L. +Davenport first essayed "Francesca da Rimini," in 1855, it was in +one-act. I can find no corroboration of this statement. The play-bill +here reproduced specifically announces a _five_ act tragedy, and it +is to be inferred that the form of the play, as given at the Broadway +Theatre, New York, September 26, 1855,[B] was the only one used by +him. Winter claims that as _Lanciotto_, Davenport was "unimaginative, +mechanical, and melodramatic," and that the whole piece "proved +tedious." This is strange, considering the heroic and romantic +characteristics in Davenport's method of acting. It may be that he +attempted Boker's play because of his interest in the development +of American drama. He had assisted Mrs. Mowatt in her career as +playwright, and, during his full life, his name was identified with +Boker's "Calaynos," George H. Miles's tragedy, "De Soto, the Hero +of the Mississippi," and Conrad's "Jack Cade." But the concensus of +opinion is that Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as given by Davenport, +was a failure. + +An examination of the cast in the Davenport program with the cast as +it was when Boker issued the play, indicates that the text must have +been considerably changed, and certain characters omitted, when, +at the suggestion of Winter, Lawrence Barrett promised to revive it +during the summer of 1882. The scholarly turn of Barrett's mind must +have made him ponder it well during a trip he made abroad at the time, +and Boker, meanwhile, must have been cutting the cloth to suit the +actor's ideas. Barron, one of Barrett's biographers, claims that "Mr. +Barrett saw great possibilities in the work, and with his practical +assistance the play was suitably changed, new situations were +effected, a more picturesque colouring was given the scenes and story, +and all that was repellant in the too close following of Dante [!] +was removed." The play was given by Barrett, at Haverly's Theatre, +Chicago, on September 14, 1882, Otis Skinner playing _Paolo_, and +Marie Wainwright appearing as _Francesca_. In Winter's estimate of the +performance, we find the dominant characteristics being "moderation" +and "balanced growth." He says of _Lanciotto_: "Alertness of the brain +sustained it, at every point, in brilliant vigour, and it rose in +power, and expanded in terrible beauty, accordingly as it was wrought +upon by the pressure of circumstances and the conflict of passions." + +The memory of this must have affected the interpretation of Mr. +Skinner, when, as _Lanciotto_, in his revival of the piece at the +Chicago Grand Opera House, August 22, 1901, with Aubrey Boucicault +as _Paolo_, Marcia Van Dresser as _Francesca_, and William Norris as +_Pepe_, he met with such success. "D'Annunzio gives us the soldier and +the brute," he wrote me in 1904. "Boker's hero is an idealist--almost +a dreamer." The fact is, Boker was recalling his memories of _Othello_ +and _Richard III_, if not of _Hamlet_, as Skinner suggests. In another +respect did the Barrett performance affect the later revival. The +portrayal of _Pepe_, by Norris, was based on what he called "the James +tradition," Louis James having, as Winter wrote, "a laughter that is +more terrible than malice." + +Lawrence Barrett's interest in the American drama was never very +pronounced. He sought Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," as he sought W.D. +Howells' "Yorick's Love" (given at Cleveland, Ohio, October 26, 1878), +because the roles therein suited his temperament. Between him and +Boker, there was some misunderstanding of short duration, about +royalties, but this was bridged over, and Boker's final attempts at +playwriting were made for him. The reader is referred to Vol. 32, +n.s. Vol. XXV, no. 2, June, 1917, of the _Publications of the Modern +Language Association of America_, for statements as to Boker's +"profits" from the stage. + +After Otis Skinner's revival of "Francesca da Rimini," it was played +for a while by Frederick Ward and Louis James in association (1893) +and by Frank C. Bangs in 1892. + +Hosts of dramas have been written on "Francesca da Rimini," and +every poet has essayed at one time or another to surpass Dante's +incomparable lines. Music scores have glorified this passionate love +story, while marble and canvas have caught the external expression of +it. In its portrayal, actual history has taken on legendary character, +and so "Francesca da Rimini" now ranks as a theme with the history +of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde. It has become the +inspiration for Maeterlinck in "Pelleas and Melisande," who has viewed +the Italian passion through a mirage of mysticism. + +Into "The Divine Comedy," the account of Francesca and Paolo is +dropped, keen, sensitive and delicate, as though the poet, a friend of +those concerned, wished to cover the hard fact of illicit love in an +ecstacy of human feeling. Dante, the supreme master of his age, the +incomparable lover of Beatrice, differentiated this tragedy from +countless incidents of like character which marked his age. Had the +story been preserved only in the form recorded by Boccaccio, it would +have been lost in its minor details of history; whereas Dante has +glorified it. + +By the very fact that Dante places the two lovers in the circle of the +Lustful, it is clear that he realized the enormity of their sin. +The theory that his friendship with Guido Novella, the nephew of +Francesca, made Dante refrain from entering fully into the incident, +will not hold, when it is remembered that the cantos of the Inferno +were written in 1300, seventeen years before the poet reached Ravenna, +and accepted the hospitality of the Polenta house. Dante's infinite +compassion is, therefore, the cause for the compressed poetry of this +famous passage. + +Dante's Francesca lines have been infinitely translated. Longfellow is +conscientious; Byron chafes to be freed of the original Italian, and +his lines are irksome; Rossetti sees and feels, but he is laboured. +Dante, infinitely translated, remains supreme. + +The poems on this ideal love legend are of infinite variety. Tassoni +describes Paolo, the warrior, consumed with ravishing love, "shrunk +with misery;" he fails to reach the youthful passion, and is as +mediaevally chivalric as is Chaucer in "The Knightes Tale" of Palamon +and Arcite. Leigh Hunt resorts to stilted narrative and description. + +Byron once thought to write a drama on this subject; had he done so, +Silvio Pellico might have had a formidable rival. More or less, all +the playwrights have gone to Italian history, and the more exact they +became, the more gross the situation. F. Marion Crawford fell on this +rock of accuracy, when he wrote his Francesca play for Mme. Sarah +Bernhardt. + +Silvio Pellico, who wrote the first drama on "Francesca da Rimini" +known to modern playgoers, lived his early life in an intensely +religious atmosphere, and suffered imprisonment later because of his +patriotic tendencies; it is not surprising, therefore, to find in his +play--first a national appeal that was to win it applause from all +Italy, and then, more important still, a purity of tone that struggled +most nobly against an inevitable, passionate end. _Paolo_ is the +one who, after some scruples, succumbs; _Francesca_ is infinitely +conscious that she is a wife; _Giovanni_ is suspicious. It would +seem that Pellico's play is the first that realized the theatrical +possibilities of the story; research has brought to light no play +manuscript previous to his. + +In the handling of his details, Pellico's incongruities and +artificialities are many. _Paolo_ returns from knightly deeds in Asia, +to find his father dead--the _Malatesta Verucchio_ who died in 1312, +twenty-seven years after _Giovanni_ committed the murder; therefore +Pellico gives to the deformed brother the power that history does not +wholly accord. The dramatist would avoid the indelicacy he finds in +the reading incident, recounting it only in a situation during +which _Francesca_ holds aloof in a wild effort to stifle her love. +Throughout the play, there is this ruthless twisting, in a desire to +conceal wrong and unpardonable sin. + +Turning to Uhland's fragmentary ideas, which even he himself was +doubtful whether he could handle, an atmosphere confronts us as +mediaevally German as the "Der arme Heinrich" of Hartmann von Aue, +which was the inspirational source for Longfellow's "The Golden +Legend." Uhland shows heaviness in conception, and a conventionality, +thoroughly at variance with the tragedy's original passion. Romantic +as he is, he has robbed the story of its warm southern nature, and has +thrown his Dante aside to deal with false situation. He seems willing +to let fact and spirit go. _Paolo_ is a knight who tilts and worships +a glove. Uhland thinks, and he is not alone in his belief, that +_Francesca_ had been promised to _Paolo_ before _Giovanni_ was wedded +to her; yet if _Paolo's_ marriage with _Orabile_, in 1269, is to be +recognized as correct, historically, logical deductions from dates +would discountenance the statement. Neither have I found commentaries +to support the theory that _Paolo_ was older than _Giovanni_, as +Uhland sets forth in his play. The servant in Boccaccio here becomes +a jealous lover. It is interesting to note the variations of this +counter-element in the many play versions of the story--the element +that urges _Giovanni's_ suspicion to quick action--the dramatic force +of _Pepe_ in Boker; the disappointed motherhood and embittered love of +_Lucrezia_ in Stephen Phillips; the inborn savagery of _Malatestino_ +in D'Annunzio; the innocent unconsciousness of _Concordia_ in +Crawford, which finds similarity in a scene in Maeterlinck's "Pelleas +and Melisande" between father and little son. Further, in Uhland, +a distorted glimpse of a colourless reportorial figure of Dante, +gathering material for his poem, is as meaningless as it is +unnecessary for atmosphere. + +Stephen Phillips, in his Francesca drama, ignores altogether Italian +temperament; save for the fact that he occasionally mentions the +Tyrant of Rimini, Pesaro and Florence, and that he adheres to historic +names, there is more of the English hamlet romance in the piece, than +Italian passion. And that cannot be said of Shakespeare's "Romeo and +Juliet." Perhaps one may claim for Phillips some of the simplicity of +Dante, but there is not the humanity. Undeniably, the English poet is +happy in phrase and imagery, but his genius is not so dramatic as it +is poetic; he has some of the great lyrical feeling of Tennyson, and +he has that which distinguishes the poet from the dramatist--the +power to _describe_ situation. One cannot deny the appeal of his +girl-Francesca, nor the beauty of many of his haunting lines; but no +warm impression of the situation is gained, and the characters are +peculiarly inactive at inopportune times. Mr. Phillips's talent +was predominantly undramatic; he was too much the poet to allow his +feeling to be guided by historical material. Yet, as acted, the play +was charmingly simple. + +On the other hand, D'Annunzio, in his drama, saturates himself with +the history of Italy. In bulk, his play has not the slightest claim +to simplicity; the main object of the dramatist seemed to have been +to overweight the scenes with the licentious and rude Italy of the +thirteenth century; extraneous side-issues burden the progress of +the plot. Yet D'Annunzio has taken care that this does not affect his +central theme. On the stage, the scenes appear cumbersome, and the +action moves slowly; but, after analyzing the book, it may be claimed +for this "Francesca da Rimini," that it reflects the age in which the +tragedy occurred. Much artistic construction is shown in the contrast +of the Polenta and Malatesta families, and, repellent as he is at +times, D'Annunzio has moments of great poetic fervour; his fire swings +forth in many of _Francesca's_ speeches, that alternate with the +languor of her symbolic nature. + +That his drama on Francesca was definitely constructed for theatrical +effect, was openly avowed by Marion Crawford. At the beginning of the +French version made for Mme. Bernhardt, he placed material that showed +his intention of dealing with fact in the manner of a novelist, and +regardless of the sweetness of Dante. To him, _Concordia_ is fourteen, +since he considers 1289 as the date of the tragedy, and, with his +details from Boccaccio's commentary, he has coarsened _Francesca_, +making her bitterness full of the spleen that could only accompany +maturity. A striking point is to be noted in the strong vein of +Catholicism that colours many of the speeches. + +_Paolo's_ wife, _Orabile_, moves through the D'Annunzio play with +only slight mention--to show the husband's avoidance of her--to draw +attention to her deep-rooted aversion to _Francesca_. Mr. Crawford +also brings her on the scene, and has _Paolo_ the cause of her death, +wittingly distorting history, since _Orabile_ died many years after +the murder of her husband. + +The only American drama on the subject is that by Boker; it is a +peculiarly contradictory piece of work, since, from the standpoint +of the stage, it is essentially and effectively dramatic, while as +literature it is imitative of the Elizabethan style. Boker's +poetic imagery is distinctly borrowed, and his choice of words +disappointingly colloquial. Yet, over and above the mere story, he +has succeeded in portraying a strong character in his _Pepe_. The +historical setting of the play is slight, yet sufficient to localize +the piece, and his _dramatis personae_ are faithfully distinct in +outline, though at times devoid of consuming passion. + +Phillips as a dramatist has the fault of being diffuse; Boker's style +is prosaically plain. Were it not for over-elaboration, D'Annunzio's +play might supplant all others because of its spirit. Could we take +from Phillips his simplicity, from D'Annunzio his Italian intensity, +and from Boker his proportion, and could we add these to Crawford's +realization of situation, toned away from his melodramatic tendencies, +an ideal drama on "Francesca da Rimini" might be constructed. + +But the revitalizing power that was given Shakespeare, has been +bequeathed to none who have followed Dante. The one beauty of the +Francesca story is the simple element that permeates the dark +motive. The genius required to deal with it lies in this: to make one +conscious of the tragedy in a touch that recalls the beauty of spring. + +It is strange that no other poet than Dante has succeeded in catching +this beauty. No poet, writing directly on the theme, has the subtle +feeling which may be compared with that of the Italian. Richard Le +Gallienne is infinitely superior to Hunt; Lowell and Gilder beyond +the lesser poets,--but all fade before the master. They treat of the +vision of Hell, with its whirling wind; of the two in close embrace; +there is the kiss that ends the reading of a self-same love; there is +the flash of a dagger that joins them eternally in death. These are +the themes for the songs. The artists have done with brush and pencil, +what the poets have tried in sonnets and verse. But it is Dante who +dominates them everyone. + +To me, after tracing in part the development of this Italian tragedy, +there remains the charm of Dante's simplicity, and were one to ask, +who, among the moderns, have partially reflected his passion, I should +turn to Keats' insatiable thirst for beauty in his sonnet, "A Dream, +After reading Dante's Episode of Paolo and Francesca," and his account +of it in a letter to George and Georgiana Keats (February 14, 1819), +and to Carlyle's appreciation of tragedy and love, in "The Hero as a +Poet." + +Boker's "Francesca da Rimini" will stand largely because, in structure +and in directness, it is strikingly effective for the stage. + + +[Footnote A: Duyckinck recalls that, in 1862, R.T. Conrad's +"Devotional Poems" were published, edited by Boker.] + +[Footnote B: We find a record of Mrs. John Drew having, as +_Francesca_, supported Davenport when the play was taken to +Philadelphia.] + + + +BROADWAY THEATRE + + * * * * * + +LESSEE MR. E.A. MARSHALL +STAGE MANAGER MR. W.R. BLAKE + + * * * * * + +SECOND WEEK OF THE + REGULAR SEASON! + + * * * * * + +CONTINUATION OF THE ENGAGEMENT OF THE EMINENT + + =AMERICAN ACTOR= + +MR. E.L. DAVENPORT + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE OF + +=THE TRAGEDY= + +by G.H. BOKER, Esq., author of "Calaynos," "Betrothal," &c called + +=Francesca da Rimini= + +Will appear in an entirely +ORIGINAL CHARACTER!! + + * * * * * + +This production of a popular and most talented Native Author will be +brought forward with the efficient aid of + +ESTABLISHED PERFORMERS! +NEW AND APPROPRIATE SCENERY!! +COSTUMES, PROPERTIES, DECORATIONS!!! +APPOINTMENTS, MUSIC and PAGANTRY!!!! + + * * * * * + +WEDNESDAY EVENING, SEPT 26, 1855 +Will be presented the Tragedy, in five acts, by G.H. BOKER, Esq., entitled + + =FRANCESCA= + =DA= + =RIMINI= + +CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. + +_GUELPHS._ + +Malatesto, (Lord of Rimini) Mr. Whiting +LANCIOTTO {his sons } Mr. E.L. DAVENPORT +Paolo { } Mr. Lanergan +Pepe, (the Jester) Mr. C. Flaher +Rosalvi { } Mr. Walters +Malvechi {Young Nobles--companions of Paolo } Mr. Harcourt +Civanti { } Mr. Cutter +Rene, (a Troubadour) Mr. Vincent +Nobles, Soldiers, Pages, Troubadours, Attendants, &c, &c. + +_GHIBELINS._ + +Guido da Polenta, (Lord of Ravenna) Mr. Canoll +The Cardinal Veechino Mr. Hodges +Florensi {Nobles of Malatesto's Court} Mr. Willet +Beppo { } Joraike +Henrico, (Captain of the Guard) Mr. Fordyck +Antonio, (A leader of the Forces) Mr. Wright +Nobles, Dignitaries of the Church, Soldiers, Pages, Banner + Bearers, Messengers, &c. + +Francesca da Rimini, (Daughter of Guido) Mme Poniat +Ritta, (her attendent) Miss J. Manners + + * * * * * + +TO-MORROW EVENING--A NEW TRAGEDY, in which + + =MR. E.L. DAVENPORT= + Will appear + + * * * * * + +TREASURER Mr. P. WARREN +ASSISTANT TREASURER Mr. NAGLE + * * * * * + +Doors open at three quarters past 6 o'clock--Performances will commence + an half past 7, precisely. + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +_A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS_[A] + +_By_ GEORGE H. BOKER + + +[Footnote A: The text that follows was compared with Lawrence +Barrett's copy of the second edition, now in the library of The +Players, New York. The title page reads: Plays and Poems: | by | +George H. Boker | In two volumes | Vol. I | Second Edition | Boston: | +Ticknor and Fields. | MDCCCLVII. | | Boker's copyright, 1856.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + +McVicker's Theatre, Chicago, November 6, 1882 + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. B.G. Rogers. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. F.C. Mosley. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Lawrence Barrett. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PEPE,[1] _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. Louis James. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Charles Rolfe. +RENE,[1] _A troubadour_ Mr. Percy Winter. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marie Wainwright. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Rosie Batchelder. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ + + +Grand Opera House, Chicago, August 26, 1901. + +MALATESTA, _Lord of Rimini_ Mr. W.J. Constantine. +GUIDO DA POLENTA, _Lord of Ravenna_ Mr. E.A. Eberle. +LANCIOTTO, _Malatesta's son_ Mr. Otis Skinner. +PAOLO, _His brother_ Mr. Aubrey Boucicault. +PEPE, _Malatesta's jester_ Mr. William Norris. +CARDINAL, _Friend to Guido_ Mr. Frederick von Rensselar. +RENE, _A troubadour_ Mr. Fletcher Norton. +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, _Guido's daughter_ Miss Marcia Van Dresser. +RITTA, _Her maid_ Miss Gertrude Norman. + +_Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc._ +SCENE. _Rimini, Ravenna, and the neighbourhood._ +TIME. _About 1300 A.D._ + +[Footnote 1: In the original edition, the accents in the names of PEPE +and RENE are used only in the Dramatis Personae, and not in the body of +the book.] + + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. The Garden of the Palace. PAOLO and a number of +noblemen are discovered, seated under an arbour, surrounded by RENE, +and other troubadours, attendants, &c._ + + PAOLO. I prithee, Rene, charm our ears again +With the same song you sang me yesterday. +Here are fresh listeners. + + RENE. Really, my good lord, +My voice is out of joint. A grievous cold-- + + [_Coughs._ + + PAOLO. A very grievous, but convenient cold, +Which always racks you when you would not sing. + + RENE. O, no, my lord! Besides, I hoped to hear +My ditty warbled into fairer ears, +By your own lips; to better purpose, too. + + [_The NOBLEMEN all laugh._ + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Rene has hit it. Music runs to waste +In ears like ours. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Nay, nay; chaunt on, sweet Count. + + PAOLO. [_Coughing._] Alack! you hear, I've caught poor Rene's cough. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. That would not be, if we wore petticoats. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. O, fie! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. So runs the scandal to our ears. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Confirmed by all our other senses, Count. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. Witnessed by many a doleful sigh, poured out +By many a breaking heart in Rimini. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. Poor girls! + + FIRST NOBLEMAN.[_Mimicking a lady._] Sweet Count! sweet +Count Paolo! O! +Plant early violets upon my grave! +Thus go a thousand voices to one tune. + + [_The others laugh._ + + PAOLO. 'Ods mercy! gentlemen, you do me wrong. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. And by how many hundred, more or less? + + PAOLO. Ah! rogues, you'd shift your sins upon my shoulders. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. You'd bear them stoutly. