 | A Legend of Florence |  |
SCENE I.
The High-road from Florence to Rome.Enter Da Riva and Colonna, meeting.
Colonna.
Fulvio, immortal boy—poet—good fellow—
Punctual moreover, which is wonder's climax,—
How dost? and where hast been these eighteen months?
At grass, eh? fattening with thy Pegasus,
Like the most holy father!
Da Riva.
Dearest Cesare,
'Tis you, methinks, are the immortal boy,
Growing nor fat nor thin, but still the same;
Still the same bantering, glittering, blithe, good soul,
Pretending to give blows, to excuse thy blessings.
Colonna.
Nay, but the poet is the youth for ever,
Howe'er he grow; let him feign even a bit
Of a white top, like our old roaring boys,
2
You know, Da Riva, for those hairs of thine
I ought to call thee father, if I could;
But then thine heart, and this warm hand to match,
Will never let me think thee, somehow or other,
A dozen years older than myself.
Da Riva.
Years older!
A pretty jest, 'faith, when our souls were twins,
And thou but the more light one, like an almond
Pack'd in one shell behind a plumper. Well,
How dost? and how does Florio and Filippo?
And is the Pope really and truly come
At last, and in his own most sacred person,
To see and glorify his native place?
Or hast thou shot before him, like a ray
Out of his orb?
Colonna.
Thy simile has it, 'faith:
Here is his ray, shining upon thyself,
As his ray should; and the good orb meanwhile,
Growing a little stout or so, reposes
Some nine miles off, and will be here next week,
Just by the time your speeches are all ready.
Da Riva.
And toilets?
Colonna.
Ay, and your extempore odes.
Well, well; you see we are insolent as ever,
All well and merry.—Not so, eh? in Florence?
How is Antonio? and pray, who was he,
3
Just as I came, and went off bowing so,
With such a lavish courtesy and close eye?
Da Riva.
That lavish courtesy and that close eye
Will tell you how Antonio is. That fellow,
As you call him, is one of the most respectable men
In Florence. “Men,” do I say? one of the richest
And proudest nobles; of strict fame withal,
Yet courteous; bows to every one, pays every one—
Colonna.
Oh villain!
Da Riva.
Flatters every one; in short,
Is as celestial out of his own house,
As he is devil within it. (Whispering in his ear)
Ginevra's husband.
Colonna.
The devil it is! (Looking after him)
Methinks he casts a blackness
Around him as he walks, and blights the vineyards.
And all is true then, is it, which they tell me?
What, quite? Has he no plea? no provocation
From lover, or from wife?
Da Riva.
None that I know of,
Except her patience and the lover's merit.
Antonio's love, you know, is old as his,
Has been more tried, and, I believe, is spotless.
Colonna.
Dear Rondinelli!—Well, but has this husband
No taste of good in him at all? no corner
In his heart, for some small household grace to sneak in?
4
Nay, what he has of grace in him is not sneaking.
In all, except a heart, and a black shade
Of superstition, he is man enough!
Has a bold blood, large brain, and liberal hand,
As far as the purse goes; albeit he likes
The going to be blown abroad with trumpets.
Nay, I won't swear he does not love his wife,
As well as a man of no sort of affection
Nor any domestic tenderness, can do so.
Colonna.
A mighty attaching gentleman, 'ifaith,
And quite uxorious.
Da Riva.
Why, thus it is.
He highly approves her virtues, talents, beauty;
Thinks her the sweetest woman in all Florence,
Partly, because she is,—partly, because
She is his own, and glorifies his choice;
And therefore he does her the honour of making her
The representative and epitome
Of all he values,—public reputation,
Private obedience, delighted fondness,
Grateful return for his unamiableness,
Love without bounds, in short, for his self-love:—
And as she finds it difficult, poor soul,
To pay such reasonable demands at sight,
With the whole treasure of her heart and smiles,
The gentleman takes pity on—himself!
Looks on himself as the most unresponded to
5
In Tuscany; rages at every word
And look she gives another; and fills the house
With miseries, which, because they ease himself,
And his vile spleen, he thinks her bound to suffer;
And then finds malice in her very suffering!
Colonna.
And she, they tell me, suffers dangerously?
Da Riva.
'Tis thought she'll die of it. And yet, observe now:—
Such is poor human nature, at least such
Is poor human inhuman nature, in this man,
That if she were to die, I verily think
He'd weep, and sit at the receipt of pity,
And call upon the gods, and think he loved her!
Colonna.
Poor, dear, damn'd tyrant!—and where goes he now?
Da Riva.
To Florence, from his country-house; betwixt
Which place and town, what with his jealousy
Of the sweet soul, and love of mighty men,
He'll lead a devil of a life this fortnight;
Not knowing whether to let her share the holiday
For fear of them, and of Antonio;
Or whether, for worse fear, still of Antonio,
To keep her in the shades, love's natural haunt.
Colonna.
The town's the hiding-place. Be sure he'll take
Some musty lodging in the thick of the town,
To hide her in: perhaps within the sound
Of the shows, to vex her; and let her see what pleasures
6
A feather in the cap of the fair advent
Of his most pleasant Holiness Pope Leo,
Come to make holiday with my Tuscan friends,
And lay our loving heads together, to see
What can be done to help this gentle lady
For poor Antonio's sake, and for her own.
Da Riva.
Ay, and amidst those loving heads, are lovely ones.
What think you of the bright Olimpia,
And sweet Diana, her more thoughtful friend?—
You recollect them?
Colonna.
What! the divine widows,
That led that bevy of young married dames
At the baths of Pisa, and whom we used to call
Sunlight and Moonlight?
Da Riva.
The identical stars!
She of the crescent has a country-house,
Here in the neighbourhood, close by Agolanti's.
There are they both; and there Antonio is,
Waiting us two; and thence his friends the ladies,
Escorted by us two, will go to visit
Their friend Ginevra; partly, if they can,
To bring him better news of his saint's health;
Partly, for other reasons which you'll see.
Colonna.
Charming! And wherefore stand you looking then,
This way and that?
7
Why, this way is our road;
And that way I was looking, to see how far
Our friend, the foe, was on his way to town.
I have never, you must know, been in his house;
And little thought he, when he saw us here,
What unexpected introduction, eh?
Was waiting us. I can't help thinking, somehow,
He'll hear of it, and come back.
Colonna.
For Heaven's sake, haste then.
What! loitering!—May the husband take the hindmost!
| A Legend of Florence | |