University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Common Room of an Inn.
Enter, by different doors, a number of Students and Burghers, shouting to each other as they meet and greet.
Each and all.
The news? The news? The news? The news? The news?

One.
I've a good tale.

Another.
I better.

Another.
I the best.

Another.
Mine caps superlative.

Another.
Hurrah! and mine's
A feather in the cap.

Another.
Boys! mine's the bird
That grew the feather.

The first.
Hear me for my age.

The second.
Me for my honesty.

The third.
Me for my beauty!

The fourth.
Me for my wit.

The fifth.
Me for my eloquence.

The sixth.
Me
For all these.

Another.
Me for none of them, since naked
Beggars are best arm'd.

Enter Giacco.
Giacco.
Halloo!

All.
Giacco! Giacco!
Brave Giacco!

Giacco.
Here's a tale, my comrades!

All.
Hear him!

One.
Hurrah! trust Giacco for a pretty wench
And a good story.

Another.
Nay, for certain, Milan
Has no such tell-tale.

Another.
Lads! a cup all round,
Giacco does best!

One
(aside).
Pray Mary! he knows mine;
Every good saint! it must be mine.

Some.
Now, Giacco!

Others.
Attend! attend! attend!

Others.
Silence! Now, Giacco!

Giacco.
There came a man——

One.
Ay, 'tis so.

Another.
Very true—
So I say.

Another.
Hear him!

Another.
Ay, ay, go on, Giacco!

Giacco.
There came a man dress'd like a priest——

One.
The same.

Another.
Yes, 'twas a priest.

Another.
Said I not well? ah, ah!
Trust Giacco for a tale.

Giacco.
A thin pale man——

One.
A pale thin man.

Another.
Yes, pale and spare, I say so.

Another.
Spare, very spare.

Another.
The same! the dogs snarl'd at him
As he were bones.

Giacco.
He pass'd down Duomo Street——

One.
The very street!

Another.
Yes, yes, the place, the place,
The very place—all but the name—good Giacco!

Another.
Giacco forgets a little—Yes, yes, Giacco—
(Aside).
My life on it, he means the place I say!

Giacco.
Walking down slowly——

One.
Yes, yes, walking slowly.

Another.
Right, Giacco!

Another.
Well done, Giacco.

Another.
Ay, I say so;
Oh, 'tis my story!

Giacco.
Walking down he enters
A merchant's office hard upon the quay——

One.
Wrong, Giacco!

Another.
Giacco, thou'rt beside thyself!

Another.
Blind Giacco!

Another.
Saints and angels!

Giacco.
Why, I saw him——

Another.
Giacco, thou liest!

Another.
Turn him out!

Another.
Nay! 'tis flagrant!

All.
Turn him out!

Enter a Village Schoolmaster.
Doctor Scio.
Men!

Some.
Room for the Doctor Scio!

Others.
Chair for the master, there!

Others.
Hats off! the Doctor!

All.
Room for the Doctor! Let the Doctor judge!
Take him aside, Giovanni. Tell him all!
Tell him, Giovanni!

Scio
(pompously).
Children agapete!
Well-beloved children! trouble not Giovanni!
For as of old the mild mellifluous beams
Of Cytherea on the Prince of Troy
Stole through the broken pane,—as to Endymion,
Through the crack'd casement of consenting cave,
The star-train'd goddess came; so from these wide
And vomitorial windows, belch'd your tumult
To me transgressing.

Some.
Hear him!

Others.
Well done, Scio!
Hear him!

One.
Oh learning! what a treasure thou art!

Others.
Hurrah! Speak, Doctor, speak!

Scio.
The labourer
Is worthy of his hire. Friends, what is hire?

All.
Wages!

Scio.
And when, Sirs, does the fatigate
Pellosseous, son of sudorific toil,
Receive his wage? Is it not, friends, the eve,
The sweet stipendiar eve of Saturn's day?
Burghers (to each other).
Didst hear the like? What 'tis to be a scholar!
Scio has my boy—for one.

Scio.
And shall we, friends,
Shall we degrade the majesty of Learning
Which I—which I—her infinitesimal
Exiguous representative——

Some.
Bravo,
Well said!

Scio.
Which I—her representative
Exiguous but unworthy——

Some.
No, no, Scio,
No, not unworthy.

Others.
Don't be modest, Scio;
Unworthy! bah!——

Others.
Give us the other words—
Go on, Scio, ‘infinite’——

Scio.
I say, my friends,
Shall I, the representative of Learning,
Work first and be paid after, like the plodder
In yonder field? My friends, there was a thing,
A tool, an article, friends, a utensil
Known to our fathers by the sacred names
Poculum, cantharus, carchesium, scyphus,
Cymbium, culullus, cyathus, amystis,
Scaphium, batiola, and now by us
Their children, Sirs, albeit unworthy, call'd
A cup.

All.
A cup, a cup, a cup of wine!
Well done, old Scio! hurrah! a cup of wine
Here for the doctor, oh! a cup of wine.

Enter a Stranger, who stands aside. A Burgher bows to him and speaks.
Burgher
(to Stranger).
A stranger?

Stranger.
Yes.

Burgher.
You come in good time, Sir;
Sir, you're a happy man, I give you joy, Sir;
Sir, these are times!—I take it, Sir, few men
Can gainsay that, Sir,—these are times, Sir, eh?

Stranger.
Sir, these are times.