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. It were vain to give +Drops to god Neptune. You're the sea of love +That swallows all things. + + SECOND NOBLEMAN. We the little fish +That meanly scull about within your depths. + + PAOLO. Goon, goon! Talk yourselves fairly out. + [PEPE _laughs without._ +But, hark! here comes the fool! Fit company +For this most noble company of wits! + + [_Enter_ PEPE, _laughing violently._] + +Why do you laugh? + + PEPE. I'm laughing at the world. +It has laughed long enough at me; and so +I'll turn the tables. Ho! ho! ho! I've heard +A better joke of Uncle Malatesta's +Than any I e'er uttered. [_Laughing._ + + ALL. Tell it, fool. + + PEPE. Why, do you know--upon my life, the best +And most original idea on earth: +A joke to put in practice, too. By Jove! +I'll bet my wit 'gainst the stupidity +Of the best gentleman among you all, +You cannot guess it. + + ALL. Tell us, tell us, fool. + + PEPE. Guess it, guess it, fools. + + PAOLO Come, disclose, disclose! + + PEPE. He has a match afoot.-- + + ALL. A match! + + PEPE. A marriage. + + ALL. Who?--who? + + PEPE. A marriage in his family. + + ALL. But, who? + + PEPE. Ah! there's the point. + + ALL. Paolo? + + PEPE. No. + + FIRST NOBLEMAN. The others are well wived. Shall we turn Turks? + + PEPE. Why, there's the summit of his joke, good sirs. +By all the sacred symbols of my art-- +By cap and bauble, by my tinkling bell-- +He means to marry Lanciotto! + [_Laughs violently._ + + ALL. [Laughing.] Ho!-- + + PAOLO. Peace! peace! What tongue dare echo yon fool's laugh? +Nay, never raise your hands in wonderment: +I'll strike the dearest friend among ye all +Beneath my feet, as if he were a slave, +Who dares insult my brother with a laugh! + + PEPE. By Jove! ye're sad enough. Here's mirth's quick cure! +Pretty Paolo has a heavy fist, +I warn you, sirs. Ho! ho! I trapped them all; + [_Laughing._] +Now I'll go mar old Malatesta's message. [_Aside._ + [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. Shame on ye, sirs! I have mistaken you. +I thought I harboured better friends. Poor fops, +Who've slept in down and satin all your years, +Within the circle Lanciotto charmed +Round Rimini with his most potent sword!-- +Fellows whose brows would melt beneath a casque, +Whose hands would fray to grasp a brand's rough hilt, +Who ne'er launched more than braggart threats at foes!-- +Girlish companions of luxurious girls!-- +Danglers round troubadours and wine-cups!--Men +Whose best parts are their clothes! bundles of silk, +Scented like summer! rag-men, nothing more!-- +Creatures as generous as monkeys--brave +As hunted hares--courteous as grinning apes-- +Grateful as serpents--useful as lap-dogs-- + [_During this, the_ NOBLEMEN, _&c., steal off._] + Ha! +I am alone at last! So let me be, +Till Lanciotto fill the vacant room +Of these mean knaves, whose friendship is but breath. [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Hall in the Castle. Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ LANCIOTTO. + + MALATESTA. Guido, ay, Guido of Ravenna, son-- +Down on his knees, as full of abject prayers +For peace and mercy as a penitent. + + LANCIOTTO. His old trick, father. While his wearied arm +Is raised in seeming prayer, it only rests. +Anon, he'll deal you such a staggering blow, +With its recovered strength, as shall convert +You, and not him, into a penitent. + + MALATESTA. No, no; your last bout levelled him. He reeled +Into Ravenna, from the battle-field, +Like a stripped drunkard, and there headlong fell-- +A mass of squalid misery, a thing +To draw the jeering urchins. I have this +From faithful spies. There's not a hope remains +To break the shock of his great overthrow. +I pity Guido. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Sdeath! go comfort him! +I pity those who fought, and bled, and died, +Before the armies of this Ghibelin. +I pity those who halted home with wounds +Dealt by his hand. I pity widowed eyes +That he set running; maiden hearts that turn, +Sick with despair, from ranks thinned down by him; +Mothers that shriek, as the last stragglers fling +Their feverish bodies by the fountain-side, +Dumb with mere thirst, and faintly point to him, +Answering the dame's quick questions. I have seen +Unburied bones, and skulls--that seemed to ask, +From their blank eye-holes, vengeance at my hand-- +Shine in the moonlight on old battle-fields; +And even these--the happy dead, my lord-- +I pity more than Guido of Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. What would you have? + + LANCIOTTO. I'd see Ravenna burn, +Flame into heaven, and scorch the flying clouds; +I'd choke her streets with ruined palaces; +I'd hear her women scream with fear and grief, +As I have heard the maids of Rimini. +All this I'd sprinkle with old Guido's blood, +And bless the baptism. + + MALATESTA. You are cruel. + + LANCIOTTO. Not I; +But these things ache within my fretting brain. +The sight I first beheld was from the arms +Of my wild nurse, her husband hacked to death +By the fierce edges of these Ghibelins. +One cut across the neck--I see it now, +Ay, and have mimicked it a thousand times, +Just as I saw it, on our enemies.-- +Why, that cut seemed as if it meant to bleed +On till the judgment. My distracted nurse +Stooped down, and paddled in the running gore +With her poor fingers; then a prophetess, +Pale with the inspiration of the god, +She towered aloft, and with her dripping hand +Three times she signed me with the holy cross. +Tis all as plain as noon-day. Thus she spake,-- +"May this spot stand till Guido's dearest blood +Be mingled with thy own!" The soldiers say, +In the close battle, when my wrath is up, +The dead man's blood flames on my vengeful brow +Like a red planet; and when war is o'er, +It shrinks into my brain, defiling all +My better nature with its slaughterous lusts. +Howe'er it be, it shaped my earliest thought, +And it will shape my last. + + MALATESTA. You moody churl! +You dismal knot of superstitious dreams! +Do you not blush to empty such a head +Before a sober man? Why, son, the world +Has not given o'er its laughing humour yet, +That you should try it with such vagaries.--Poh! +I'll get a wife to teach you common sense. + + LANCIOTTO. A wife for me! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Ay, sir, a wife for you. +You shall be married, to insure your wits. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis not your wont to mock me. + + MALATESTA. How now, son! +I am not given to jesting. I have chosen +The fairest wife in Italy for you. +You won her bravely, as a soldier should: +And when you'd woo her, stretch your gauntlet out, +And crush her fingers in its steely grip. +If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say-- +No, by your leave. Should she refuse, howe'er, +With that same iron hand you shall go knock +Upon Ravenna's gates, till all the town +Ring with your courtship. I have made her hand +The price and pledge of Guido's future peace. + + LANCIOTTO. All this is done! + + MALATESTA. Done, out of hand; and now +I wait a formal answer, nothing more. +Guido dare not decline. No, by the saints, +He'd send Ravenna's virgins here in droves, +To buy a ten days' truce. + + LANCIOTTO. Sir, let me say, +You stretch paternal privilege too far, +To pledge my hand without my own consent. +Am I a portion of your household stuff, +That you should trade me off to Guido thus? +Who is the lady I am bartered for? + + MALATESTA. Francesca, Guido's daughter.--Never frown; +It shall be so! + + LANCIOTTO. By heaven, it shall not be! +My blood shall never mingle with his race. + + MALATESTA. According to your nurse's prophecy, +Fate orders it. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! + + MALATESTA. Now, then, I have struck +The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts. +Bah! on your sibyl and her prophecy! +Put Guido's blood aside, and yet, I say, +Marry you shall. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis most distasteful, sir. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto, look ye! You brave gentlemen, +So fond of knocking out poor people's brains, +In time must come to have your own knocked out: +What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands, +To carry on your business, and our house +Die out for lack of princes? + + LANCIOTTO. Wed my brothers: +They'll rear you sons, I'll slay you enemies. +Paolo and Francesca! Note their names; +They chime together like sweet marriage-bells. +A proper match. 'Tis said she's beautiful; +And he is the delight of Rimini,-- +The pride and conscious centre of all eyes, +The theme of poets, the ideal of art, +The earthly treasury of Heaven's best gifts! +I am a soldier; from my very birth, +Heaven cut me out for terror, not for love. +I had such fancies once, but now-- + + MALATESTA. Pshaw! son, +My faith is bound to Guido; and if you +Do not throw off your duty, and defy, +Through sickly scruples, my express commands, +You'll yield at once. No more: I'll have it so! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. Curses upon my destiny! What, I-- +Ho! I have found my use at last--What, I, +I, the great twisted monster of the wars, +The brawny cripple, the herculean dwarf, +The spur of panic, and the butt of scorn-- +be a bridegroom! Heaven, was I not cursed +More than enough, when thou didst fashion me +To be a type of ugliness,--a thing +By whose comparison all Rimini +Holds itself beautiful? Lo! here I stand, +A gnarled, blighted trunk! There's not a knave +So spindle-shanked, so wry-faced, so infirm, +Who looks at me, and smiles not on himself. +And I have friends to pity me--great Heaven! +One has a favourite leg that he bewails,-- +Another sees my hip with doleful plaints,-- +A third is sorry o'er my huge swart arms,-- +A fourth aspires to mount my very hump, +And thence harangue his weeping brotherhood! +Pah! it is nauseous! Must I further bear +The sidelong shuddering glances of a wife? +The degradation of a showy love, +That over-acts, and proves the mummer's craft +Untouched by nature? And a fair wife, too!-- +Francesca, whom the minstrels sing about! +Though, by my side, what woman were not fair? +Circe looked well among her swine, no doubt; +Next me, she'd pass for Venus. Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +Would there were something merry in my laugh! +Now, in the battle, if a Ghibelin +Cry, "Wry-hip! hunchback!" I can trample him +Under my stallion's hoofs; or haggle him +Into a monstrous likeness of myself: +But to be pitied,--to endure a sting +Thrust in by kindness, with a sort of smile!-- +'Sdeath! it is miserable! + + [_Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. My lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. My fool! + + PEPE. We'll change our titles when your bride's bells ring-- +Ha, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. Even this poor fool has eyes, +To see the wretched plight in which I stand. + [_Aside._] +How, gossip, how? + + PEPE. I, being the court-fool, +Am lord of fools by my prerogative. + + LANCIOTTO. Who told you of my marriage? + + PEPE. Rimini! +A frightful liar; but true for once, I fear. +The messenger from Guido has returned, +And the whole town is wailing over him. +Some pity you, and some the bride; but I, +Being more catholic, I pity both. + + LANCIOTTO. Still, pity, pity! [_Aside. Bells toll._] Ha! whose knell is that? + + PEPE. Lord Malatesta sent me to the tower, +To have the bells rung for your marriage-news. +How, he said not; so I, as I thought fit, +Told the deaf sexton to ring out a knell. + [_Bells toll._] +How do you like it? + + LANCIOTTO. Varlet, have you bones, +To risk their breaking? I have half a mind +To thresh you from your motley coat! + [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Pardee! +Respect my coxcomb, cousin. Hark! ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] + [_Bells ring a joyful peal._] +Some one has changed my music. Heaven defend! +How the bells jangle. Yonder graybeard, now, +Rings a peal vilely. He's more used to knells, +And sounds them grandly. Only give him time, +And, I'll be sworn, he'll ring your knell out yet. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, you are but half a fool. + + PEPE. My lord, +I can return the compliment in full. + + LANCIOTTO. So, you are ready. + + PEPE. Truth is always so. + + LANCIOTTO. I shook you rudely; here's a florin. + [_Offers money._ + + PEPE. No: +My wit is merchandise, but not my honour. + + LANCIOTTO. Your honour, sirrah! + + PEPE. Why not? You great lords +Have something you call lordly honour; pray, +May not a fool have foolish honour, too? +Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat-- +'Twas the first sacrilege it ever knew--And +you shall pay it. Mark! I promise you. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! you bluster well. Upon my life, +You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath. +Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek-- +Thus, gossip, thus--[_Strikes him._] what would you then demand? + + PEPE. Your life! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha, ha! there is the camp-style, too, +A very cut-throat air! How this shrewd fool +Makes the punctilio of honour show! +Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles, +And what a figure is poor chivalry! +Thanks for your lesson, Pepe. + [_Exit._ + + PEPE. Ere I'm done, +You'll curse as heartily, you limping beast! +Ha! so we go--Lord Lanciotto, look! + [_Walks about, mimicking him._] +Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth, +To match your honour and nobility! +You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake, +Or strike in jest, a natural man like me?-- +You cursed lump, you chaos of a man, +To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good! + [_Bells ring._] +There go the bells rejoicing over you: +I'll change them back to the old knell again. +You marry, faugh! Beget a race of elves; +Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within +The limits of your nature! Here we go, +Tripping along to meet our promised bride, +Like a rheumatic elephant!--ha, ha! [_Laughing._ + + [_Exit, mimicking_ LANCIOTTO. + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in the Same. Enter_ LANCIOTTO, _hastily._ + + LANCIOTTO. Why do these prodigies environ me? +In ancient Rome, the words a fool might drop, +From the confusion of his vagrant thoughts, +Were held as omens, prophecies; and men +Who made earth tremble with majestic deeds, +Trembled themselves at fortune's lightest threat. +I like it not. My father named this match +While I boiled over with vindictive wrath +Towards Guido and Ravenna. Straight my heart +Sank down like lead; a weakness seized on me, +A dismal gloom that I could not resist; +I lacked the power to take my stand, and say-- +Bluntly, I will not! Am I in the toils? +Has fate so weakened me, to work its end? +There seems a fascination in it, too,-- +A morbid craving to pursue a thing +Whose issue may be fatal. Would that I +Were in the wars again! These mental weeds +Grow on the surface of inactive peace. +I'm haunted by myself. Thought preys on thought. +My mind seems crowded in the hideous mould +That shaped my body. What a fool am I +To bear the burden of my wretched life, +To sweat and toil under the world's broad eye, +Climb into fame, and find myself--O, what?-- +A most conspicuous monster! Crown my head, +Pile Caesar's purple on me--and what then? +My hump shall shorten the imperial robe, +My leg peep out beneath the scanty hem, +My broken hip shall twist the gown awry; +And pomp, instead of dignifying me, +Shall be by me made quite ridiculous. +The faintest coward would not bear all this: +Prodigious courage must be mine, to live; +To die asks nothing but weak will, and I +Feel like a craven. Let me skulk away +Ere life o'ertask me. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. [_Seizing his hand._] Brother! what is this? +Lanciotto, are you mad? Kind Heaven! look here-- +Straight in my eyes. Now answer, do you know +How near you were to murder? Dare you bend +Your wicked hand against a heart I love? +Were it for you to mourn your wilful death, +With such a bitterness as would be ours, +The wish would ne'er have crossed you. While we're bound +Life into life, a chain of loving hearts, +Were it not base in you, the middle link, +To snap, and scatter all? Shame, brother, shame! +I thought you better metal. + + LANCIOTTO. Spare your words. +I know the seasons of our human grief, +And can predict them without almanac. +A few sobs o'er the body, and a few +Over the coffin; then a sigh or two, +Whose windy passage dries the hanging tear; +Perchance, some wandering memories, some regrets; +Then a vast influx of consoling thoughts-- +Based on the trials of the sadder days +Which the dead missed; and then a smiling face +Turned on to-morrow. Such is mortal grief. +It writes its histories within a span, +And never lives to read them. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I heard the bells of Rimini, just now, +Exulting o'er your coming marriage-day, +While you conspired to teach them gloomier sounds. +Why are you sad? + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, I am wretched; +Sad's a faint word. But of my marriage-bells-- +Heard you the knell that Pepe rang? + + PAOLO. 'Twas strange: +A sullen antic of his crabbed wit. + + LANCIOTTO. It was portentous. All dumb things find tongues +Against this marriage. As I passed the hall, +My armour glittered on the wall, and I +Paused by the harness, as before a friend +Whose well-known features slack our hurried gait; +Francesca's name was fresh upon my mind, +So I half-uttered it. Instant, my sword +Leaped from its scabbard, as with sudden life, +Plunged down and pierced into the oaken floor, +Shivering with fear! Lo! while I gazed upon it-- +Doubting the nature of the accident-- +Around the point appeared a spot of blood, +Oozing upon the floor, that spread and spread-- +As I stood gasping by in speechless horror-- +Ring beyond ring, until the odious tide +Crawled to my feet, and lapped them, like the tongues +Of angry serpents! O, my God! I fled +At the first touch of the infernal stain! +Go--you may see--go to the hall! + + PAOLO. Fie! man, +You have been ever played on in this sort +By your wild fancies. When your heart is high, +You make them playthings; but in lower moods, +They seem to sap the essence of your soul, +And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs. + + LANCIOTTO. Go look, go look! + + PAOLO. [_Goes to the door, and returns._] There sticks the sword, indeed, +Just as your tread detached it from its sheath; +Looking more like a blessed cross, I think, +Than a bad looking omen. As for blood--Ha, ha! + [_Laughing._] +It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this! +Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself +For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems, +Do wonders for us. Brother, come; I'll be +Your tiring-man, for once. + + LANCIOTTO. Array this lump-- +Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts +Best left imprisoned in the aching heart, +Lest the freed malefactors should dispread +Infamous ruin with their liberty. +There's not a man--the fairest of ye all-- +Who is not fouler than he seems. This life +Is one unending struggle to conceal +Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one +In vestal whiteness with a lecher's lust;-- +There sits a judge, holding law's scales in hands +That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch;-- +Here goes a priest with heavenward eyes, whose soul +Is Satan's council-chamber;--there a doctor, +With nature's secrets wrinkled round a brow +Guilty with conscious ignorance;--and here +A soldier rivals Hector's bloody deeds-- +Out-does the devil in audacity-- +With craven longings fluttering in a heart +That dares do aught but fly! Thus are we all +Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world, +That takes us at our seeming. + + PAOLO. Say 'tis true; +What do you drive at? + + LANCIOTTO. At myself, full tilt. +I, like the others, am not what I seem. +Men call me gentle, courteous, brave.--They lie! +I'm harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve +To cast my devils out upon the earth, +I'd show this laughing planet what a hell +Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn, +It has forced back to canker in the heart +Of one poor cripple! + + PAOLO. Ha! + + LANCIOTTO. Ay, now 'tis out! +A word I never breathed to man before. +Can you, who are a miracle of grace, +Feel what it is to be a wreck like me? +Paolo, look at me. Is there a line, +In my whole bulk of wretched contraries, +That nature in a nightmare ever used +Upon her shapes till now? Find me the man, +Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing, +So out of harmony with all things else, +And I'll go raving with bare happiness,-- +Ay, and I'll marry Helena of Greece, +And swear I do her honour! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +I, who have known you from a stripling up, +Never observed, or, if I did, ne'er weighed +Your special difference from the rest of men. +You're not Apollo-- + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PAOLO. Nor yet are you +A second Pluto. Could I change with you-- +My graces for your nobler qualities-- +Your strength, your courage, your renown--by heaven, +We'd e'en change persons, to the finest hair. + + LANCIOTTO. You should be flatterer to an emperor. + + PAOLO. I am but just. Let me beseech you, brother. +To look with greater favour on yourself; +Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain +To take the place of sound realities. +Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull +Your cruel delusions in domestic peace. +Ghosts fly a fireside; 'tis their wont to stalk +Through empty houses, and through empty hearts. +I know Francesca will be proud of you. +Women admire you heroes. Rusty sages, +Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been +Their idols ever; while we fair plump fools +Are elbowed to the wall, or only used +For vacant pastime. + + LANCIOTTO. To Ravenna?