University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Moonlight.
Francesca alone, musing, sitting on a bank beneath trees. Cecco, a friend, enters unperceived, at the close of her soliloquy.
Francesca.
I will but live in twilight,
I will seek out some lone Egerian grove,
Where sacred and o'er-greeting branches shed
Perpetual eve, and all the cheated hours
Sing vespers. And beside a sullen stream,
Ice-cold at noon, my shadowy self shall sit,
Crown'd with dull wreaths of middle-tinted flowers;
With sympathetic roses, wan with weeping
For April sorrows; frighten'd harebells, pale
With thunder; last, half-scented honeysuckle,
That like an ill-starr'd child hides its brown head
Through the long summer banquet, but steals late
To wander through the fragments of the feast,
And glad us with remember'd words that fell
From guests of beauty; sunburnt lilies, grey
Wind-whispering ilex, and whatever leaves
And changeling blossoms Flora, half-asleep,
Makes paler than the sun and warmer than the moon!
Was ever slave so dark and cold as I?
Ah cruel, cruel night! the very stars
Put me to shame! I spur my soul all day
With thought of tyrants, woes and chains, and curse
As oft my pallid and ill-blooded nature,
That will not rage. Oh for some separate slave
To pity every vassal by! Some tyrant
By whom I might set down of all oppressors
That they are thus and thus! Oh that some hand,
Oh that some one hand, faint and fetter-wrung,
Would thrust its clanking wrongs before my eyes,
And I could bleed to break them!

Cecco
(approaching).
What voice is this,
That calls upon a traitor?

Francesca.
Thou base stranger,
Thou coward spy! one that will call on him,
Though her tongue pay the forfeit! Yes, vile Austrian,
I call him, I,—I, who to save my soul
Would scorn to call upon the milk-eyed saints
That look from Heaven upon your German deeds
And do not blight you!

Cecco
(drawing near).
Sister Roman! well
And timely met.

Francesca.
Cecco! thy lips are traitors,
And mouth to German fashions. I believed
The hour I sometime pray'd for, come already,
And thee an Austrian spy.

Cecco.
Forgive me that
I show'd my passport at a friendly gate,
Despair is a poor courtier. I may waste
Only so many words as may demand
Assistance, if thou hast it, and if not
God-speed! It wants but three short hours of dawn,
I swore to Santo he should have a Bible
Two hours before his time.

Francesca.
It wants three hours
Of dawn—thou sworest he should have a Bible
Two hours before his time—Cecco—

Cecco.
Be brief,
For pity. Is there any bold man near
Who has and who dare lend?

Francesca.
Be brief, for pity—
Thou sworest he should have—you heavens, you heavens,
What do your clouds hide?

Cecco.
I must leave thee.

Francesca
(to Cecco, who essays to go: she shows a poniard).
Cecco,
Tell me; tell all. Ah Cecco—nay, look here
In the moonlight—saints! I can use it!

Cecco.
Strange,
Wild girl, how? know'st thou not as well as I
Vittorio preaching to some Milanese
Who would be patriots if they knew but how,
Spent precious hours in which the German foe
Slipt from the snare? whereat brave Roderigo—
A gallant sword—the greatest libertine
In Milan—seized him. In the castle dungeon
He lies since noon, and with the coming dawn
Dies.

Francesca.
Dies, dies,—who dies?—pray you, friend, say on;
I am not wont to wander.

[She sinks gently to the earth. Cecco reclines her on a bank and hasten s on. After awhile Francesca sits up.
[A long pause; she sits with her head in her hands.
A gallant sword—the greatest libertine
In Milan?—yes, yes,—Roderigo,—yes—
[Another long pause.
He lies since noon—ay, in the castle dungeon,
And with the dawn—No, no, thou pitiless sun!
Thou durst not rise! Oh sea, if thou hast waves, Quench him!
[Another long pause.
A gallant sword—the greatest libertine
In Milan.—Ah—the greatest libertine?
Who says I am not fair? Ye gods! I curse you:
Why do ye tempt me?
[A very long pause. Cecco passes in returning.
[Exit Cecco.