--no! +In Rimini they know me; at Ravenna +I'd be a new-come monster, and exposed +To curious wonder. There will be parade +Of all the usual follies of the state; +Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands, +Would strut before me, like vain mountebanks +Before their monkeys. Then, I should be stared +Out of my modesty; and when they look, +How can I tell if 'tis the bridegroom's face +Or hump that draws their eyes? I will not go. +To please you all, I'll marry; but to please +The wonder-mongers of Ravenna--Ha! +Paolo, now I have it. You shall go, +To bring Francesca; and you'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am. +If she draw backward, give her rein; and say +That neither Guido-nor herself shall feel +The weight of my displeasure. You may say, +I pity her-- + + PAOLO. For what? + + LANCIOTTO. For wedding me. +In sooth, she'll need it. Say-- + + PAOLO. Nay, Lanciotto, +I'll be a better orator in your behalf, +Without your promptings. + + LANCIOTTO. She is fair, 'tis said; +And, dear Paolo, if she please your eye, +And move your heart to anything like love, +Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm +By such a match. + + PAOLO. [_Laughing._] Ha! that is right: be gay! +Ply me with jokes! I'd rather see you smile +Than see the sun shine. + + LANCIOTTO. I am serious. +I'll find another wife, less beautiful, +More on my level, and-- + + PAOLO. An empress, brother, +Were honoured by your hand. You are by much +Too humble in your reckoning of yourself. +I can count virtues in you, to supply +Half Italy, if they were parcelled out. +Look up! + + LANCIOTTO. I cannot: Heaven has bent me down. +To you, Paolo, I could look, however, +Were my hump made a mountain. Bless him, God! +Pour everlasting bounties on his head! +Make Croesus jealous of his treasury, +Achilles of his arms, Endymion +Of his fresh beauties,--though the coy one lay, +Blushing beneath Diana's earliest kiss, +On grassy Latmos; and may every good, +Beyond man's sight, though in the ken of heaven, +Round his fair fortune to a perfect end! +O, you have dried the sorrow of my eyes; +My heart is beating with a lighter pulse; +The air is musical; the total earth +Puts on new beauty, and within the arms +Of girding ocean dreams her time away, +And visions bright to-morrows! + + _Enter_ MALATESTA _and_ PEPE. + + MALATESTA. Mount, to horse! + + PEPE. [_Aside._] Good Lord! he's smiling! What's the matter now? +Has anybody broken a leg or back? +Has a more monstrous monster come to life? +Is hell burst open?--heaven burnt up? What, what +Can make yon eyesore grin?--I say, my lord, +What cow has calved? + + PAOLO. Your mother, by the bleat. + + PEPE. Right fairly answered--for a gentleman! +When did you take my trade up? + + PAOLO. When your wit +Went begging, sirrah. + + PEPE. Well again! My lord, +I think he'll do. + + MALATESTA. For what? + + PEPE. To take my place. +Once fools were rare, and then my office sped; +But now the world is overrun with them: +One gets one's fool in one's own family, +Without much searching. + + MALATESTA. Pepe, gently now. +Lanciotto, you are waited for. The train +Has passed the gate, and halted there for you. + + LANCIOTTO. I go not to Ravenna. + + MALATESTA. Hey! why not? + + PAOLO. For weighty reasons, father. Will you trust +Your greatest captain, hope of all the Guelfs, +With crafty Guido? Should the Ghibelins +Break faith, and shut Lanciotto in their walls-- +Sure the temptation would be great enough-- +What would you do? + + MALATESTA. I'd eat Ravenna up! + + PEPE. Lord! what an appetite! + + PAOLO. But Lanciotto +Would be a precious hostage. + + MALATESTA. True; you're wise; +Guido's a fox. Well, have it your own way. +What is your plan? + + PAOLO. I go there in his place. + + MALATESTA. Good! I will send a letter with the news. + + LANCIOTTO. I thank you, brother. [_Apart to PAOLO._ + + PEPE. Ha! ha! ha!--O! O! [_Laughing._ + + MALATESTA. Pepe, what now? + + PEPE. O! lord, O!--ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._ + + PAOLO. Well, giggler? + + PEPE. Hear my fable, uncle. + + MALATESTA. Ay. + + PEPE. Once on a time, Vulcan sent Mercury +To fetch dame Venus from a romp in heaven. +Well, they were long in coming, as he thought; +And so the god of spits and gridirons +Railed like himself--the devil. But--now mark-- +Here comes the moral. In a little while, +Vulcan grew proud, because he saw plain signs +That he should be a father; and so he +Strutted through hell, and pushed the devils by, +Like a magnifico of Venice. Ere long, +His heir was born; but then--ho! ho!--the brat +Had wings upon his heels, and thievish ways, +And a vile squint, like errant Mercury's, +Which honest Vulcan could not understand;-- +Can you? + + PAOLO. 'Sdeath! fool, I'll have you in the stocks. +Father, your fool exceeds his privilege. + + PEPE. [_Apart to_ PAOLO.] Keep your own bounds, Paolo. In the stocks +I'd tell more fables than you'd wish to hear. +And so ride forth. But, cousin, don't forget +To take Lanciotto's picture to the bride. +Ask her to choose between it and yourself. +I'll count the moments, while she hesitates, +And not grow gray at it. + + PAOLO. Peace, varlet, peace! + + PEPE. [_Apart to him._] Ah, now I have it. There's an elephant +Upon the scutcheon; show her that, and say-- +Here's Lanciotto in our heraldry! + + PAOLO. Here's for your counsel! + [_Strikes_ PEPE, _who runs behind MALATESTA._ + + MALATESTA. Son, son, have a care! +We who keep pets must bear their pecks sometimes. +Poor knave! Ha! ha! thou'rt growing villainous! + [_Laughs and pats PEPE._ + + PEPE. Another blow! another life for that! [_Aside._ + + PAOLO. Farewell, Lanciotto. You are dull again. + + LANCIOTTO. Nature will rule. + + MALATESTA. Come, come! + + LANCIOTTO. God speed you, brother! +I am too sad; my smiles all turn to sighs. + + PAOLO. More cause to haste me on my happy work. + [_Exit with_ MALATESTA. + + PEPE. I'm going, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Go. + + PEPE. Pray, ask me where. + + LANCIOTTO. Where, then? + + PEPE. To have my jewel carried home: +And, as I'm wise, the carrier shall be +A thief, a thief, by Jove! The fashion's new. + [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. In truth, I am too gloomy and irrational. +Paolo must be right. I always had +These moody hours and dark presentiments, +Without mischances following after them. +The camp is my abode. A neighing steed, +A fiery onset, and a stubborn fight, +Rouse my dull blood, and tire my body down +To quiet slumbers when the day is o'er, +And night above me spreads her spangled tent, +Lit by the dying cresset of the moon. +Ay, that is it; I'm homesick for the camp. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT II. + + + +SCENE I. _Ravenna. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and a_ +CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I warn thee, Count. + + GUIDO. I'll take the warning, father, +On one condition: show me but a way +For safe escape. + + CARDINAL. I cannot. + + GUIDO. There's the point. +We Ghibelins are fettered hand and foot. +There's not a florin in my treasury; +Not a lame soldier, I can lead to war; +Not one to man the walls. A present siege, +Pushed with the wonted heat of Lanciotto, +Would deal Ravenna such a mortal blow +As ages could not mend. Give me but time +To fill the drained arteries of the land. +The Guelfs are masters, we their slaves; and we +Were wiser to confess it, ere the lash +Teach it too sternly. It is well for you +To say you love Francesca. So do I; +But neither you nor I have any voice +For or against this marriage. + + CARDINAL. 'Tis too true. + + GUIDO. Say we refuse: Why, then, before a week, +We'll hear Lanciotto rapping at our door, +With twenty hundred ruffians at his back. +What's to say then? My lord, we waste our breath. +Let us look fortune in the face, and draw +Such comfort from the wanton as we may. + + CARDINAL. And yet I fear-- + + GUIDO. You fear! and so do I. +I fear Lanciotto as a soldier, though, +More than a son-in-law. + + CARDINAL. But have you seen him? + + GUIDO. Ay, ay, and felt him, too. I've seen him ride +The best battalions of my horse and foot +Down like mere stubble: I have seen his sword +Hollow a square of pikemen, with the ease +You'd scoop a melon out. + + CARDINAL. Report declares him +A prodigy of strength and ugliness. + + GUIDO. Were he the devil--But why talk of this?-- +Here comes Francesca. + + CARDINAL. Ah! unhappy child! + +GUIDO. Look you, my lord! you'll make the best of it; +You will not whimper. Add your voice to mine, +Or woe to poor Ravenna! + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! my lord-- +And you, my father!--But do I intrude +Upon your counsels? How severe you look! +Shall I retire? + + GUIDO. No, no. + + FRANCESCA. You moody men +Seem leagued against me. As I passed the hall, +I met your solemn Dante, with huge strides +Pacing in measure to his stately verse. +The sweeping sleeves of his broad scarlet robe +Blew out behind, like wide-expanded wings, +And seemed to buoy him in his level flight. +Thinking to pass, without disturbing him, +I stole on tip-toe; but the poet paused, +Subsiding into man, and steadily +Bent on my face the lustre of his eyes. +Then, taking both my trembling hands in his-- +You know how his God-troubled forehead awes-- +He looked into my eyes, and shook his head, +As if he dared not speak of what he saw; +Then muttered, sighed, and slowly turned away +The weight of his intolerable brow. +When I glanced back, I saw him, as before, +Sailing adown the hall on out-spread wings. +Indeed, my lord, he should not do these things; +They strain the weakness of mortality +A jot too far. As for poor Ritta, she +Fled like a doe, the truant. + + RITTA. Yes, forsooth: +There's something terrible about the man. +Ugh! if he touched me, I should turn to ice. +I wonder if Count Lanciotto looks-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, come here. [_Takes her apart._ + + RITTA. My lord. + + GUIDO. 'Twas my command, +You should say nothing of Count Lanciotto. + + RITTA. Nothing, my lord. + + GUIDO. You have said nothing, then? + + RITTA. Indeed, my lord. + + GUIDO. 'Tis well. Some years ago, +My daughter had a very silly maid, +Who told her sillier stories. So, one day, +This maiden whispered something I forbade-- +In strictest confidence, for she was sly: +What happened, think you? + + RITTA. I know not, my lord. + + GUIDO. I boiled her in a pot. + + RITTA. Good heaven! my lord. + + GUIDO. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot +Ready for the next boiling. + + [_Walks back to the others._ + + RITTA. Saints above! +I wonder if he ate her! Boil me--me! +I'll roast or stew with pleasure; but to boil +Implies a want of tenderness,--or rather +A downright toughness--in the matter boiled, +That's slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me-- +Boil me! O! mercy, how ridiculous! + + [_Retires, laughing._ + + _Enter a_ MESSENGER. + + MESSENGER. Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta. + [_Presents them, and exit._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Hear him, ye gods!--"from great Prince Malatesta!" +Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido. +Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down. + [_Reads._] +_"Fearing our treachery,"_--by heaven, that's blunt, +And Malatesta-like!--_"he will not send +His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"_-- +But what?--a groom, a porter? or will he +Have his prey sent him in an iron cage? +By Jove, he shall not have her! O! no, no; +_"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo, +To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."_ +That's well, if he had left his reasons out. +And, in a postscript--by the saints, 'tis droll!-- +_"'Twould not be worth your lordship's while to shut +Paolo in a prison; for, my lord, +I'll only pay his ransom in plain steel: +Besides, he's not worth having."_ Is there one, +Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths, +Who'd write such garbage to a gentleman? +Take that, and read it. [_Gives letter to_ CARDINAL. + + CARDINAL. I have done the most. +She seems suspicious. + + GUIDO. Ritta's work. + + CARDINAL. Farewell! + + FRANCESCA. Father, you seem distempered. + + GUIDO. No, my child, +I am but vexed. Your husband's on the road, +Close to Ravenna. What's the time of day? + + FRANCESCA. Past noon, my lord. + + GUIDO. We must be stirring, then. + + FRANCESCA. I do not like this marriage. + + GUIDO. But I do. + + FRANCESCA. But I do not. Poh! to be given away, +Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man +Whose face I never saw! + + RITTA. That's it, my lady. + + GUIDO. Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot +Boils to your liking. + + RITTA. [_Aside._] O! that pot again! +My lord, my heart betrays me; but you know +How true 'tis to my lady. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. What ails Ritta? + + GUIDO. The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. +Francesca, 'tis too late to beat retreat: +Old Malatesta has me--you, too, child-- +Safe in his clutch. If you are not content, +I must unclose Ravenna, and allow +His son to take you. Poh, poh! have a soul +Equal with your estate. A prince's child +Cannot choose husbands. Her desires must aim, +Not at herself, but at the public good. +Both as your prince and father, I command; +As subject and good daughter, you'll obey. + + FRANCESCA. I knew that it must be my destiny, +Some day, to give my hand without my heart; +But-- + + GUIDO. But, and I will but you back again! +When Guido da Polenta says to you, +Daughter, you must be married,--what were best? + + FRANCESCA. 'Twere best Francesca, of the self-same name, +Made herself bridal garments. [_Laughing._ + + GUIDO. Right! + + FRANCESCA. My lord, +Is Lanciotto handsome--ugly--fair-- +Black--sallow--crabbed--kind--or what is he? + + GUIDO. You'll know ere long. I could not alter him, +To please your taste. + + FRANCESCA. You always put me off; +You never have a whisper in his praise. + + GUIDO. The world reports it.--Count my soldiers' scars, +And you may sum Lanciotto's glories up. + + FRANCESCA. I shall be dutiful, to please you, father. +If aught befall me through my blind submission, +Though I may suffer, you must bear the sin. +Beware, my lord, for your own peace of mind! +My part has been obedience; and now +I play it over to complete my task; +And it shall be with smiles upon my lips,-- +Heaven only knows with what a sinking heart! + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. Before the Gates of the City. The walls hung with banners, +flowers, etc., and crowded with citizens. At the side of the scene is +a canopied dais, with chairs of state upon it. Music, bells, shouts, +and other sounds of rejoicing, are occasionally heard. Enter_ GUIDO, +_the_ CARDINAL, NOBLEMEN, KNIGHTS, GUARDS, _etc., with banners, arms, +etc._ + + GUIDO. My lord, I'll have it so. You talk in vain. +Paolo is a marvel in his way: +I've seen him often. If Francesca take +A fancy to his beauty, all the better; +For she may think that he and Lanciotto +Are like as blossoms of one parent branch. +In truth, they are, so far as features go-- +Heaven help the rest! Get her to Rimini, +By any means, and I shall be content. +The fraud cannot last long; but long enough +To win her favour to the family. + + CARDINAL. Tis a dull trick. Thou hast not dealt with her +Wisely nor kindly, and I dread the end. +If, when this marriage was enjoined on thee, +Thou hadst informed Francesca of the truth, +And said, Now daughter, choose between +Thy peace and all Ravenna's; who that knows +The constant nature of her noble heart +Could doubt the issue? There'd have been some tears, +Some frightful fancies of her husband's looks; +And then she'd calmly walk up to her fate, +And bear it bravely. Afterwards, perchance, +Lanciotto might prove better than her fears,-- +No one denies him many an excellence,-- +And all go happily. But, as thou wouldst plot, +She'll be prepared to see a paragon, +And find a satyr. It is dangerous. +Treachery with enemies is bad enough, +With friends 'tis fatal. + + GUIDO. Has your lordship done? + + CARDINAL. Never, Count Guido, with so good a text. +Do not stand looking sideways at the truth; +Craft has become thy nature. Go to her. + + GUIDO. I have not heart. + + CARDINAL. I have. [_Going._ + + GUIDO. Hold, Cardinal! +My plan is better. Get her off my hands, +And I care not. + + CARDINAL. What will she say of thee, +In Rimini, when she detects the cheat? + + GUIDO. I'll stop my ears up. + + CARDINAL. Guido, thou art weak, +And lack the common fortitude of man. + + GUIDO. And you abuse the license of your garb, +To lesson me. My lord, I do not dare +To move a finger in these marriage-rites. +Francesca is a sacrifice, I know,-- +A limb delivered to the surgeon's knife, +To save our general health. A truce to this. +Paolo has the business in his hands: +Let him arrange it as he will; for I +Will give Count Malatesta no pretext +To recommence the war. + + CARDINAL. Farewell, my lord. +I'll neither help nor countenance a fraud. +You crafty men take comfort to yourselves, +Saying, deceit dies with discovery. +'Tis false; each wicked action spawns a brood, +And lives in its succession. You, who shake +Man's moral nature into storm, should know +That the last wave which passes from your sight +Rolls in and breaks upon eternity! [_Exit._ + + GUIDO. Why, that's a very grand and solemn thought: +I'll mention it to Dante. Gentlemen, +What see they from the wall? + + NOBLEMAN. The train, my lord. + + GUIDO. Inform my daughter. + + NOBLEMAN. She is here, my lord. + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. See, father, what a merry face I have, +And how my ladies glisten! I will try +To do my utmost, in my love for you +And the good people of Ravenna. Now, +As the first shock is over, I expect +To feel quite happy. I will wed the Count, +Be he whate'er he may. I do not speak +In giddy recklessness. I've weighed it all,-- +'Twixt hope and fear, knowledge and ignorance,-- +And reasoned out my duty to your wish. +I have no yearnings towards another love: +So, if I show my husband a desire +To fill the place with which he honours me, +According to its duties, even he-- +Were he less noble than Count Lanciotto-- +Must smile upon my efforts, and reward +Good will with willing grace. One pang remains. +Parting from home and kindred is a thing +None but the heartless, or the miserable, +Can do without a tear. This home of mine +Has filled my heart with two-fold happiness, +Taking and giving love abundantly. +Farewell, Ravenna! If I bless thee not, +Tis that thou seem'st too blessed; and 'twere strange +In me to offer what thou'st always given. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] This is too much! If she would rail a while +At me and fortune, it could be endured. [_Shouts, music, etc., within._ + + FRANCESCA. Ha! there's the van just breaking through the wood! +Music! that's well; a welcome forerunner. +Now, Ritta--here--come talk to me. Alas! +How my heart trembles! What a world to me +Lies 'neath the glitter of yon cavalcade! +Is that the Count? + + RITTA. Upon the dapple-gray? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, yes. + + RITTA. No; that's his-- + + GUIDO. [_Apart to her._] Ritta! + + RITTA. Ay; that's--that's-- + + GUIDO. Ritta, the pot! [_Apart to her._ + + RITTA. O! but this lying chokes! [_Aside._] +Ay, that's Count Somebody, from Rimini. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it was. Is that not glorious? + + RITTA. My lady, what? + + FRANCESCA. To see a cavalier +Sit on his steed with such familiar grace. + + RITTA. To see a man astraddle on a horse! +It don't seem much to me. + + FRANCESCA. Fie! stupid girl! +But mark the minstrels thronging round the Count! +Ah! that is more than gallant horsemanship. +The soul that feeds itself on poesy, +Is of a quality more fine and rare +Than Heaven allows the ruder multitude. +I tell you, Ritta, when you see a man +Beloved by poets, made the theme of song, +And chaunted down to ages, as a gift +Fit for the rich embalmment of their verse, +There's more about him than the patron's gold. +If that's the gentleman my father chose, +He must have picked him out from all the world. +The Count alights. Why, what a noble grace +Runs through his slightest action! Are you sad? +You, too, my father? Have I given you cause? +I am content. If Lanciotto's mind +Bear any impress of his fair outside, +We shall not quarrel ere our marriage-day. +Can I say more? My blushes speak for me: +Interpret them as modesty's excuse +For the short-comings of a maiden's speech. + + RITTA. Alas! dear lady! [_Aside._ + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] 'Sdeath! my plot has failed, +By overworking its design. Come, come; +Get to your places. See, the Count draws nigh. + +GUIDO _and_ FRANCESCA _seat themselves upon the dais, surrounded by_ +RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, GUARDS, _etc. Music, shouts, ringing of +bells, etc. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with banners, etc.;_ PAGES _bearing +costly presents on cushions; then_ PAOLO, _surrounded by_ NOBLEMEN, +KNIGHTS, MINSTRELS, _etc., and followed by other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They +range themselves opposite the dais._ + + GUIDO. Ravenna welcomes you, my lord, and I +Add my best greeting to the general voice. +This peaceful show of arms from Rimini +Is a new pleasure, stranger to our sense +Than if the East blew zephyrs, or the balm +Of Summer loaded rough December's gales, +And turned his snows to roses. + + PAOLO. Noble sir, +We looked for welcome from your courtesy, +Not from your love; but this unhoped for sight +Of smiling faces, and the gentle tone +In which you greet us, leave us naught to win +Within your hearts. I need not ask, my lord, +Where bides the precious object of my search; +For I was sent to find the fairest maid +Ravenna boasts, among her many fair. +I might extend my travel many a league, +And yet return, to take her from your side. +I blush to bear so rich a treasure home, +As pledge and hostage of a sluggish peace; +For beauty such as hers was meant by Heaven +To spur our race to gallant enterprise, +And draw contending deities around +The dubious battles of a second Troy. + + GUIDO. Sir Count, you please to lavish on my child +The high-strained courtesy of chivalry; +Yet she has homely virtues that, I hope, +May take a deeper hold in Rimini, +After the fleeting beauty of her face +Is spoiled by time, or faded to the eye +By its familiar usage. + + PAOLO. As a man +Who ever sees Heaven's purpose in its works, +I must suppose so rare a tabernacle +Was framed for rarest virtues. Pardon me +My public admiration. If my praise +Clash with propriety, and bare my words +To cooler judgment, 'tis not that I wish +To win a flatterer's grudged recompense, +And gain by falsehood what I'd win through love. +When I have brushed my travel from my garb, +I'll pay my court in more befitting style. + + _Music. Exit with his train._ + + GUIDO. [_Advancing._] Now, by the saints, Lanciotto's deputy +Stands in this business with a proper grace, +Stretching his lord's instructions till they crack. +A zealous envoy! Not a word said he +Of Lanciotto--not a single word: +But stood there, staring in Francesca's face +With his devouring eyes.--By Jupiter, +I but half like it! + + FRANCESCA. [_Advancing._] Father? + + GUIDO. Well, my child. + + FRANCESCA. How do you like-- + + GUIDO. The coxcomb! I've done well! + + FRANCESCA. No, no; Count Lanciotto? + + GUIDO. Well enough. +But hang this fellow--hang your deputies! +I'll never woo by proxy. + + FRANCESCA. Deputies! +And woo by proxy! + + GUIDO. Come to me anon. +I'll strip this cuckoo of his gallantry! + [_Exit with_ GUARDS, _etc._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my father has strange ways of late. + + RITTA. I wonder not. + + FRANCESCA. You wonder not? + + RITTA. No, lady: +He is so used to playing double games, +That even you must come in for your share. +Plague on his boiling! I will out with it. [_Aside._] +Lady, the gentleman who passed the gates-- + + FRANCESCA. Count Lanciotto? As I hope for grace, +A gallant gentleman! How well he spoke! +With what sincere and earnest courtesy +The rounded phrases glided from his lips! +He spoke in compliments that seemed like truth. +Methinks I'd listen through a summer's day, +To hear him woo.--And he must woo to me-- +I'll have our privilege--he must woo a space, +Ere I'll be won, I promise. + + RITTA. But, my lady, +He'll woo you for another. + + FRANCESCA. He?--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I should not think it from the prologue, Ritta. + + RITTA. Nor I. + + FRANCESCA. Nor any one. + + RITTA. 'Tis not the Count-- +'Tis not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. Gracious saints! +Have you gone crazy? Ritta, speak again, +Before I chide you. + + RITTA. 'Tis the solemn truth. +That gentleman is Count Paolo, lady, +Brother to Lanciotto, and no more +Like him than--than-- + + FRANCESCA. Than what? + + RITTA. Count Guido's pot, +For boiling waiting-maids, is like the bath +Of Venus on the arras. + + FRANCESCA. Are you mad,-- +Quite mad, poor Ritta? + + RITTA. Yes; perhaps I am. +Perhaps Lanciotto is a proper man-- +Perhaps I lie--perhaps I speak the truth-- +Perhaps I gabble like a fool. O! heavens, +That dreadful pot! + + FRANCESCA. Dear Ritta!-- + + RITTA. By the mass, +They shall not cozen you, my gentle mistress! +If my lord Guido boiled me, do you think +I should be served up to the garrison, +By way of pottage? Surely they would not waste me. + + FRANCESCA. You are an idle talker. Pranks like these +Fit your companions. You forget yourself. + + RITTA. Not you, though, lady. Boldly I repeat, +That he who looked so fair, and talked so sweet, +Who rode from Rimini upon a horse +Of dapple-gray, and walked through yonder gate, +Is not Count Lanciotto. + + FRANCESCA. This you mean? + + RITTA. I do, indeed! + + FRANCESCA. Then I am more abused-- +More tricked, more trifled with, more played upon-- +By him, my father, and by all of you, +Than anything, suspected of a heart, +Was ever yet! + + RITTA. In Count Paolo, lady, +Perchance there was no meditated fraud. + + FRANCESCA. How, dare you plead for him? + + RITTA. I but suppose: +Though in your father--O! I dare not say. + + FRANCESCA. I dare. It was ill usage, gross abuse, +Treason to duty, meanness, craft--dishonour! +What if I'd thrown my heart before the feet +Of this sham husband! cast my love away +Upon a counterfeit! I was prepared +To force affection upon any man +Called Lanciotto. Anything of silk, +Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name, +Might have received me for the asking. Yes, +I was inclined to venture more than half +In this base business--shame upon my thoughts!-- +All for my father's peace and poor Ravenna's. +And this Paolo, with his cavalcade, +His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs, +His showy person, and his fulsome talk, +Almost made me contented with my lot. +O! what a fool--in faith, I merit it-- +Trapped by mere glitter! What an easy fool! +Ha! ha! I'm glad it went no further, girl; + [_Laughing._] +I'm glad I kept my heart safe, after all. +There was my cunning. I have paid them back, +I warrant you! I'll marry Lanciotto; +I'll seem to shuffle by this treachery. No! +I'll seek my father, put him face to face +With his own falsehood; and I'll stand between, +Awful as justice, meting out to him +Heaven's dreadful canons 'gainst his conscious guilt. +I'll marry Lanciotto. On my faith, +I would not live another wicked day +Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear +That I should take to lying, with the rest. +Ha! ha! it makes me merry, when I think +How safe I kept this little heart of mine! [_Laughing._ + [_Exit, with_ ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + RITTA. So, 'tis all ended--all except my boiling, +And that will make a holiday for some. +Perhaps I'm selfish. Fagot, axe, and gallows, +They have their uses, after all. They give +The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. +Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh; +And that's a point gained. I have seen a man-- +Poor Dora's uncle--shake himself with glee, +At the bare thought of the ridiculous style +In which some villain died. "Dancing," quoth he, +"To the poor music of a single string! +Biting," quoth he, "after his head was off! +What use of that?" Or, "Shivering," quoth he, +"As from an ague, with his beard afire!" +And then he'd roar until his ugly mouth +Split at the corners. But to see me boil-- +that will be the queerest thing of all! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag, +Like a great suet-ball? I'll go, and tell +Count Guido, on the instant. How he'll laugh +To think his pot has got an occupant! +I wonder if he really takes delight +In such amusements? Nay, I have kept faith; +I only said the man was not Lanciotto; +No word of Lanciotto's ugliness. +I may escape the pot, for all. Pardee! +I wonder if they'll put me in a bag! + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and_ RITTA. + + RITTA. There now, my lord, that is the whole of it: +I love my mistress more than I fear you. +If I could save her finger from the axe, +I'd give my head to do it. So, my lord, +I am prepared to stew. + + GUIDO. Boil, Ritta, boil. + + RITTA. No; I prefer to stew. + + GUIDO. And I to boil. + + RITTA. Tis very hard, my lord, I cannot choose +My way of cooking. I shall laugh, I vow, +In the grim headsman's face, when I remember +That I am dying for my lady's love. +I leave no one to shed a tear for me; +Father nor mother, kith nor kin, have I, +To say, "Poor Ritta!" o'er my lifeless clay. +They all have gone before me, and 'twere well +If I could hurry after them. + + GUIDO. Poor child. [_Aside._] +But, baggage, said you aught of Lanciotto? + + RITTA. No, not a word; and he's so ugly, too! + + GUIDO. Is he so ugly? + + RITTA. Ugly! he is worse +Than Pilate on the hangings. + + GUIDO. Hold your tongue +Here, and at Rimini, about the Count, +And you shall prosper. + + RITTA. Am I not to boil? + + GUIDO. No, child. But be discreet at Rimini. +Old Malatesta is a dreadful man-- +Far worse than I--he bakes his people, Ritta; +Lards them, like geese, and bakes them in an oven. + + RITTA. Fire is my fate, I see that. + + GUIDO. Have a care +It do not follow you beyond this world. +Where is your mistress? + + RITTA. In her room, my lord. +After I told her of the Count Paolo, +She flew to have an interview with you; +But on the way--I know not why it was-- +She darted to her chamber, and there stays +Weeping in silence. It would do you good-- +More than a hundred sermons--just to see +A single tear, indeed it would, my lord. + + GUIDO. Ha! you are saucy. I have honoured you +Past prudence, malpert! Get you to your room! + [_Exit_ RITTA.] +More of my blood runs in yon damsel's veins +Than the world knows. Her mother to a shade; +The same high spirit, and strange martyr-wish +To sacrifice herself, body and soul, +For some loved end. All that she did for me; +And yet I loved her not. O! memory! +The darkest future has a ray of hope, +But thou art blacker than the sepulchre! +Thy horrid shapes lie round, like scattered bones, +Hopeless forever! I am sick at heart. +The past crowds on the present: as I sowed, +So am I reaping. Shadows from myself +Fall on the picture, as I trace anew +These rising spectres of my early life, +And add their gloom to what was dark before. +O! memory, memory! How my temples throb! [_Sits._ + + _Enter_ FRANCESCA, _hastily._ + + FRANCESCA. My lord, this outrage-- + [_He looks up._] +Father, are you ill? +You seem unhappy. Have I troubled you? +You heard how passionate and bad I was, +When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. +Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask +A child's forgiveness. 'Twas undutiful +To doubt your wisdom. It is over now. +I only thought you might have trusted me +With any counsel. + + GUIDO. [_Aside._] Would I had! + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well, +I understand it all, and you were right. +Only the danger of it. Think, my lord, +If I had loved this man at the first sight: +We all have heard of such things. Think, again, +If I had loved him--as I then supposed +You wished me to--'twould have been very sad. +But no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure, +Nor will I loose it till you give the word. +I'm wiser than you thought me, you perceive. +But when we saw him, face to face, together, +Surely you might have told me then. + + GUIDO. Francesca, +My eyes are old--I did not clearly see--Faith, +it escaped my thoughts. Some other things +Came in my head. I was as ignorant +Of Count Paolo's coming as yourself. +The brothers are so like. + + FRANCESCA. Indeed? + + GUIDO. Yes, yes. +One is the other's counterpart, in fact; +And even now it may not be--O! shame! +I lie by habit. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Then there is a hope? +He may be Lanciotto, after all? +O! joy-- + + _Enter a_ SERVANT. + + SERVANT. The Count Paolo. [_Exit._ + + FRANCESCA. Misery! +That name was not Lanciotto! + + GUIDO. Farewell, child. +I'll leave you with the Count: he'll make it plain. +It seems 'twas Count Paolo. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. Father! + + GUIDO. Well. + + FRANCESCA. You knew it from the first! [_Exit_ GUIDO.] + Let me begone: +I could not look him in the face again +With the old faith. Besides, 'twould anger him +To have a living witness of his fraud +Ever before him; and I could not trust-- +Strive as I might--my happiness to him, +As once I did. I could not lay my hand +Upon his shoulder, and look up to him, +Saying, Dear father, pilot me along +Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. +Saints, no! The gold that gave my life away +Might, even then, be rattling in his purse, +Warm from the buyer's hand. Look on me, Heaven! +Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes, +Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy, +With guardianship of a weak orphan girl, +Has fallen from grace, has paltered with his trust; +I have no mother to receive thy charge,-- +O! take it on thyself; and when I err, +Through mortal blindness, Heaven, be thou my guide! +Worse cannot fall me. Though my husband lack +A parent's tenderness, he yet may have +Faith, truth, and honour--the immortal bonds +That knit together honest hearts as one. +Let me away to Rimini. Alas! +It wrings my heart to have outlived the day +That I can leave my home with no regret! [_Weeps._ + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Pray, pardon me. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. You are quite welcome, Count +A foolish tear, a weakness, nothing more: +But present weeping clears our future sight. +They tell me you are love's commissioner, +A kind of broker in the trade of hearts: +Is it your usual business? or may I +Flatter myself, by claiming this essay +As your first effort? + + PAOLO. Lady, I believed +My post, at starting, one of weight and trust; +When I beheld you, I concluded it +A charge of honour and high dignity. +I did not think to hear you underrate +Your own importance, by dishonouring me. + + FRANCESCA. You are severe, my lord. + + PAOLO. No, not severe; +Say candid, rather. I am somewhat hurt +By my reception. If I feel the wound, +'Tis not because I suffer from the jest, +But that your lips should deal it. + + FRANCESCA. Compliments +Appear to be the staple of your speech. +You ravish one with courtesy, you pour +Fine words upon one, till the listening head +Is bowed with sweetness. Sir, your talk is drugged; +There's secret poppy in your sugared phrase: +I'll taste before I take it. + + PAOLO. Gentle lady-- + + FRANCESCA. I am not gentle, or I missed my aim. +I am no hawk to fly at every lure. +You courtly gentlemen draw one broad rule-- +All girls are fools. It may be so, in truth, +Yet so I'll not be treated. + + PAOLO. Have you been? +If I implied such slander by my words, +They wrong my purpose. If I compliment, +'Tis not from habit, but because I thought +Your face deserved my homage as its due. +When I have clearer insight, and you spread +Your inner nature o'er your lineaments, +Even that face may darken in the shades +Of my opinion. For mere loveliness +Needs inward light to keep it always bright. +All things look badly to unfriendly eyes. +I spoke my first impression; cooler thought +May work strange changes. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, Sir Count, at length +There's matter in your words. + + PAOLO. Unpleasant stuff, +To judge by your dark brows. I have essayed +Kindness and coldness, yet you are not pleased. + + FRANCESCA. How can I be? + + PAOLO. How, lady? + + FRANCESCA. Ay, sir, how? +Your brother--my good lord that is to be-- +Stings me with his neglect; and in the place +He should have filled, he sends a go-between, +A common carrier of others' love; +How can the sender, or the person sent, +Please overmuch? Now, were I such as you, +I'd be too proud to travel round the land +With other people's feelings in my heart; +Even to fill the void which you confess +By such employment. + + PAOLO. Lady, 'tis your wish +To nettle me, to break my breeding down, +And see what natural passions I have hidden +Behind the outworks of my etiquette. +I neither own nor feel the want of heart +With which you charge me. You are more than cruel; +You rouse my nerves until they ache with life, +And then pour fire upon them. For myself +I would not speak, unless you had compelled. +My task is odious to me. Since I came, +Heaven bear me witness how my traitor heart +Has fought against my duty; and how oft +I wished myself in Lanciotto's place. +Or him in mine. + + FRANCESCA. You riddle. + + PAOLO. Do I? Well, +Let it remain unguessed. + + FRANCESCA. You wished yourself +At Rimini, or Lanciotto here? +You may have reasons. + + PAOLO. Well interpreted! +The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands! + + FRANCESCA. It has become your turn to sneer. + + PAOLO. But I +Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you +Jest in the wanton ease of happiness. +Stop! there is peril in our talk. + + FRANCESCA. As how? + + PAOLO. 'Tis dangerous to talk about one's self; +It panders selfishness. My duty waits. + + FRANCESCA. My future lord's affairs? I quite forgot +Count Lanciotto. + + PAOLO. I, too, shame upon me. [_Aside._ + + FRANCESCA. Does he resemble you? + + PAOLO. Pray drop me, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Nay, answer me. + + PAOLO. Somewhat--in feature. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! +Is he so fair? + + PAOLO. No, darker. He was tanned +In long campaigns, and battles hotly fought, +While I lounged idly with the troubadours, +Under the shadow of his watchful sword. + + FRANCESCA. In person? + + PAOLO. He is shorter, I believe, +But broader, stronger, more compactly knit. + + FRANCESCA. What of his mind? + + PAOLO. Ah, now you strike the key! +A mind just fitted to his history, +An equal balance 'twixt desert and fame. +No future chronicler shall say of him, +His fame outran his merit; or his merit +Halted behind some adverse circumstance, +And never won the glory it deserved. +My love might weary you, if I rehearsed +The simple beauty of his character; +His grandeur and his gentleness of heart, +His warlike fire and peaceful love, his faith, +His courtesy, his truth. I'll not deny +Some human weakness, to attract our love, +Harbours in him, as in the rest of us. +Sometimes against our city's enemies +He thunders in the distance, and devotes +Their homes to ruin. When the brand has fallen, +He ever follows with a healing rain, +And in his pity shoulders by revenge. +A thorough soldier, lady. He grasps crowns, +While I pick at the laurel. + + FRANCESCA. Stay, my lord! +I asked your brother's value, with no wish +To hear you underrate yourself. Your worth +May rise in passing through another's lips. +Lanciotto is perfection, then? + + PAOLO. To me: +Others may think my brother over-nice +Upon the point of honour; over-keen +To take offence where no offence is meant; +A thought too prodigal of human life, +Holding it naught when weighed against a wrong; +Suspicious of the motives of his friends; +Distrustful of his own high excellence; +And with a certain gloom of temperament, +When thus disturbed, that makes him terrible +And rash in action. I have heard of this; +I never felt it. I distress you, lady? +Perhaps I throw these points too much in shade, +By catching at an enemy's report. +But, then, Lanciotto said, "You'll speak of me, +Not as I ought to be, but as I am." +He loathes deceit. + + FRANCESCA. That's noble! Have you done? +I have observed a strange reserve, at times, +An over-carefulness in choosing words, +Both in my father and his nearest friends, +When speaking of your brother; as if they +Picked their way slowly over rocky ground, +Fearing to stumble. Ritta, too, my maid, +When her tongue rattles on in full career, +Stops at your brother's name, and with a sigh +Settles herself to dismal silence. Count, +These things have troubled me. From you I look +For perfect frankness. Is there naught withheld? + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O base temptation! What if I betray +His crippled person--imitate his limp-- +Laugh at his hip, his back, his sullen moods +Of childish superstition?--tread his heart +Under my feet, to climb into his place?--Use +his own warrant 'gainst himself; and say, +Because I loved her, and misjudged your jest, +Therefore I stole her? Why, a common thief +Would hang for just such thinking! Ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +I reckon on her love, as if I held +The counsels of her bosom. No, I swear, +Francesca would despise so mean a deed. +Have I no honour either? Are my thoughts +All bound by her opinions? + + FRANCESCA. This is strange! +Is Lanciotto's name a spell to all? +I ask a simple question, and straight you +Start to one side, and mutter to yourself, +And laugh, and groan, and play the lunatic, +In such a style that you astound me more +Than all the others. It appears to me +I have been singled as a common dupe +By every one. What mystery is this +Surrounds Count Lanciotto? If there be +A single creature in the universe +Who has a right to know him as he is, +I am that one. + + PAOLO. I grant it. You shall see, +And shape your judgment by your own remark. +All that my honour calls for I have said. + + FRANCESCA. I am content. Unless I greatly err, +Heaven made your breast the seat of honest thoughts. +You know, my lord, that, once at Rimini, +There can be no retreat for me. By you, +Here at Ravenna, in your brother's name, +I shall be solemnly betrothed. And now +I thus extend my maiden hand to you; +If you are conscious of no secret guilt, +Take it. + + PAOLO. I do. [_Takes her hand._ + + FRANCESCA. You tremble! + + PAOLO. With the hand, +Not with the obligation. + + FRANCESCA. Farewell, Count! +'Twere cruel to tax your stock of compliments, +That waste their sweets upon a trammelled heart; +Go fly your fancies at some freer game. [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. O, Heaven, if I have faltered and am weak, +Tis from my nature! Fancies, more accursed +Than haunt a murderer's bedside, throng my brain-- +Temptations, such as mortal never bore +Since Satan whispered in the ear of Eve, +Sing in my ear--and all, all are accursed! +At heart I have betrayed my brother's trust, +Francesca's openly. Turn where I will, +As if enclosed within a mirrored hall, +I see a traitor. Now to stand erect, +Firm on my base of manly constancy; +Or, if I stagger, let me never quit +The homely path of duty, for the ways +That bloom and glitter with seductive sin! [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. _Rimini. A Room in the Castle._ LANCIOTTO _discovered +reading._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! fie, philosophy! This Seneca +Revels in wealth, and whines about the poor! +Talks of starvation while his banquet waits, +And fancies that a two hours' appetite +Throws light on famine! Doubtless he can tell, +As he skips nimbly through his dancing-girls, +How sad it is to limp about the world +A sightless cripple! Let him feel the crutch +Wearing against his heart, and then I'd hear +This sage talk glibly; or provide a pad, +Stuffed with his soft philosophy, to ease +His aching shoulder. Pshaw! he never felt, +Or pain would choke his frothy utterance. +'Tis easy for the doctor to compound +His nauseous simples for a sick man's health; +But let him swallow them, for his disease, +Without wry faces. Ah! the tug is there. +Show me philosophy in rags, in want, +Sick of a fever, with a back like mine, +Creeping to wisdom on these legs, and I +Will drink its comforts. Out! away with you! +There's no such thing as real philosophy! + [_Throws down the book._] + + [_Enter_ PEPE.] + +Here is a sage who'll teach a courtier +The laws of etiquette, a statesman rule, +A soldier discipline, a poet verse, +And each mechanic his distinctive trade; +Yet bring him to his motley, and how wide +He shoots from reason! We can understand +All business but our own, and thrust advice +In every gaping cranny of the world; +While habit shapes us to our own dull work, +And reason nods above his proper task. +Just so philosophy would rectify +All things abroad, and be a jade at home. +Pepe, what think you of the Emperor's aim +Towards Hungary? + + PEPE. A most unwise design; +For mark, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! the fact cries out. +Here's motley thinking for a diadem!-- +Ay, and more wisely in his own regard. + + PEPE. You flout me, cousin. + + LANCIOTTO. Have you aught that's new?-- +Some witty trifle, some absurd conceit? + + PEPE. Troth, no. + + LANCIOTTO. Why not give up the Emperor, +And bend your wisdom on your duties, Pepe? + + PEPE. Because the Emperor has more need of wisdom +Than the most barren fool of wit. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! +Mere habit brings the fool back to his art. +This jester is a rare philosopher. +Teach me philosophy, good fool. + + PEPE. No need. +You'll get a teacher when you take a wife. +If she do not instruct you in more arts +Than Aristotle ever thought upon, +The good old race of woman has declined +Into a sort of male stupidity. +I had a sweetheart once, she lectured grandly; +No matter on what subject she might hit, +T was all the same, she could talk and she would. +She had no silly modesty; she dashed +Straight in the teeth of any argument, +And talked you deaf, dumb, blind. Whatever struck +Upon her ear, by some machinery, +Set her tongue wagging. Thank the Lord, she died!-- +Dropped in the middle of a fierce harangue, +Like a spent horse. It was an even thing, +Whether she talked herself or me to death. +The latest sign of life was in her tongue; +It wagged till sundown, like a serpent's tail, +Long after all the rest of her was cold. +Alas! poor Zippa! + + LANCIOTTO. Were you married, fool? + + PEPE. Married! Have I the scars upon me? No; +I fell in love; and that was bad enough, +And far enough for a mere fool to go. +Married! why, marriage is love's purgatory, +Without a heaven beyond. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, atheist! +Would you abolish marriage? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Depopulate the world? + + PEPE. No fear of that. +I'd have no families, no Malatesti, +Strutting about the land, with pedigrees +And claims bequeathed them by their ancestors; +No fellows vapouring of their royal blood; +No one to seize a whole inheritance, +And rob the other children of the earth. +By Jove! you should not know your fathers, even! +I'd have you spring, like toadstools, from the soil-- +Mere sons of women--nothing more nor less-- +All base-born, and all equal. There, my lord, +There is a simple commonwealth for you! +In which aspiring merit takes the lead, +And birth goes begging. + + LANCIOTTO. It is so, in truth; +And by the simplest means I ever heard. + + PEPE. Think of it, cousin. Tell it to your friends, +The statesmen, soldiers, and philosophers; +Noise it about the earth, and let it stir +The sluggish spirits of the multitudes. +Pursue the thought, scan it, from end to end, +Through all its latent possibilities. +It is a great seed dropped, I promise you, +And it must sprout. Thought never wholly dies; +It only wants a name--a hard Greek name-- +Some few apostles, who may live on it-- +crowd of listeners, with the average dulness +That man possesses--and we organize; +Spread our new doctrine, like a general plague; +Talk of man's progress and development, +Wrongs of society, the march of mind, +The Devil, Doctor Faustus, and what not; +And, lo! this pretty world turns upside down, +All with a fool's idea! + + LANCIOTTO. By Jupiter, +You hit our modern teachers to a hair! +I knew this fool was a philosopher. +Pepe is right. Mechanic means advance; +Nature bows down to Science' haughty tread, +And turns the wheel of smutty artifice: +New governments arise, dilate, decay, +And foster creeds and churches to their tastes: +At each advance, we cry, "Behold, the end!" +Till some fresh wonder breaks upon the age. +But man, the moral creature, midst it all +Stands still unchanged; nor moves towards virtue more, +Nor comprehends the mysteries in himself, +More than when Plato taught academies, +Or Zeno thundered from his Attic porch. + + PEPE. I know not that; I only want my scheme +Tried for a while. I am a politician, +A wrongs-of-man man. Hang philosophy! +Let metaphysics swallow, at a gulp, +Its last two syllables, and purge itself +Clean of its filthy humours! I am one +Ready for martyrdom, for stake and fire, +If I can make my great idea take root! +Zounds! cousin, if I had an audience, +I'd make you shudder at my eloquence! +I have an itching to reform the world. + + LANCIOTTO. Begin at home, then. + + PEPE. Home is not my sphere; +Heaven picked me out to teach my fellow-men. +I am a very firebrand of truth-- +A self-consuming, doomed, devoted brand-- +That burns to ashes while I light the world! +I feel it in me. I am moved, inspired, +Stirred into utterance, by some mystic power +Of which I am the humble instrument. + + LANCIOTTO. A bad digestion, sage, a bilious turn, +A gnawing stomach, or a pinching shoe. + + PEPE. O! hear, but spare the scoffer! Spare the wretch +Who sneers at the anointed man of truth! +When we reached that, I and my followers +Would rend you limb from limb. There!--ha! ha! ha! + [_Laughing._] +Have I not caught the slang these fellows preach; +A grand, original idea, to back it; +And all the stock in trade of a reformer? + + LANCIOTTO. You have indeed; nor do I wonder, Pepe. +Fool as you are, I promise you success +In your new calling, if you'll set it up. +The thing is far too simple. + + _Trumpet sounds within._ + + PEPE. Hist! my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. That calls me to myself. + + PEPE. At that alarm, +All Rimini leaped up upon its feet. +Cousin, your bridal-train. You groan! 'Ods wounds! +Here is the bridegroom sorely malcontent-- +The sole sad face in Rimini. Since morn, +A quiet man could hardly walk the streets, +For flowers and streamers. All the town is gay. +Perhaps 'tis merry o'er your misery. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps; but that it knows not. + + PEPE. Yes, it does: +It knows that when a man's about to wed, +He's ripe to laugh at. Cousin, tell me, now, +Why is Paolo on the way so long? +Ravenna's but eight leagues from Rimini-- + + LANCIOTTO. That's just the measure of your tongue, good fool. +You trouble me. I've had enough of you-- +Begone! + + PEPE. I'm going; but you see I limp. +Have pity on a cripple, gentle Count. [_Limps._ + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe! + + PEPE. A miracle, a miracle! +See, see, my lord, at Pepe's saintly name +The lame jog on. + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] Come, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! +My father calls. + + PEPE. If he were mine, I'd go-- +That's a good boy! [_Pats_ LANCIOTTO'S _back._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Starting._] Hands off! you'll rue it else! [_Exit._ + + PEPE. [Laughing.] Ha! ha! I laid my hand upon his hump! +Heavens, how he squirmed! And what a wish I had +To cry, Ho! camel! leap upon his back, +And ride him to the devil! So, we've had +A pleasant flitting round philosophy! +The Count and Fool bumped heads, and struck ideas +Out by the contact! Quite a pleasant talk-- +A friendly conversation, nothing more-- +'Twixt nobleman and jester. Ho! my bird, +I can toss lures as high as any man. +So, I amuse you with my harmless wit? +Pepe's your friend now--you can trust in him-- +An honest, simple fool! Just try it once, +You ugly, misbegotten clod of dirt! +Ay, but the hump--the touch upon the hump-- +The start and wriggle--that was rare! Ha! ha! + + [_Exit, laughing._ + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. The Grand Square before the Castle. SOLDIERS on guard, with +banners, etc._ CITIZENS, _in holiday dresses, cross the scene. +The houses are hung with trophies, banners, garlands, etc. Enter_ +MALATESTA, _with_ GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + MALATESTA. Captain, take care the streets be not choked up +By the rude rabble. Send to Caesar's bridge +A strong detachment of your men, and clear +The way before them. See that nothing check +The bride's first entrance into Rimini. +Station your veterans in the front. Count Guido +Comes with his daughter, and his eyes are sharp. +Keep up a show of strength before him, sir; +And set some labourers to work upon +The broken bastion. Make all things look bright; +As if we stood in eager readiness, +And high condition, to begin a war. + + CAPTAIN. I will, my lord. + + MALATESTA. Keep Guido in your eye; +And if you see him looking over-long +On any weakness of our walls, just file +Your bulkiest fellows round him; or get up +A scuffle with the people; anything-- +Even if you break a head or two--to draw +His vision off. But where our strength is great, +Take heed to make him see it. You conceive? + + CAPTAIN. Trust me, my lord. [_Exit with_ GUARDS. + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Room, room! A hall; a hall! +I pray you, good man, has the funeral passed? + + MALATESTA. Who is it asks? + + PEPE. Pepe of Padua, +A learned doctor of uncivil law. + + MALATESTA. But how a funeral? + + PEPE. You are weak of wit. +Francesca of Ravenna's borne to church, +And never issues thence. + + MALATESTA. How, doctor, pray? + + PEPE. Now, for a citizen of Rimini, +You're sadly dull. Does she not issue thence +Fanny of Rimini? A glorious change,-- +kind of resurrection in the flesh! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! thou cunning villain! I was caught. +I own it, doctor. + + PEPE. [_Aside._] This old fool would laugh +To see me break a straw, because the bits +Were of unequal lengths. My character +Carries more dulness, in the guise of wit, +Than would suffice to break an ass's back. + + [_Distant shouts, music, &c._] + +Hark! here comes Jeptha's daughter, jogging on +With timbrels and with dances. + + MALATESTA. Jeptha's daughter! +How so? + + PEPE. Her father's sacrifice. + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ho! ho! +You'll burst my belt! O! you outrageous wretch, +To jest at Scripture! + + PEPE. You outlandish heathen, +Tis not in Scripture! + + MALATESTA. Is it not? + + PEPE. No more +Than you are in heaven. Mere Hebrew history. +She went up to the mountains, to bewail +The too-long keeping of her honesty. +There's woman for you! there's a character! +What man would ever think of such a thing? +Ah! we of Rimini have little cause +For such a sorrow. Would she'd been my wife! +I'll marry any woman in her case. + + MALATESTA. Why, Pepe? + + PEPE. Why? because, in two months' time, +Along comes father Jeptha with his knife, +And there's an end. Where is your sacrifice? +Where's Isaac, Abraham? Build your altar up: +One pile will do for both. + + MALATESTA. That's Scripture, sure. + + PEPE. Then I'm a ram, and you may slaughter me +In Isaac's stead. + + MALATESTA. Here comes the vanguard. Where, +Where is that laggard? + + PEPE. At the mirror, uncle, +Making himself look beautiful. He comes, + [_Looking out._] +Fresh as a bridegroom! Mark his doublet's fit +Across the shoulders, and his hose!-- +By Jove, he nearly looks like any other man! + + MALATESTA. You'd best not let him hear you. Sirrah, knave, +I have a mind to swinge you! [_Seizes his ear._ + + PEPE. Loose my ear! +You've got the wrong sow, swineherd! You're unjust. +Being his father, I was fool sufficient +To think you fashioned him to suit yourself, +By way of a variety. The thought +Was good enough, the practice damnable. + + MALATESTA. Hush! or I'll clap you in the pillory. + + _Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + PEPE. [_Sings._] Ho, ho, ho, ho!--old Time has wings-- +We're born, we mourn, we wed, we bed, +We have a devilish aching head; + So down we lie, + And die, and fry; +And there's a merry end of things! + + [_Music, &c., within._] + +Here come Ravenna's eagles for a roost +In Rimini! The air is black with them. +When go they hence? Wherever yon bird builds, +The nest remains for ages. Have an eye, +Or Malatesta's elephant may feel +The eagle's talons. + + LANCIOTTO. You're a raven, croaker. + + PEPE. And you no white crow, to insure us luck. + + MALATESTA. There's matter in his croak. + + PEPE. There always is; +But men lack ears. + + MALATESTA. Then eyes must do our work. +Old Guido shall be looked to. If his force +Appear too great, I'll camp him out of town. + + LANCIOTTO. Father, you are a sorry host. + + MALATESTA. Well, well, +I'm a good landlord, though. I do not like +This flight of eagles more than Pepe. 'Sdeath! +Guido was ever treacherous. + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +You mar my holiday by such a thought. +My holiday! Dear saints! it seems to me +That all of you are mocking me. + + PEPE. So--so-- +Guido was ever treacherous?--so--so! + + MALATESTA. So--so! How so? + + PEPE. What if this treachery +Run in the blood? We'll tap a vein then--so! + + MALATESTA. Sew up your mouth, and mind your fooling fool! + + PEPE. Am I not fooling? Why, my lord, I thought +The fooling exquisite. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Aside._] This thoughtless knave +Hits near us sometimes with his random shafts. +Marriage for me! I cannot comprehend, +I cannot take it to my heart; the thing +Seems gross, absurd, ridiculous. Ah! well, +My father bears the folly of it all; +I'm but an actor in his comedy. +My part is bad, but I must through with it. + [_Retires._ + + _Shouts, music, &c., within._ + + PEPE. Look! here's the whole parade! Mark yonder knave-- +The head one with the standard. Nature, nature! +Hadst thou a hand in such a botch-work? Why, +A forest of his legs would scarcely make +A bunch of fagots. Mark old Guido, too! +He looks like Judas with his silver. Ho! +Here's news from sweet Ravenna! + + MALATESTA. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! + + PEPE. Ah! now the bride!--that's something--she is tooth-some. +Look you, my lord--now, while the progress halts-- +Cousin Paolo, has he got the dumps? +Mercy! to see him, one might almost think +'T was his own marriage. What a doleful face! +The boy is ill. He caught a fever, uncle, +Travelling across the marshes. Physic! physic! +If he be really dying, get a doctor, +And cut the matter short. 'Twere merciful. + + MALATESTA. For heaven's sake, cease your clamour! I shall have +No face to meet them else. 'Tis strange, for all: +What ails Paolo? + + PEPE. Dying, by this hand! + + MALATESTA. Then I will hang you. + + PEPE. Don't take up my craft. +Wit's such a stranger in your brain that I +Scarce knew my lodger venturing from your mouth. +Now they come on again. + + MALATESTA. Stand back! + + PEPE. [_Looking round._] The bridegroom? +He flies betimes, before the bride shows fight. + [_Walks back, looking for_ LANCIOTTO. + +_Music, shouts, ringing of bells, &c. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with +banners, &c_., GUIDO, CARDINAL, KNIGHTS, ATTENDANTS, &_c.; then_ +PAOLO, _conducting _FRANCESCA, _followed by _RITTA, LADIES, PAGES, +_&c., and other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They file around the stage, and halt._ + + MALATESTA. Welcome, to Rimini, Count Guido! Welcome, +And fair impressions of our poor abode, +To you, my daughter! You are well returned, +My son, Paolo! Let me bless you, son. + + [PAOLO _approaches._] +How many spears are in old Guido's train? + + [_Apart to_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. Some ten-score. + + MALATESTA. Footmen? + + PAOLO. Double that. + + MALATESTA. 'Tis well. +Again I bid you welcome! Make no show +Of useless ceremony with us. Friends +Have closer titles than the empty name. +We have provided entertainment, Count, +For all your followers, in the midst of us. +We trust the veterans of Rimini +May prove your soldiers that our courtesy +Does not lag far behind their warlike zeal. +Let us drop Guelf and Ghibelin henceforth, +Coupling the names of Rimini and Ravenna +As bridegroom's to his bride's. + + GUIDO. Count Malatesta, +I am no rhetorician, or my words +Might keep more even with the love I feel: +Simply, I thank you. With an honest hand +I take the hand which you extend to me, +And hope our grasp may never lose its warmth.-- +You marked the bastion by the water-side? +Weak as a bulrush. [_Apart to a_ KNIGHT. + + KNIGHT. Tottering weak, my lord. + + GUIDO. Remember it; and when you're private, sir, +Draw me a plan. + + KNIGHT. I will, my lord. + + GUIDO. How's this? +I do not see my future son-in-law. + + MALATESTA. Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing._] I am here, my lord. + + FRANCESCA. [_Starting._] O! heaven! +Is that my husband, Count Paolo? You, +You then, among the rest, have played me false! +He is--[_Apart to _PAOLO. + + PAOLO My brother. + + LANCIOTTO [_Aside._] Ha! she turns from me. + + PEPE. [_Approaching _LANCIOTTO, _sings._] + + Around, around the lady turned, + She turned not to her lord; + She turned around to a gallant, gallant knight, + Who ate at his father's board. + +A pretty ballad! all on one string though. + + LANCIOTTO. Pepe, go hence! [PEPE _retires._] + [_Aside._] I saw her start and pale, +Turn off with horror; as if she had seen-- +What?--simply me. For, am I not enough, +And something over, to make ladies quail, +Start, hide their faces, whisper to their friends, +Point at me--dare she?--and perform such tricks +As women will when monsters blast their sight? +O! saints above me, have I come so low? +Yon damsel of Ravenna shall bewail +That start and shudder. I am mad, mad, mad! +I must be patient. They have trifled with her: +Lied to her, lied! There's half the misery +Of this broad earth, all crowded in one word. +Lied, lied!--Who has not suffered from a lie? +They're all aghast--all looking at me too. +Francesca's whiter than the brow of fear: +Paolo talks.--Brother, is that well meant? +What if I draw my sword, and fight my way +Out of this cursed town? 'Twould be relief. +Has shame no hiding-place? I've touched the depth +Of human infamy, and there I rest. +By heaven, I'll brave this business out! Shall they +Say at Ravenna that Count Lanciotto, +Who's driven their shivering squadrons to their homes, +Haggard with terror, turned before their eyes +And slunk away? They'll look me from the field, +When we encounter next. Why should not I +Strut with my shapeless body, as old Guido +Struts with his shapeless heart? I'll do it! [_Offers, but shrinks back._] 'Sdeath! +Am I so false as to forswear myself? +Lady Francesca! [_Approaches_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Sir--my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. Dear lady, +I have a share in your embarrassment, +And know the feelings that possess you now. + + FRANCESCA. O! you do not. + + PAOLO. [_Advancing._] My lady-- + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle brother, +Leave this to me. [PAOLO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Pray do not send him off. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis fitter so. + + FRANCESCA. He comforts me. + + LANCIOTTO Indeed? +Do you need comfort? + + FRANCESCA. No, no--pardon me! +But then--he is--you are-- + + LANCIOTTO. Take breath, and speak. + + FRANCESCA. I am confused, 'tis true. But, then, my lord, +You are a stranger to me; and Paolo +I've known so long! + + LANCIOTTO. Since yesterday. + + FRANCESCA. Ah! well: +But the relationship between us two +Is of so close a nature, while the knowledge, +That each may have of each, so slender is +That the two jar. Besides, Paolo is +Nothing to me, while you are everything. +Can I not act? [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. I scarcely understand. +You say your knowledge of me, till to-day, +Was incomplete. Has naught been said of me +By Count Paolo or your father? + + FRANCESCA. Yes; +But nothing definite. + + LANCIOTTO. Perchance, no hint +As to my ways, my feelings, manners, or-- +Or--or--as I was saying--ha! ha!--or-- + [_Laughing._] +As to my person? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, as to that. + + LANCIOTTO. To what? + + FRANCESCA. Your--person. + + LANCIOTTO. That's the least of all. [_Turns aside._] +Now, had I Guido of Ravenna's head +Under this heel, I'd grind it into dust! +False villain, to betray his simple child! +And thou, Paolo--not a whit behind-- +Helping his craft with inconsiderate love!-- +Lady Francesca, when my brother left, +I charged him, as he loved me, to conceal +Nothing from you that bore on me: and now +That you have seen me, and conversed with me, +If you object to anything in me,-- +Go, I release you. + + FRANCESCA. But Ravenna's peace? + + LANCIOTTO. Shall not be perilled. + + GUIDO. [_Coming behind, whispers her._] Trust him not, my child; +I know his ways; he'd rather fight than wed. +Tis but a wish to have the war afoot. +Stand firm for poor Ravenna! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, my lady, +Shall we conclude a lasting peace between us +By truce or marriage rites? + + GUIDO. [_Whispers her._] The devil tempts thee: +Think of Ravenna, think of me! + + LANCIOTTO. My lord, +I see my father waits you. + [GUIDO _retires._ + + FRANCESCA. Gentle sir, +You do me little honour in the choice. + + LANCIOTTO. My aim is justice. + + FRANCESCA. Would you cast me off? + + LANCIOTTO. Not for the world, if honestly obtained; +Not for the world would I obtain you falsely. + + FRANCESCA. The rites were half concluded ere we met. + + LANCIOTTO. Meeting, would you withdraw? + + FRANCESCA. No. Bitter word! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. No! Are you dealing fairly? + + FRANCESCA. I have said. + + LANCIOTTO. O! rapture, rapture! Can it be that I-- +Now I'll speak plainly; for a choice like thine +Implies such love as woman never felt. +Love me! Then monsters beget miracles, +And Heaven provides where human means fall short. +Lady, I'll worship thee! I'll line thy path +With suppliant kings! Thy waiting-maids shall be +Unransomed princesses! Mankind shall bow +One neck to thee, as Persia's multitudes +Before the rising sun! From this small town, +This centre of my conquests, I will spread +An empire touching the extremes of earth! +I'll raise once more the name of ancient Rome; +And what she swayed she shall reclaim again! +If I grow mad because you smile on me, +Think of the glory of thy love; and know +How hard it is, for such a one as I, +To gaze unshaken on divinity! +There's no such love as mine alive in man. +From every corner of the frowning earth, +It has been crowded back into my heart. +Now, take it all! If that be not enough, +Ask, and thy wish shall be omnipotent! +Your hand. [_Takes her hand._] It wavers. + + FRANCESCA. So does not my heart. + + LANCIOTTO. Bravo! Thou art every way a soldier's wife; +Thou shouldst have been a Caesar's! Father, hark! +I blamed your judgment, only to perceive +The weakness of my own. + + MALATESTA. What means all this? + + LANCIOTTO. It means that this fair lady--though I gave +Release to her, and to Ravenna--placed +The liberal hand, which I restored to her, +Back in my own, of her own free good-will. +Is it not wonderful? + + MALATESTA. How so? + + LANCIOTTO. How so! + + PAOLO. Alas! 'tis as I feared! [ _Aside._ + + MALATESTA. You're humble?--How? + + LANCIOTTO. Now shall I cry aloud to all the world, +Make my deformity my pride, and say, +Because she loves me, I may boast of it? [_Aside._] +No matter, father, I am happy; you, +As the blessed cause, shall share my happiness. +Let us be moving. Revels, dashed with wine, +Shall multiply the joys of this sweet day! +There's not a blessing in the cup of life +I have not tasted of within an hour! + + FRANCESCA. [_Aside._] Thus I begin the practice of deceit, +Taught by deceivers, at a fearful cost. +The bankrupt gambler has become the cheat, +And lives by arts that erewhile ruined me. +Where it will end, Heaven knows; but I-- +I have betrayed the noblest heart of all! + + LANCIOTTO. Draw down thy dusky vapours, sullen night-- +Refuse, ye stars, to shine upon the world-- +Let everlasting blackness wrap the sun, +And whisper terror to the universe! +We need ye not! we'll blind ye, if ye dare +Peer with lack-lustre on our revelry! +I have at heart a passion, that would make +All nature blaze with recreated light! [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. _The Same. An Apartment in the Castle. Enter_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be that I have duped myself, +That my desire has played into the hand +Of my belief; yet such a thing might be. +We palm more frauds upon our simple selves +Than knavery puts upon us. Could I trust +The open candour of an angel's brow, +I must believe Francesca's. But the tongue +Should consummate the proof upon the brow, +And give the truth its word. The fault lies there. +I've tried her. Press her as I may to it, +She will not utter those three little words-- +"I love thee." She will say, "I'll marry you;-- +I'll be your duteous wife;--I'll cheer your days;-- +I'll do whate'er I can." But at the point +Of present love, she ever shifts the ground, +Winds round the word, laughs, calls me "Infidel!-- +How can I doubt?" So, on and on. But yet, +For all her dainty ways, she never says, +Frankly, I love thee. I am jealous--true! +Suspicious--true! distrustful of myself;-- +She knows all that. Ay, and she likewise knows, +A single waking of her morning breath +Would blow these vapours off. I would not take +The barren offer of a heartless hand, +If all the Indies cowered under it. +Perhaps she loves another? No; she said, +"I love you, Count, as well as any man;" +And laughed, as if she thought that precious wit. +I turn her nonsense into argument, +And think I reason. Shall I give her up? +Rail at her heartlessness, and bid her go +Back to Ravenna? But she clings to me, +At the least hint of parting. Ah! 'tis sweet, +Sweeter than slumber to the lids of pain, +To fancy that a shadow of true love +May fall on this God-stricken mould of woe, +From so serene a nature. Beautiful +Is the first vision of a desert brook, +Shining beneath its palmy garniture, +To one who travels on his easy way; +What is it to the blood-shot, aching eye +Of some poor wight who crawls with gory feet, +In famished madness, to its very brink; +And throws his sun-scorched limbs upon the cool +And humid margin of its shady strand, +To suck up life at every eager gasp? +Such seems Francesca to my thirsting soul; +Shall I turn off and die? + + _Enter_ PEPE. + + PEPE. Good-morning, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. Good-morning to your foolish majesty! + + PEPE. The same to your majestic foolery! + + LANCIOTTO. You compliment! + + PEPE. I am a troubadour, +A ballad-monger of fine mongrel ballads, +And therefore running o'er with elegance. +Wilt hear my verse? + + LANCIOTTO. With patience? + + PEPE. No, with rapture. +You must go mad--weep, rend your clothes, and roll +Over and over, like the ancient Greeks, +When listening to Iliad. + + LANCIOTTO. Sing, then, sing! +And if you equal Homer in your song, +Why, roll I must, by sheer compulsion. + + PEPE. Nay, +You lack the temper of the fine-eared Greek. +You will not roll; but that shall not disgrace +My gallant ballad, fallen on evil times. [_Sings._] + + My father had a blue-black head, + My uncle's head was reddish--maybe, + My mother's hair was noways red, + Sing high ho! the pretty baby! + +Mark the simplicity of that! 'Tis called +"The Babe's Confession," spoken just before +His father strangled him. + + LANCIOTTO. Most marvellous! +You struggle with a legend worth your art. + + PEPE. Now to the second stanza. Note the hint +I drop about the baby's parentage: +So delicately too! A maid might sing, +And never blush at it. Girls love these songs +Of sugared wickedness. They'll go miles about, +To say a foul thing in a cleanly way. +A decent immorality, my lord, +Is art's specific. Get the passions up, +But never wring the stomach. + + LANCIOTTO. Triumphant art! + + + + PEPE. [_Sings._] + + My father combed his blue-black head, + My uncle combed his red head--maybe, + My mother combed my head, and said, + Sing high ho! my red-haired baby. + + LANCIOTTO. Fie, fie! go comb your hair in private. + + PEPE. What! +Will you not hear? Now comes the tragedy. [_Sings._] + + My father tore my red, red head, + My uncle tore my father's--maybe, + My mother tore both till they bled-- + Sing high ho! your brother's baby! + + LANCIOTTO. Why, what a hair-rending! + + PEPE. Thence wigs arose; +A striking epoch in man's history. +But did you notice the concluding line, +Sung by the victim's mother? There's a hit! + + "Sing high ho! your brother's baby!" + +Which brother's, pray you? That's the mystery, +The adumbration of poetic art, +And there I leave it to perplex mankind. +It has a moral, fathers should regard,-- +A black-haired dog breeds not a red-haired cur. +Treasure this knowledge: you're about to wive; +And no one knows what accident-- + + LANCIOTTO. Peace, fool! +So all this cunning thing was wound about, +To cast a jibe at my deformity? [_Tears off_ PEPE'S _cap._] +There lies your cap, the emblem that protects +Your head from chastisement. Now, Pepe, hark! +Of late you've taken to reviling me; +Under your motley, you have dared to jest +At God's inflictions. Let me tell you, fool, +No man e'er lived, to make a second jest +At me, before your time! + + PEPE. Boo! bloody-bones! +If you're a coward--which I hardly think-- +You'll have me flogged, or put into a cell, +Or fed to wolves. If you are bold of heart, +You'll let me run. Do not; I'll work you harm! +I, Beppo Pepe, standing as a man, +Without my motley, tell you, in plain terms, +I'll work you harm--I'll do you mischief, man! + + LANCIOTTO. I, Lanciotto, Count of Rimini, +Will hang you, then. Put on your jingling cap; +You please my father. But remember, fool, +No jests at me! + + PEPE. I will try earnest next. + + LANCIOTTO. And I the gallows. + + PEPE. Well, cry quits, cry quits! +I'll stretch your heart, and you my neck--quits, quits! + + LANCIOTTO. Go, fool! Your weakness bounds your malice. + + PEPE. Yes: +So you all think, you savage gentlemen, +Until you feel my sting. Hang, hang away! +It is an airy, wholesome sort of death, +Much to my liking. When I hang, my friend, +You'll be chief mourner, I can promise you. +Hang me! I've quite a notion to be hung: +I'll do my utmost to deserve it. Hang! [_Exit._ + + LANCIOTTO. I am bemocked on all sides. My sad state +Has given the licensed and unlicensed fool +Charter to challenge me at every turn. +The jester's laughing bauble blunts my sword, +His gibes cut deeper than its fearful edge; +And I, a man, a soldier, and a prince, +Before this motley patchwork of a man, +Stand all appalled, as if he were a glass +Wherein I saw my own deformity. +O Heaven! a tear--one little tear--to wash +This aching dryness of the heart away! + + _Enter_ PAOLO. + + PAOLO. What ails the fool? He passed me, muttering +The strangest garbage in the fiercest tone. +"Ha! ha!" cried he, "they made a fool of me-- +motley man, a slave; as if I felt +No stir in me of manly dignity! +Ha! ha! a fool--a painted plaything, toy-- +For men to kick about this dirty world!-- +My world as well as theirs.--God's world, I trow! +I will get even with them yet--ha! ha! +In the democracy of death we'll square. +I'll crawl and lie beside a king's own son; +Kiss a young princess, dead lip to dead lip; +Pull the Pope's nose; and kick down Charlemagne, +Throne, crown, and all, where the old idiot sprawls, +Safe as he thinks, rotting in royal state!" +And then he laughed and gibbered, as if drunk +With some infernal ecstasy. + + LANCIOTTO. Poor fool! +That is the groundwork of his malice, then,-- +His conscious difference from the rest of men? +I, of all men, should pity him the most. +Poor Pepe! I'll be kinder. I have wronged +A feeling heart. Poor Pepe! + + PAOLO. Sad again! +Where has the rapture gone of yesterday? + + LANCIOTTO. Where are the leaves of Summer? Where the snows +Of last year's Winter? Where the joys and griefs +That shut our eyes to yesternight's repose, +And woke not on the morrow? Joys and griefs, +Huntsmen and hounds, ye follow us as game, +Poor panting outcasts of your forest-law! +Each cheers the others,--one with wild halloos, +And one with whines and howls.--A dreadful chase, +That only closes when horns sound _a mort!_ + + PAOLO. Thus ever up and down! Arouse yourself, +Balance your mind more evenly, and hunt +For honey in the wormwood. + + LANCIOTTO. Or find gall +Hid in the hanging chalice of the rose: +Which think you better? If my mood offend, +We'll turn to business,--to the empty cares +That make such pother in our feverish life. +When at Ravenna, did you ever hear +Of any romance in Francesca's life? +A love-tilt, gallantry, or anything +That might have touched her heart? + + PAOLO. Not lightly even. +I think her heart as virgin as her hand. + + LANCIOTTO. Then there is hope. + + PAOLO. Of what? + + LANCIOTTO. Of winning her. + + PAOLO. Grammercy! Lanciotto, are you sane? +You boasted yesterday-- + + LANCIOTTO. And changed to-day. +Is that so strange? I always mend the fault +Of yesterday with wisdom of to-day. +She does not love me. + + PAOLO. Pshaw! she marries you: +'Twere proof enough for me. + + LANCIOTTO. Perhaps, she loves you. + + PAOLO. Me, Lanciotto, me! For mercy's sake, +Blot out such thoughts--they madden me! What, love-- +She love--yet marry you! + + LANCIOTTO. It moves you much. +'Twas but a fleeting fancy, nothing more. + + PAOLO. You have such wild conjectures! + + LANCIOTTO. Well, to me +They seem quite tame; they are my bed-fellows. +Think, to a modest woman, what must be +The loathsome kisses of an unloved man-- +A gross, coarse ruffian! + + PAOLO. O! good heavens, forbear! + + LANCIOTTO. What shocks you so? + + PAOLO. The picture which you draw, +Wronging yourself by horrid images. + + LANCIOTTO. Until she love me, till I know, beyond +The cavil of a doubt, that she is mine-- +Wholly, past question--do you think that I +Could so afflict the woman whom I love? + + PAOLO. You love her, Lanciotto! + + LANCIOTTO. Next to you, +Dearer than anything in nature's scope. + + PAOLO. [_Aside._] O! Heaven, that I must bear this! Yes, and more,-- +More torture than I dare to think upon, +Spreads out before me with the coming years, +And holds a record blotted with my tears, +As that which I must suffer! + + LANCIOTTO. Come, Paolo, +Come help me woo. I need your guiding eye, +To signal me, if I should sail astray. + + PAOLO. O! torture, torture! [_Aside._ + + LANCIOTTO. You and I, perchance, +Joining our forces, may prevail at last. +They call love like a battle. As for me, +I'm not a soldier equal to such wars, +Despite my arduous schooling. Tutor me +In the best arts of amorous strategy. +I am quite raw, Paolo. Glances, sighs, +Sweets of the lip, and arrows of the eye, +Shrugs, cringes, compliments, are new to me; +And I shall handle them with little art. +Will you instruct me? + + PAOLO. Conquer for yourself. +Two captains share one honour: keep it all. +What if I ask to share the spoils? + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! +I'll trust you, brother. Let us go to her: +Francesca is neglected while we jest. +I know not how it is, but your fair face, +And noble figure, always cheer me up, +More than your words; there's healing in them, too, +For my worst griefs. Dear brother, let us in. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_The Same. A Chamber in the Same._ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA _discovered +at the bridal toilet._ + + RITTA. [_Sings._] + Ring high, ring high! to earth and sky; + A lady goes a-wedding; + The people shout, the show draws out, + And smiles the bride is shedding. + + No bell for you, ye ragged few; + A beggar goes a-wedding; + The people sneer, the thing's so queer, + And tears the bride is shedding. + + Ring low, ring low! dull bell of woe, + One tone will do for either; + The lady glad, and beggar sad, + Have both lain down together. + + FRANCESCA. A mournful ballad! + + RITTA. I scarce knew I sang. +I'm weary of this wreath. These orange-flowers +Will never be adjusted to my taste: +Strive as I will, they ever look awry. +My fingers ache! + + FRANCESCA. Not more than my poor head. +There, leave them so. + + RITTA. That's better, yet not well. + + FRANCESCA. They are but fading things, not worth your pains: +They'll scarce outlive the marriage merriment. +Ritta, these flowers are hypocrites; they show +An outside gayety, yet die within, +Minute by minute. You shall see them fall, +Black with decay, before the rites are o'er. + + RITTA. How beautiful you are! + + FRANCESCA. Fie, flatterer! +White silk and laces, pearls and orange-flowers, +Would do as much for any one. + + RITTA. No, no! +You give them grace, they nothing give to you. +Why, after all, you make the wreath look well; +But somewhat dingy, where it lies against +Your pulsing temple, sullen with disgrace. +Ah! well, your Count should be the proudest man +That ever led a lady into church, +Were he a modern Alexander. Poh! +What are his trophies to a face like that? + + FRANCESCA. I seem to please you, Ritta. + + RITTA. Please yourself, +And you will please me better. You are sad: +I marked it ever since you saw the Count. +I fear the splendour of his victories, +And his sweet grace of manner--for, in faith, +His is the gentlest, grandest character, +Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Well? + + RITTA. Despite his-- + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, what? + + RITTA. Despite his difference from Count Paolo.-- + [FRANCESCA _staggers._] +What is the matter? [_Supporting her._ + + FRANCESCA. Nothing; mere fatigue. +Hand me my kerchief. I am better now. +What were you saying? + + RITTA. That I fear the Count +Has won your love. + + FRANCESCA. Would that be cause for fear? + [_Laughing._ + + RITTA. O! yes, indeed! Once--long ago--I was +Just fool enough to tangle up my heart +With one of these same men. 'Twas terrible! +Morning or evening, waking or asleep, +I had no peace. Sighs, groans, and standing tears, +Counted my moments through the blessed day. +And then to this there was a dull, strange ache +Forever sleeping in my breast,--a numbing pain, +That would not for an instant be forgot. +O! but I loved him so, that very feeling +Became intolerable. And I believed +This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers, +The shrugs and glances, of my intimates. +They slandered me and him, yet I believed. +He was a noble, and his love to me +Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed. +He wearied of me, tried to shake me off, +Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt. +O! lady, I was true! Nor till I saw +Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door +With Dora, the rich usurer's niece, upon +The very arm to which I clung so oft, +Did I so much as doubt him. Even then-- +More is my shame--I made excuses for him. +"Just this or that had forced him to the course: +Perhaps, he loved me yet--a little yet. +His fortune, or his family, had driven +My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart. +The low are sorry judges for the great. +Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me!" But at last +I did awake. It might have been with less: +There was no need of crushing me, to break +My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced, +Dora and he went by me, and he laughed-- +A bold, bad laugh--right in my poor pale face, +And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed. +Ah! then I saw it all. I've been awake, +Ever since then, I warrant you. And now +I only pray for him sometimes, when friends +Tell his base actions towards his hapless wife.-- +O! I am lying--I pray every night! [_Weeps._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor Ritta. [_Weeping._ + + RITTA. No! blest Ritta! Thank kind heaven, +That kept me spotless when he tempted me, +And my weak heart was pleading with his tongue. +Pray, do not weep. You spoil your eyes for me. +But never love; O! it is terrible! + + FRANCESCA. I'll strive against it. + + RITTA. Do: because, my lady, +Even a husband may be false, you know; +Ay, even to so sweet a wife as you. +Men have odd tastes. They'll surfeit on the charms +Of Cleopatra, and then turn aside +To woo her blackamoor. 'Tis so, in faith; +Or Dora's uncle's gold had ne'er outbid +The boundless measure of a love like mine. +Think of it, lady, to weigh love with gold! +What could be meaner? + + FRANCESCA. Nothing, nothing, Ritta. +Though gold's the standard measure of the world, +And seems to lighten everything beside. +Yet heap the other passions in the scale, +And balance them 'gainst that which gold outweighs-- +Against this love--and you shall see how light +The most supreme of them are in the poise! +I speak by book and history; for love +Slights my high fortunes. Under cloth of state +The urchin cowers from pompous etiquette, +Waiving his function at the scowl of power, +And seeks the rustic cot to stretch his limbs +In homely freedom. I fulfil a doom. +We who are topmost on this heap of life +Are nearer to heaven's hand than you below; +And so are used, as ready instruments, +To work its purposes. Let envy hide +Her witless forehead at a prince's name, +And fix her hopes upon a clown's content. +You, happy lowly, know not what it is +To groan beneath the crowned yoke of state, +And bear the goadings of the sceptre. Ah! +Fate drives us onward in a narrow way, +Despite our boasted freedom. + + [_Enter_ PAOLO, _with_ PAGES _bearing torches._] + + Gracious saints! +What brought you here? + + PAOLO. The bridegroom waits. + + FRANCESCA. He does? +Let him wait on forever! I'll not go! +O! dear Paolo-- + + PAOLO. Sister! + + FRANCESCA. It is well. +I have been troubled with a sleepless night. +My brain is wild. I know not what I say. +Pray, do not call me sister: it is cold. +I never had a brother, and the name +Sounds harshly to me. When you speak to me, +Call me Francesca. + + PAOLO. You shall be obeyed. + + FRANCESCA. I would not be obeyed. I'd have you do it +Because--because you love me--as a sister-- +And of your own good-will, not my command, +Would please me.--Do you understand? + + PAOLO. Too well! [_Aside._] +'Tis a nice difference. + + FRANCESCA. Yet you understand? +Say that you do. + + PAOLO. I do. + + FRANCESCA. That pleases me. +'Tis flattering if our--friends appreciate +Our nicer feelings. + + PAOLO. I await you, lady. + + FRANCESCA. Ritta, my gloves.--Ah! yes, I have them on; +Though I'm not quite prepared. Arrange my veil; +It folds too closely. That will do; retire. [RITTA _retires._] +So, Count Paolo, you have come, hot haste, +To lead me to the church,--to have your share +In my undoing? And you came, in sooth, +Because they sent you? You are very tame! +And if they sent, was it for you to come? + + PAOLO. Lady, I do not understand this scorn. +I came, as is my duty, to escort +My brother's bride to him. When next you're called, +I'll send a lackey. + + FRANCESCA. I have angered you. + + PAOLO. With reason: I would not appear to you +Low or contemptible. + + FRANCESCA. Why not to me? + + PAOLO. Lady, I'll not be catechized. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! Count! + + PAOLO. No! if you press me further, I will say +A word to madden you.--Stand still! You stray +Around the margin of a precipice. +I know what pleasure 'tis to pluck the flowers +That hang above destruction, and to gaze +Into the dread abyss, to see such things +As may be safely seen. Tis perilous: +The eye grows dizzy as we gaze below, +And a wild wish possesses us to spring +Into the vacant air. Beware, beware! +Lest this unholy fascination grow +Too strong to conquer! + + FRANCESCA. You talk wildly, Count; +There's not a gleam of sense in what you say; +I cannot hit your meaning. + + PAOLO. Lady, come! + + FRANCESCA. Count, you are cruel! [_Weeps._ + + PAOLO. O! no; I would be kind. +But now, while reason over-rides my heart, +And seeming anger plays its braggart part-- +In heaven's name, come! + + FRANCESCA. One word--one question more: +Is it your wish this marriage should proceed? + + PAOLO. It is. + + FRANCESCA. Come on! You shall not take my hand: +I'll walk alone--now, and forever! + + PAOLO. [_Taking her hand._] Sister! + + [_Exeunt_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _with_ PAGES. + + RITTA. O! misery, misery!--it is plain as day-- +She loves Paolo! Why will those I love +Forever get themselves ensnared, and heaven +Forever call on me to succor them? +Here was the mystery, then--the sighs and tears, +The troubled slumbers, and the waking dreams! +And now she's walking through the chapel-door, +Her bridal robe above an aching heart, +Dressed up for sacrifice. Tis terrible! +And yet she'll smile and do it. Smile, for years, +Until her heart breaks; and the nurses ask +The doctor of the cause. He'll answer, too, +In hard thick Latin, and believe himself. +O! my dear mistress! Heaven, pray torture me! +Send back Giuseppe, let him ruin me, +And scorn me after; but, sweet heaven, spare her! +I'll follow her. O! what a world is this! [_Exit._ + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_The Same. Interior of the Cathedral._ LANCIOTTO, FRANCESCA, PAOLO, +MALATESTA, GUIDO, RITTA, PEPE, LORDS, KNIGHTS, PRIESTS, PAGES, _a +bridal-train of_ LADIES, SOLDIERS, CITIZENS, ATTENDANTS, _etc., +discovered before the High Altar. Organ music. The rites being over, +they advance._ + + MALATESTA. By heaven-- + + PEPE. O! uncle, uncle, you're in church! + + MALATESTA. I'll break your head, knave! + + PEPE. I claim sanctuary. + + + MALATESTA. Why, bridegroom, will you never kiss the bride? +We all are mad to follow you. + + PEPE. Yes, yes; +Here was Paolo wetting his red lips +For the last minute. Kiss, and give him room. + + MALATESTA. You heaven-forsaken imp, be quiet now! + + PEPE. Then there'd be naught worth hearing. + + MALATESTA. Bridegroom, come! + + PEPE. Lord! he don't like it! Hey!--I told you so-- +He backs at the first step. Does he not know +His trouble's just begun? + + LANCIOTTO. Gentle Francesca, +Custom imposes somewhat on thy lips: +I'll make my levy. [_Kisses her. The others follow._] + [_Aside._] Ha! she shrank! I felt +Her body tremble, and her quivering lips +Seemed dying under mine! I heard a sigh, +Such as breaks hearts--O! no, a very groan; +And then she turned a sickly, miserable look +On pale Paolo, and he shivered too! +There is a mystery hangs around her,--ay, +Paolo knows it, too.--By all the saints, +I'll make him tell it, at the dagger's point! +Paolo!--here! I do adjure you, brother, +By the great love I bear you, to reveal +The secret of Francesca's grief. + + PAOLO. I cannot. + + LANCIOTTO. She told you nothing? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not a word? + + PAOLO. Not one. + + LANCIOTTO. What heard you at Ravenna, then? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Here? + + PAOLO. Nothing. + + LANCIOTTO. Not the slightest hint?-- +Don't stammer, man! Speak quick! I am in haste. + + PAOLO. Never. + + LANCIOTTO. What know you? + + PAOLO. Nothing that concerns +Your happiness, Lanciotto. If I did, +Would I not tell unquestioned? + + LANCIOTTO. Would you not? +You ask a question for me: answer it. + + PAOLO. I have. + + LANCIOTTO. You juggle, you turn deadly pale, +Fumble your dagger, stand with head half round, +Tapping your feet.--You dare not look at me! +By Satan! Count Paolo, let me say, +You look much like a full-convicted thief! + + PAOLO. Brother!-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! brother! You deceive me, sir: +You and that lady have a devil's league, +To keep a devil's secret. Is it thus +You deal with me? Now, by the light above +I'd give a dukedom for some fair pretext +To fly you all! She does not love me? Well, +I could bear that, and live away from her. +Love would be sweet, but want of it becomes +An early habit to such men as I. +But you--ah! there's the sorrow--whom I loved +An infant in your cradle; you who grew +Up in my heart, with every inch you gained; +You whom I loved for every quality, +Good, bad, and common, in your natural stock; +Ay, for your very beauty! It is strange, you'll say, +For such a crippled horror to do that, +Against the custom of his kind! O! yes, +I love, and you betray me! + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, +This is sheer frenzy. Join your bride. + + LANCIOTTO. I'll not! +What, go to her, to feel her very flesh +Crawl from my touch?--to hear her sigh and moan, +As if God plagued her? Must I come to that? +Must I endure your hellish mystery +With my own wife, and roll my eyes away +In sentimental bliss? No, no! until +I go to her, with confident belief +In her integrity and candid love, +I'll shun her as a leper. [_Alarm-bells toll._ + + MALATESTA. What is that? + + _Enter, hastily, a_ MESSENGER _in disorder._ + + MESSENGER. My lord, the Ghibelins are up-- + + LANCIOTTO. And I +Will put them down again! I thank thee, Heaven, +For this unlooked-for aid! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. What force have they? + + LANCIOTTO. It matters not,--nor yet the time, place, cause, +Of their rebellion. I would throttle it, +Were it a riot, or a drunken brawl! + + MALATESTA. Nay, son, your bride-- + + LANCIOTTO. My bride will pardon me; +Bless me, perhaps, as I am going forth;-- +Thank me, perhaps, if I should ne'er return. [_Aside._] +A soldier's duty has no bridals in it. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, this is folly. Let me take +Your usual place of honour. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Ha! ha! ha! +What! thou, a tilt-yard soldier, lead my troops! +My wife will ask it shortly. Not a word +Of opposition from the new-made bride? +Nay, she looks happier. O! accursed day, +That I was mated to an empty heart! [_Aside._ + + MALATESTA. But, son-- + + LANCIOTTO. Well, father? + + PEPE. Uncle, let him go. +He'll find it cooler on a battle-field +Than in his-- + + LANCIOTTO. Hark! the fool speaks oracles. +You, soldiers, who are used to follow me, +And front our charges, emulous to bear +The shock of battle on your forward arms,-- +Why stand ye in amazement? Do your swords +Stick to their scabbards with inglorious rust? +Or has repose so weakened your big hearts, +That you can dream with trumpets at your ears? +Out with your steel! It shames me to behold +Such tardy welcome to my war-worn blade! [_Draws._] + [_The_ KNIGHTS _and_ SOLDIERS _draw._] +Ho! draw our forces out! Strike camp, sound drums, +And set us on our marches! As I live, +I pity the next foeman who relies +On me for mercy! Farewell! to you all-- +To all alike--a soldier's short farewell! [_Going._] + + [PAOLO _stands before him._] + +Out of my way, thou juggler! [_Exit._ + + PAOLO. He is gone! + + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _The Same. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PEPE, _singing._ + + PEPE. 'Tis jolly to walk in the shady greenwood + With a damsel by your side; + 'Tis jolly to walk from the chapel-door, + With the hand of your pretty bride; + 'Tis jolly to rest your weary head, + When life runs low and hope is fled, + On the heart where you confide: + 'Tis jolly, jolly, jolly, they say, + They say--but I never tried. + +Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls +In motley suits, and pair us, to increase +The race of fools. 'Twould be a noble thing, +A motley woman, had she wit enough +To bear the bell. But there's the misery: +You may make princes out of any stuff; +Fools come by nature. She'll make fifty kings-- +Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cruel governors-- +For one fine fool. There is Paolo, now, +A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart-- +Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. +Lo! here he comes. And there's fierce crook-back's bride +Walking beside him--O, how gingerly! +Take care, my love! that is the very pace +We trip to hell with. Hunchback is away-- +That was a fair escape for you; but, then, +The devil's ever with us, and that's worse. +See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta, +And melancholy as a cow.--How's this? +I'll step aside, and watch you, pretty folks. + [_Hides behind the bushes._ + +_Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _followed by_ RITTA. _He seats himself +in an arbour, and reads._ RITTA _and_ FRANCESCA _advance._ + + FRANCESCA. Ritta. + + RITTA. My lady. + + FRANCESCA. You look tired. + + RITTA. I'm not. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your chamber. + + RITTA. I would rather stay. +If it may please you. I require a walk +And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers, +To stir my blood. I am not very well. + + FRANCESCA. I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear. +Paolo has a book to read to me. + + RITTA. What, the romance? I should so love to hear! +I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo +Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. +I'm weary now, quite weary, and would rest. + + FRANCESCA. Just now you wished to walk. + + RITTA. Ah! did I so? +Walking or resting, I would stay with you. + + FRANCESCA. The Count objects. He told me, yesterday, +That you were restless while he read to me; +And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed, +And yawned, until he almost paused. + + RITTA. Indeed +I will be quiet. + + FRANCESCA. But he will not read. + + RITTA. Let me go ask him. [_Runs toward_ PAOLO. + + FRANCESCA. Stop! Come hither, Ritta. + [_She returns._] +I saw your new embroidery in the hall,-- +The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes; +It should be finished. + + RITTA. I will bring it here.-- +O no! my finger's sore; I cannot work. + + FRANCESCA. Go to your room. + + RITTA. Let me remain, I pray. +'Tis better, lady; you may wish for me: +I know you will be sorry if I go. + + FRANCESCA. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you. +Will you be headstrong? + + RITTA. Do you wish it, then? + + FRANCESCA. Yes, Ritta. + + RITTA. Yet you made pretexts enough, +Before you ordered. + + FRANCESCA. You are insolent. +Will you remain against my will? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; +Rather than not remain. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! impudent! + + RITTA. You wrong me, gentle mistress. Love like mine +Does not ask questions of propriety, +Nor stand on manners. I would do you good, +Even while you smote me; I would push you back, +With my last effort, from the crumbling edge +Of some high rock o'er which you toppled me. + + FRANCESCA. What do you mean? + + RITTA. I know. + + FRANCESCA. Know what? + + RITTA. Too much. +Pray, do not ask me. + + FRANCESCA. Speak! + + RITTA. I know--dear lady, +Be not offended-- + + FRANCESCA. Tell me, simpleton! + + RITTA. You know I worship you; you know I'd walk +Straight into ruin for a whim of yours; +You know-- + + FRANCESCA. I know you act the fool. Talk sense! + + RITTA. I know Paolo loves you. + + FRANCESCA. Should he not? +He is my brother. + + RITTA. More than brother should. + + FRANCESCA. Ha! are you certain? + + RITTA. Yes, of more than that. + + FRANCESCA. Of more? + + RITTA. Yes, lady; for you love him, too. +I've said it! Fling me to the carrion crows, +Kill me by inches, boil me in the pot +Count Guido promised me,--but, O, beware! +Back, while you may. Make me the sufferer, +But save yourself! + + FRANCESCA. Now, are you not ashamed, +To look me in the face with that bold brow? +I am amazed! + + RITTA. I am a woman, lady; +I too have been in love; I know its ways, +Its arts, and its deceits. Your frowning face, +And seeming indignation, do not cheat. +Your heart is in my hand. + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hence, +Thou wanton-hearted minion! hence, I say!-- +And never look me in the face again!-- +Hence, thou insulting slave! + + RITTA. [_Clinging to her._] O lady, lady-- + + FRANCESCA. Begone! [_Throws her off._ + + RITTA. I have no friends--no one to love-- +O, spare me! + + FRANCESCA. Hence! + + RITTA. Was it for this I loved-- +Cared for you more than my own happiness-- +Ever at heart your slave--without a wish +For greater recompense than your stray smiles? + + PAOLO. [_Calls._] Francesca! + + FRANCESCA. Hurry! + + RITTA. I am gone. Alas! +God bless you, lady! God take care of you, +When I am far away! Alas, alas! [_Exit weeping._ + + FRANCESCA. Poor girl!--but were she all the world to me, +And held my future in her tender grasp, +I'd cast her off, without a second thought, +To savage death, for dear Paolo's sake! +Paolo, hither! Now he comes to me; +I feel his presence, though I see him not, +Stealing upon me like the fervid glow +Of morning sunshine. Now he comes too near-- +He touches me--O heaven! + + PAOLO. Our poem waits. +I have been reading while you talked with Ritta. +How did you get her off? + + FRANCESCA. By some device. +She will not come again. + + PAOLO. I hate the girl: +She seems to stand between me and the light. +And now for the romance. Where left we off? + + FRANCESCA. Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra strayed +Along the forest, in the youth of May. +You marked the figure of the birds that sang +Their melancholy farewell to the sun-- +Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified-- +Like gentle mourners o'er a great man's grave. +Was it not there? No, no; 'twas where they sat +Down on the bank, by one impulsive wish +That neither uttered. + + PAOLO. [_Turning over the book._] Here it is. [_Reads._] + "So sat +Guenevra and Sir Lancelot"--'Twere well +To follow them in that. [_They sit upon a bank._ + + FRANCESCA. I listen: read. +Nay, do not; I can wait, if you desire. + + PAOLO. My dagger frets me; let me take it off. [_Rises._] +In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by. + [_Lays aside his dagger, and sits again._] +Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day. [_Reads_] + "So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot, + Under the blaze of the descending sun, + But all his cloudy splendours were forgot. + Each bore a thought, the only secret one, + Which each had hidden from the other's heart, + Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun. + Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start, + Put by the ripples of her golden hair, + Gazing upon her with his lips apart. + He marvelled human thing could be so fair; + Essayed to speak; but in the very deed, + His words expired of self-betrayed despair. + Little she helped him, at his direst need, + Roving her eyes o'er hill, and wood, and sky, + Peering intently at the meanest weed; + Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot's eye. + Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe, + Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh; + Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew; + Until she felt Sir Lancelot's arm around + Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew. + While through his fingers timidly he wound + Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed + Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound: + For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed, + Firing her blood with most contagious heat, + Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed. + Each heart was listening to the other beat. + As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk, + Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet, + So met their faces. Down the forest walk + Sir Lancelot looked--he looked, east, west, north, south-- + No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk: + She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth." + [_Kisses_ FRANCESCA.] +I'll read no more! [_Starts up, dashing down the book._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. I am mad! +The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er, +The straining cord has broken, and my heart +Riots in free delirium! O, Heaven! +I struggled with it, but it mastered me! +I fought against it, but it beat me down! +I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me; +And every tear rolled backward on my heart, +To blight and poison! + + FRANCESCA. And dost thou regret? + + PAOLO. The love? No, no! I'd dare it all again, +Its direst agonies and meanest fears, +For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse! +Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand; +Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge! +Thou canst not name a terror so profound +That I will look or falter from. Be bold! +I know thy love--I knew it long ago-- +Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp +The peril to my breast, and ask of thee +A kindred desperation. + + FRANCESCA. [_Throwing herself into his arms._] Take me all, +Body and soul! The women of our clime +Do never give away but half a heart: +I have not part to give, part to withhold, +In selfish safety. When I saw thee first, +Riding alone amid a thousand men, +Sole in the lustre of thy majesty, +And Guido da Polenta said to me, +"Daughter, behold thy husband!" with a bound +My heart went forth to meet thee. He deceived, +He lied to me--ah! that's the aptest word-- +And I believed. Shall I not turn again, +And meet him, craft with craft? Paolo, love, +Thou'rt dull--thou'rt dying like a feeble fire +Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze, +A flash of glory, and a long, long night? + + PAOLO. No, darling, no! You could not bend me back; +My course is onward; but my heart is sick +With coming fears. + + FRANCESCA. Away with them! Must I +Teach thee to love? and reinform the ear +Of thy spent passion with some sorcery +To raise the chilly dead? + + PAOLO. Thy lips have not +A sorcery to rouse me as this spell. [_Kisses her._ + + FRANCESCA. I give thy kisses back to thee again: +And, like a spendthrift, only ask of thee +To take while I can give. + + PAOLO. Give, give forever! +Have we not touched the height of human bliss? +And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back +Among the prostrate, did we not soar once?-- +Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods +On high Olympus? If they cast us, now, +Amid the furies, shall we not go down +With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips, +And richer memories settled in our hearts? +Francesca. + + FRANCESCA. Love? + + PAOLO. The sun is sinking low +Upon the ashes of his fading pyre, +And gray possesses the eternal blue; +The evening star is stealing after him, +Fixed, like a beacon, on the prow of night; +The world is shutting up its heavy eye +Upon the stir and bustle of to-day;-- +On what shall it awake? + + FRANCESCA. On love that gives +Joy at all seasons, changes night to day, +Makes sorrow smile, plucks out the barbed dart +Of moaning anguish, pours celestial balm +In all the gaping wounds of earth, and lulls +The nervous fancies of unsheltered fear +Into a slumber sweet as infancy's! +On love that laughs at the impending sword, +And puts aside the shield of caution: cries, +To all its enemies, "Come, strike me now!-- +Now, while I hold my kingdom, while my crown +Of amaranth and myrtle is yet green, +Undimmed, unwithered; for I cannot tell +That I shall e'er be happier!" Dear Paolo, +Would you lapse down from misery to death, +Tottering through sorrow and infirmity? +Or would you perish at a single blow, +Cut off amid your wildest revelry, +Falling among the wine-cups and the flowers, +And tasting Bacchus when your drowsy sense +First gazed around eternity? Come, love! +The present whispers joy to us; we'll hear +The voiceless future when its turn arrives. + + PAOLO. Thou art a siren. Sing, forever sing; +Hearing thy voice, I cannot tell what fate +Thou hast provided when the song is o'er;-- +But I will venture it. + + FRANCESCA. In, in, my love! [_Exeunt._ + + PEPE _steals from behind the bushes._ + + PEPE. O, brother Lanciotto!--O, my stars!-- +If this thing lasts, I simply shall go mad! + [_Laughs, and rolls on the ground._] +O Lord! to think my pretty lady puss +Had tricks like this, and we ne'er know of it! +I tell you, Lanciotto, you and I +Must have a patent for our foolery! +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth!"-- +There's the beginning; where's the end of it? +O poesy! debauch thee only once, +And thou'rt the greatest wanton in the world! +O cousin Lanciotto--ho, ho, ho! [_Laughing._] +Can a man die of laughter? Here we sat; +Mistress Francesca so demure and calm; +Paolo grand, poetical, sublime!-- +Eh! what is this? Paolo's dagger? Good! +Here is more proof, sweet cousin Broken-back. +"In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by!" + [_Mimicking_ PAOLO.] +That's very pretty! Here's its counterpart: +In thoughts of hate, we'll pick them up again! + [_Takes the dagger._] +Now for my soldier, now for crook-backed Mars! +Ere long all Rimini will be ablaze. +He'll kill me? Yes: what then? That's nothing new, +Except to me; I'll bear for custom's sake. +More blood will follow; like the royal sun, +I shall go down in purple. Fools for luck; +The proverb holds like iron. I must run, +Ere laughter smother me.--O, ho, ho, ho! [_Exit, laughing._ + + + + +SCENE II. + + +_A Camp among the Hills. Before_ LANCIOTTO'S _tent. Enter, from the +tent,_ LANCIOTTO. + + LANCIOTTO. The camp is strangely quiet. Not a sound +Breaks nature's high solemnity. The sun +Repeats again his every-day decline; +Yet all the world looks sadly after him, +As if the customary sight were new. +Yon moody sentinel goes slowly by, +Through the thick mists of evening, with his spear +Trailed at a funeral hold. Long shadows creep, +From things beyond the furthest range of sight, +Up to my very feet. These mystic shades +Are of the earth; the light that causes them, +And teaches us the quick comparison, +Is all from heaven. Ah! restless man might crawl +With patience through his shadowy destiny, +If he were senseless to the higher light +Towards which his soul aspires. How grand and vast +Is yonder show of heavenly pageantry! +How mean and narrow is the earthly stand +From which we gaze on it! Magnificent, +O God, art thou amid the sunsets! Ah! +What heart in Rimini is softened now, +Towards my defects, by this grand spectacle? +Perchance, Paolo now forgives the wrong +Of my hot spleen. Perchance, Francesca now +Wishes me back, and turns a tenderer eye +On my poor person and ill-mannered ways; +Fashions excuses for me, schools her heart +Through duty into love, and ponders o'er +The sacred meaning in the name of wife. +Dreams, dreams! Poor fools, we squander love away +On thankless borrowers; when bankrupt quite, +We sit and wonder of their honesty. +Love, take a lesson from the usurer, +And never lend but on security. +Captain! + + _Enter a_ CAPTAIN. + + CAPTAIN. My lord. + + LANCIOTTO. They worsted us to-day. + + CAPTAIN. Not much, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. With little loss, indeed. +Their strength is in position. Mark you, sir. + [_Draws on the ground with his sword._] +Here is the pass; it opens towards the plain, +With gradual widening, like a lady's fan. +The hills protect their flank on either hand; +And, as you see, we cannot show more front +Than their advance may give us. Then, the rocks +Are sorry footing for our horse. Just here, +Close in against the left-hand hills, I marked +A strip of wood, extending down the gorge: +Behind that wood dispose your force ere dawn. +I shall begin the onset, then give ground, +And draw them out; while you, behind the wood, +Must steal along, until their flank and rear +Oppose your column. Then set up a shout, +Burst from the wood, and drive them on our spears. +They have no outpost in the wood, I know; +'Tis too far from their centre. On the morrow, +When they are flushed with seeming victory, +And think my whole division in full rout, +They will not pause to scrutinize the wood; +So you may enter boldly. We will use +The heart to-day's repulse has given to them, +For our advantage. Do you understand? + + CAPTAIN. Clearly, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. If they discover you, +Before you gain your point, wheel, and retreat +Upon my rear. If your attack should fail +To strike them with a panic, and they turn +In too great numbers on your small command, +Scatter your soldiers through the wood: +Let each seek safety for himself. + + CAPTAIN. I see. + + LANCIOTTO. Have Pluto shod; he cast a shoe to-day: +Let it be done at once. My helmet, too, +Is worn about the lacing; look to that. +Where is my armourer? + + CAPTAIN. At his forge. + + LANCIOTTO. Your charge +Must be at sunrise--just at sunrise, sir-- +Neither before nor after. You must march +At moonset, then, to gain the point ere dawn. +That is enough. + + CAPTAIN. Good-even! [_Going._ + + LANCIOTTO. Stay, stay, stay! +My sword-hilt feels uneasy in my grasp; [_Gives his sword._] +Have it repaired; and grind the point. Strike hard! +I'll teach these Ghibelins a lesson. [_Loud laughter within._] +Ha! +What is that clamour? + + _Enter hastily_ PEPE, _tattered and travel-stained._ + + PEPE. News from Rimini! [_Falls exhausted._ + + LANCIOTTO. Is that you, Pepe? Captain, a good-night! + [_Exit CAPTAIN._] +I never saw you in such straits before. +Wit without words! + + PEPE. That's better than--O!--O!-- [_Panting._] +Words without wit. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] You'll die a jester, Pepe. + + PEPE. If so, I'll leave the needy all my wit. +You, you shall have it, cousin.--O! O! O! [_Panting._] +Those devils in the hills, the Ghibelins, +Ran me almost to death. My lord--ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +It all comes back to me--O! Lord 'a mercy!-- +The garden, and the lady, and the Count! +Not to forget the poetry--ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +O! cousin Lanciotto, such a wife, +And such a brother! Hear me, ere I burst! + + LANCIOTTO. You're pleasant, Pepe! + + PEPE. Am I?--Ho! ho! ho! [_Laughing._] +You ought to be; your wife's a---- + + LANCIOTTO. What? + + PEPE. A lady-- +A lady, I suppose, like all the rest. +I am not in their secrets. Such a fellow +As Count Paolo is your man for that. +I'll tell you something, if you'll swear a bit. + + LANCIOTTO. Swear what? + + PEPE. First, swear to listen till the end.-- +O! you may rave, curse, howl, and tear your hair; +But you must listen. + + LANCIOTTO. For your jest's sake? Well. + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I do. + + PEPE. Next, swear to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. The truth of a fool's story! + + PEPE. You mistake. +Now, look you, cousin! You have often marked-- +I know, for I have seen--strange glances pass +Between Paolo and your lady wife.-- + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! Pepe! + + PEPE. Now I touch you to the quick. +I know the reason of those glances. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Speak! or I'll throttle you! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Your way is odd. +Let go my gullet, and I'll talk you deaf. +Swear my last oath: only to know the truth. + + LANCIOTTO. But that may trouble me. + + PEPE. Your honour lies-- +Your precious honour, cousin Chivalry-- +Lies bleeding with a terrible great gash, +Without its knowledge. Swear! + + LANCIOTTO. My honour? Speak! + + PEPE. You swear? + + LANCIOTTO. I swear. Your news is ill, perchance? + + PEPE. Ill! would I bring it else? Am I inclined +To run ten leagues with happy news for you? +O, Lord, that's jolly! + + LANCIOTTO. You infernal imp, +Out with your story, ere I strangle you! + + PEPE. Then take a fast hold on your two great oaths, +To steady tottering manhood, and attend. +Last eve, about this hour, I took a stroll +Into the garden.--Are you listening, cousin? + + LANCIOTTO. I am all ears. + + PEPE. Why, so an ass might say. + + LANCIOTTO. Will you be serious? + + PEPE. Wait a while, and we +Will both be graver than a church-yard. Well, +Down the long walk, towards me, came your wife, +With Count Paolo walking at her side. +It was a pretty sight, and so I stepped +Into the bushes. Ritta came with them; +And Lady Fanny had a grievous time +To get her off. That made me curious. +Anon, the pair sat down upon a bank, +To read a poem;--the tenderest romance, +All about Lancelot and Queen Guenevra. +The Count read well--I'll say that much for him-- +Only he stuck too closely to the text, +Got too much wrapped up in the poesy, +And played Sir Lancelot's actions, out and out, +On Queen Francesca. Nor in royal parts +Was she so backward. When he struck the line-- +"She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth;" +Your lady smiled, and, by the saints above, +Paolo carried out the sentiment! +Can I not move you? + + LANCIOTTO. With such trash as this? +And so you ran ten leagues to tell a lie?-- +Run home again. + + PEPE. I am not ready yet. +After the kiss, up springs our amorous Count, +Flings Queen Guenevra and Sir Lancelot +Straight to the devil; growls and snaps his teeth, +Laughs, weeps, howls, dances; talks about his love, +His madness, suffering, and the Lord knows what, +Bullying the lady like a thief. But she, +All this hot time, looked cool and mischievous; +Gave him his halter to the very end; +And when he calmed a little, up she steps +And takes him by the hand. You should have seen +How tame the furious fellow was at once! +How he came down, snivelled, and cowed to her, +And fell to kissing her again! It was +A perfect female triumph! Such a scene +A man might pass through life and never see. +More sentiment then followed--buckets full +Of washy words, not worth my memory. +But all the while she wound his Countship up, +Closer and closer; till at last--tu!--wit!-- +She scoops him up, and off she carries him, +Fish for her table! Follow, if you can; +My fancy fails me. All this time you smile! + + LANCIOTTO. You should have been a poet, not a fool. + + PEPE. I might be both. + + LANCIOTTO. You made no record, then? +Must this fine story die for want of ink? +Left you no trace in writing? + + PEPE. None. + + LANCIOTTO. Alas! +Then you have told it? Tis but stale, my boy; +I'm second hearer. + + PEPE. You are first, in faith. + + LANCIOTTO. In truth? + + PEPE. In sadness. You have got it fresh? +I had no time; I itched to reach your ear. +Now go to Rimini, and see yourself. +You'll find them in the garden. Lovers are +Like walking ghosts, they always haunt the spot +Of their misdeeds. + + LANCIOTTO. But have I heard you out? +You told me all? + + PEPE. All; I have nothing left. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, you brain-stricken idiot, to trust +Your story and your body in my grasp! [_Seizes him._ + + PEPE. Unhand me, cousin! + + LANCIOTTO. When I drop you, Pepe, +You'll be at rest. + + PEPE. I will betray you--O! + + LANCIOTTO. Not till the judgment day. [_They struggle._ + + PEPE. [_Drawing_ PAOLO'S _dagger._] Take that! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Wresting the dagger from him._] Well meant, +But poorly done! Here's my return. [_Stabs him._ + + PEPE. O! beast! [_Falls._] +This I expected; it is naught--Ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +I'll go to sleep; but you--what will you bear! +Hunchback, come here! + + LANCIOTTO. Fie! say your prayers. + + PEPE. Hark, hark! +Paolo hired me, swine, to murder you. + + LANCIOTTO. That is a lie; you never cared for gold. + + PEPE. He did, I say! I'll swear to it, by heaven! +Do you believe me? + + LANCIOTTO. No! + + PEPE. You lie! you lie! +Look at the dagger, cousin--Ugh!--good-night! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. O! horrible! It was a gift of mine-- +He never laid it by. Speak, speak, fool, speak! + [_Shakes the body._] +How didst thou get it?--speak! Thou'rt warm--not dead-- +Thou hast a tongue--O! speak! Come, come, a jest-- +Another jest from those thin mocking lips! +Call me a cripple--hunchback--what thou wilt; +But speak to me! He cannot. Now, by heaven, +I'll stir this business till I find the truth! +Am I a fool? It is a silly lie, +Coined by yon villain with his last base breath. +What ho! without there! + + _Enter_ CAPTAIN _and Soldiers._ + + CAPTAIN. Did you call, my lord? + + LANCIOTTO. Did Heaven thunder? Are you deaf, you louts? +Saddle my horse! What are you staring at? +Is it your first look at a dead man? Well, +Then look your fill. Saddle my horse, I say! +Black Pluto--stir! Bear that assassin hence. +Chop him to pieces, if he move. My horse! + + CAPTAIN. My lord, he's shoeing. + + LANCIOTTO. Did I ask for shoes? +I want my horse. Run, fellow, run! Unbarbed-- +My lightest harness on his back. Fly, fly! [_Exit a SOLDIER._] + [_The others pick up the body._] +Ask him, I pray you, if he did not lie! + + CAPTAIN. The man is dead, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. [_Laughing._] Then do not ask him! + [_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS _with the body._] +By Jupiter, I shall go mad, I think! + [_Walks about._ + + CAPTAIN. Something disturbs him. Do you mark the spot +Of purple on his brow? [_Apart to a SOLDIER._ + + SOLDIER. Then blood must flow. + + LANCIOTTO. Boy, boy! [_Enter a_ PAGE.] My cloak and riding staff. Quick, quick! +How you all lag! [_Exit_ PAGE.] I ride to Rimini. +Skirmish to-morrow. Wait till my return-- +I shall be back at sundown. You shall see +What slaughter is then! + + CAPTAIN. Ho! turn out a guard!-- + + LANCIOTTO. I wish no guard; I ride alone. + [_Re-enter PAGE, with a cloak and staff._] + [_Taking them._] Well done! +Thou art a pretty boy.--And now my horse! + + _Enter a_ SOLDIER. + + SOLDIER. Pluto is saddled-- + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis a damned black lie! + + SOLDIER. Indeed, my lord-- + + LANCIOTTO. O! comrade, pardon me: +I talk at random. What, Paolo too,-- +boy whom I have trotted on my knee! +Poh! I abuse myself by such a thought. +Francesca may not love me, may love him-- +Indeed she ought; but when an angel comes +To play the wanton on this filthy earth, +Then I'll believe her guilty. Look you, sir! +Am I quite calm? + + CAPTAIN. Quite calm, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. You see +No trace of passion on my face?--No sign +Of ugly humours, doubts, or fears, or aught +That may disfigure God's intelligence? +I have a grievous charge against you, sir, +That may involve your life; and if you doubt +The candour of my judgment, choose your time: +Shall I arraign you now? + + CAPTAIN. Now, if you please. +I'll trust my cause to you and innocence +At any time. I am not conscious-- + + LANCIOTTO. Pshaw! +I try myself, not you. And I am calm-- +That is your verdict--and dispassionate? + + CAPTAIN. So far as I can judge. + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis well, 'tis well! +Then I will ride to Rimini. Good-night! [_Exit._ + + _The others look after him amazedly, and exeunt._ + + + + + +SCENE III. + + +_Rimini. The Garden of the Castle. Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. Thou hast resolved? + + PAOLO. I've sworn it. + + FRANCESCA. Ah, you men +Can talk of love and duty in a breath; +Love while you like, forget when you are tired, +And salve your falsehood with some wholesome saw; +But we, poor women, when we give our hearts, +Give all, lose all, and never ask it back. + + PAOLO. What couldst thou ask for that I have not given? +With love I gave thee manly probity, +Innocence, honour, self-respect, and peace. +Lanciotto will return, and how shall I-- +O! shame, to think of it!--how shall I look +My brother in the face? take his frank hand? +Return his tender glances? I should blaze +With guilty blushes. + + FRANCESCA. Thou canst forsake me, then, +To spare thyself a little bashful pain? +Paolo, dost thou know what 'tis for me, +A woman--nay, a dame of highest rank-- +To lose my purity? to walk a path +Whose slightest slip may fill my ear with sounds +That hiss me out to infamy and death? +Have I no secret pangs, no self-respect, +No husband's look to bear? O! worse than these, +I must endure his loathsome touch; be kind +When he would dally with his wife, and smile +To see him play thy part. Pah! sickening thought! +From that thou art exempt. Thou shalt not go! +Thou dost not love me! + + PAOLO. Love thee! Standing here, +With countless miseries upon my head, +I say, my love for thee grows day by day. +It palters with my conscience, blurs my thoughts +Of duty, and confuses my ideas +Of right and wrong. Ere long, it will persuade +My shaking manhood that all this is just. + + FRANCESCA. Let it! I'll blazon it to all the world, +Ere I will lose thee. Nay, if I had choice, +Between our love and my lost innocence, +I tell thee calmly, I would dare again +The deed which we have done. O! thou art cruel +To fly me, like a coward, for thy ease. +When thou art gone, thou'lt flatter thy weak heart +With hopes and speculations; and thou'lt swear +I suffer naught, because thou dost not see. +I will not live to bear it! + + PAOLO. Die,--'twere best; +Tis the last desperate comfort of our sin. + + FRANCESCA. I'll kill myself! + + PAOLO. And so would I, with joy; +But crime has made a craven of me. O! +For some good cause to perish in! Something +A man might die for, looking in God's face; +Not slinking out of life with guilt like mine +Piled on the shoulders of a suicide! + + FRANCESCA. Where wilt thou go? + + PAOLO. I care not; anywhere +Out of this Rimini. The very things +That made the pleasures of my innocence +Have turned against me. There is not a tree, +Nor house, nor church, nor monument, whose face +Took hold upon my thoughts, that does not frown +Balefully on me. From their marble tombs +My ancestors scowl at me; and the night +Thickens to hear their hisses. I would pray, +But heaven jeers at it. Turn where'er I will, +A curse pursues me. + + FRANCESCA. Heavens! O, say not so! +I never cursed thee, love; I never moved +My little finger, ere I looked to thee +For my instruction. + + PAOLO. But my gentleness +Seems to reproach me; and, instead of joy, +It whispers horror! + + FRANCESCA. Cease! cease! + + PAOLO. I must go. + + FRANCESCA. And I must follow. All that I call life +Is bound in thee. I could endure for thee +More agonies than thou canst catalogue-- +For thy sake, love--bearing the ill for thee! +With thee, the devils could not so contrive +That I would blench or falter from my love! +Without thee, heaven were torture! + + PAOLO. I must go. [_Going._ + + FRANCESCA. O! no--Paolo--dearest!-- [_Clinging to him._ + + PAOLO. Loose thy hold! +'Tis for thy sake, and Lanciotto's; I +Am as a cipher in the reckoning. +I have resolved. Thou canst but stretch the time. +Keep me to-day, and I will fly to-morrow--Steal +from thee like a thief. [_Struggles with her._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo--love-- +Indeed, you hurt me!--Do not use me thus! +Kill me, but do not leave me. I will laugh-- +long, gay, ringing laugh--if thou wilt draw +Thy pitying sword, and stab me to the heart! + + [_Enter_ LANCIOTTO _behind._] + +Nay, then, one kiss! + + LANCIOTTO. [_Advancing between them._] Take it: 'twill be the last. + + PAOLO. Lo! Heaven is just! + + FRANCESCA. The last! so be it. [_Kisses_ PAOLO. + + LANCIOTTO. Ha! +Dare you these tricks before my very face? + + FRANCESCA. Why not? I've kissed him in the sight of heaven; +Are you above it? + + PAOLO. Peace, Francesca, peace! + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo--why, thou sad and downcast man, +Look up! I have some words to speak with thee. +Thou art not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes, I am. But she +Has been betrayed; so she is innocent. +Her father tampered with her. I-- + + FRANCESCA. 'Tis false! +The guilt is mine. Paolo was entrapped +By love and cunning. I am shrewder far +Than you suspect. + + PAOLO. Lanciotto, shut thy ears; +She would deceive thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Silence, both of you! +Is guilt so talkative in its defense? +Then, let me make you judge and advocate +In your own cause. You are not guilty? + + PAOLO. Yes. + + LANCIOTTO. Deny it--but a word--say no. Lie, lie! +And I'll believe. + + PAOLO. I dare not. + + LANCIOTTO. Lady, you? + + FRANCESCA. If I might speak for him-- + + LANCIOTTO. It cannot be: +Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt? + + FRANCESCA. No! I assert it; but-- + + LANCIOTTO. In heaven's name, hold! +Will neither of you answer no to me? +A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape. +Bethink you, life is centred in this thing. +Speak! I will credit either. No reply? +What does your crime deserve? + + PAOLO. Death. + + FRANCESCA. Death to both. + + LANCIOTTO. Well said! You speak the law of Italy; +And by the dagger you designed for me, +In Pepe's hand,--your bravo? + + PAOLO. It is false! +If you received my dagger from his hand, +He stole it. + + LANCIOTTO. There, sweet heaven, I knew! And now +You will deny the rest? You see, my friends, +How easy of belief I have become!-- +How easy 'twere to cheat me! + + PAOLO. No; enough! +I will not load my groaning spirit more; +A lie would crush it. + + LANCIOTTO. Brother, once you gave +Life to this wretched piece of workmanship, +When my own hand resolved its overthrow. +Revoke the gift. [_Offers to stab himself._ + + PAOLO. [_Preventing him._] Hold, homicide! + + LANCIOTTO. But think, +You and Francesca may live happily, +After my death, as only lovers can. + + PAOLO. Live happily, after a deed like this! + + LANCIOTTO. Now, look ye! there is not one hour of life +Among us three. Paolo, you are armed-- +You have a sword, I but a dagger: see! +I mean to kill you. + + FRANCESCA. [_Whispers to_ PAOLO.] Give thy sword to me. + + PAOLO. Away! thou'rt frantic. I will never lift +This wicked hand against thee. + + LANCIOTTO. Coward, slave! +Art thou so faint? Does Malatesta's blood +Run in thy puny veins? Take that! [_Strikes him._ + + PAOLO. And more: +Thou canst not offer more than I will bear. + + LANCIOTTO. Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt +Transformed thee to! Why, I have seen the time +When thou'dst have struck at heaven for such a thing! +Art thou afraid? + + PAOLO. I am. + + LANCIOTTO. O! infamy! +Can man sink lower? I will wake thee, though:-- +Thou shalt not die a coward. See! look here! + [_Stabs_ FRANCESCA. + + FRANCESCA. O!--O!-- [_Falls._ + + PAOLO. Remorseless man, dare you do this, +And hope to live? Die, murderer! + [_Draws, rushes at him, but pauses._ + + LANCIOTTO. Strike, strike! +Ere thy heart fail. + + PAOLO. I cannot. [_Throws away his sword._ + + LANCIOTTO. Dost thou see +Yon bloated spider--hideous as myself-- +Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig? +When he has touched it, one of us must die. +Here is the dagger.--Look at me, I say! +Keep your eyes from that woman! Look, think, choose!-- +Turn here to me: thou shalt not look at her! + + PAOLO. O, heaven! + + LANCIOTTO. 'Tis done! + + PAOLO. [_Struggling with him._] O! Lanciotto, hold! +Hold, for thy sake! Thou wilt repent this deed. + + LANCIOTTO. I know it. + + FRANCESCA. [_Rising._] Help!--O! murder!--help, help, help! + [_She totters towards them, and falls._ + + LANCIOTTO. Our honour, boy. [_Stabs_ PAOLO; _he falls._ + + FRANCESCA. Paolo! + + PAOLO. Hark! she calls. +I pray thee, brother, help me to her side. + + [LANCIOTTO _helps him to_ FRANCESCA. + + LANCIOTTO. Why, there! + + PAOLO. God bless thee! + + LANCIOTTO. Have I not done well? +What were the honour of the Malatesti, +With such a living slander fixed to it? +Cripple! that's something--cuckold! that is damned! +You blame me? + + PAOLO. No. + + LANCIOTTO. You, lady? + + FRANCESCA. No, my lord. + + LANCIOTTO. May God forgive you! We are even now: +Your blood has cleared my honour, and our name +Shines to the world as ever. + + PAOLO. O!--O!-- + + FRANCESCA. Love, +Art suffering? + + PAOLO. But for thee. + + FRANCESCA. Here, rest thy head +Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood! +It stains thy ringlets. Ha! he dies! Kind saints, +I was first struck, why cannot I die first? +Paolo, wake!--God's mercy! wilt thou go +Alone--without me? Prithee, strike again! +Nay, I am better--love--now--O! [_Dies._ + + LANCIOTTO. [_Sinks upon his knees._] Great heaven! + + MALATESTA. [_Without._] This way, I heard the cries. + + _Enter with_ GUIDO, ATTENDANTS, _etc._ + + GUIDO. O! horrible! + + MALATESTA. O! bloody spectacle! Where is thy brother? + + LANCIOTTO. So Cain was asked. Come here, old men! You shrink +From two dead bodies and a pool of blood-- +You soldiers, too! Come here! + [_Drags_ MALATESTA _and_ GUIDO _forward._ + + MALATESTA. O!--O!-- + + LANCIOTTO. You groan! +What must I do, then? Father, here it is,-- +The blood of Guido mingled with our own, +As my old nurse predicted. And the spot +Of her infernal baptism burns my brain +Till reason shudders! Down, upon your knees! +Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they'll wake. +Keep still! Kneel, kneel! You fear them? I shall prowl +About these bodies till the day of doom. + + MALATESTA. What hast thou done? + + GUIDO. Francesca!--O! my child! + + LANCIOTTO. Can howling make this sight more terrible? +Peace! You disturb the angels up in heaven, +While they are hiding from this ugly earth. +Be satisfied with what you see. You two +Began this tragedy, I finished it. +Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up +Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie! +A moment since, they walked, and talked, and kissed! +Defied me to my face, dishonoured me! +They had the power to do it then; but now, +Poor souls, who'll shield them in eternity? +Father, the honour of our house is safe: +I have the secret. I will to the wars, +And do more murders, to eclipse this one. +Back to the battles; there I breathe in peace; +And I will take a soldier's honour back.-- +Honour! what's that to me now? Ha! ha! ha! [_Laughing._] +A great thing, father! I am very ill. +I killed thy son for honour: thou mayst chide. +O God! I cannot cheat myself with words! +I loved him more than honour--more than life-- +This man, Paolo--this stark, bleeding corpse! +Here let me rest, till God awake us all! + [_Falls on PAOLO'S body._ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Representative Plays by American +Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini, by George Henry Boker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCESCA DA RIMINI *** + +***** This file should be named 13005.txt or 13005.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/0/0/13005/ + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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