Burgher
(pointing to Scio).
You take me, Sir, I see.
Now, Sir, behold that man. I say, Sir, mark him;
Now, Sir, you see a man, a man, Sir.

Stranger.
Sir,
I see a man.

Burgher.
Just my idea, Sir,—Sir,
I crave your further knowledge, we are friends—
Saints! how a patriot's eye—between ourselves—Sir,
A patriot's eye finds out the man of the age.

Stranger.
There is a nameless something——

Burgher.
Sir, you have it;
My own idea, Sir, from a boy—a something
Indisputably something. Yes, a something
As one might say—to speak more plainly—something,
A something, Sir,—something in the set of the ear——
Many shout.
Scio—Doctor Scio—Silence! The Doctor! Silence!

Enter Lelio, a Student.
Lelio.
Here's news, friends!

Many.
How now, Lelio?

Lelio.
Which man here
Tells the best tale?

Many.
I. I. I. I. I. I.

Lelio.
Nay, everybody! Write me up a nonsuch!
I can beat everybody. Heroes can
No more.

All.
A challenge, lads; what ho! a ring,
A ring, a ring, a ring! Champion, step out!
A ring! a ring!

A Student.
Go call thy daughter, hostess,
Here's that will make her honest.

Hostess.
Sir?

Student.
A ring.

All.
Now, Lelio, now, each man that beats thee wins
His bottle.

Lelio.
Done. You know the fair Francesca,
Count Grassi's daughter?

All.
Are we Milanese?

Lelio.
Well——

One.
Well?

Another.
Well! Nay, if she's well, Lelio,
'Tis no such story!

Lelio.
Which man has not seen
Young Roderigo Rossi?

All.
Or the sun,
The moon—a star or two—the Duomo—well?

Lelio.
Young Rossi and a priest fell out last night.

Several.
A priest—a priest—a priest—

One.
My life upon it
The fellow knows my story.

Lelio.
On this quarrel,
Our gallant Cavaliero dooms his man
To die at day-break.

Many.
By the holy pope,
A foul deed—nay, a foul deed.

One
(aside).
Ne'erth less,
By heavens I'm glad on't. This is not my story.
My priest was a true patriot.

Lelio.
At midnight——
(Count Grassi's child hath a fair face)

Several.
At midnight,
Count Grassi's child hath a fair face! Fie, Lelio;
Why what a traitor art thou!

Lelio.
Attend, I say!
Bold Rossi's lewdness is a proverb——

Several
(pour badiner).
Hold,
Lelio, for pity—there are bachelors here—
We are not all companions in misfortune!
For pity, Lelio!

Lelio.
You that shout for pity,
If you be Pity's followers, do her now
Your best allegiance. Good friends, I, her quæstor,
Claim tribute from you. A few tears will pay it.
Listen. The young Francesca, at the price
Of her fair body, bought the captive's life;
The priest is free. Do not cry out. Young Rossi
Craved instant payment. She in her superb
High loveliness, whose every look enhanced
The ransom, sent him from her, glad to grant
Another maiden hour for prayer and tears.
Francesca wore a poniard. She is now
A maid for ever.

Hostess
(to one standing by).
How is that, Sir?

Student
(aside).
Hush!
Dead!

Several.
'Tis a woful story. Poor Francesca!

Scio.
Requiem æternam dona eis Domine!

Several.
Amen. Amen.

Hostess
(aside).
Dead! 'tis against my conscience;
Dead! and the Signor Rossi! why a comelier
Walks not Milan. Dead—nay, I couldn't have done it!
Well, well, there be hard hearts that slight their blessings.
So comely a young man! The saints preserve me!
Nay, 'twas a sinful blindness.

Lelio.
How now, hostess,
Some wine, some wine; wine, wine.

Several.
More wine; now, Lelio,
Who was this monk?—

Lelio.
Fill up your glasses, comrades,
Sorrow is thirsty fellowship—eh, hostess?

Several.
Lelio—now, Lelio—name, name, name!

Others.
This priest,
This lady-killing priest!

Lelio
(to one).
Hast thou forgotten
A dance with Ginevrà at eve? A priest—

One
The same?

Lelio.
The same.

One.
Vittorio Santo? speak!

Another.
Santo?

Another.
Vittorio Santo?

Lelio.
What! Vicenzo
Barnabà! Ah Tomaseo! are ye also
Of Nazareth? Well done! tell you my story.

Many.
Lelio—hear Lelio—

Others.
Hear!

Lelio.
It was this Santo.
Dost thou mind, Giacchimo, how, deftly feigning
Sorrows about a grave, he won our ears
And prick'd us on to virtue with the sword
Of our own sympathies? With such shrewd warfare—
Proteus for transformation—Briareus
For head and hands—this strange campaigner carries
The fire and sword of his hot argument
From cot to palace, plain to mountain-top.
The merchant at his ledger, lifting eyes
Bloodshot with lack of sleep—for last night blew—
Sees him beside his desk at close of day,
And thinks the lamp burns dimmer, and believes
The untold loss already. The pale priest,
Opening his silent lips with such an omen
That the faint listener starts, relates how some
Great galleon, gallant on her homeward way—
A floating Ind, mann'd by the pride of Europe—
Storm'd by a scallop fleet of naked pirates,
Bestrews their savage shores, and makes each rock
Arabia. With keen eyes catching the throes
Of his now gasping auditor, the tale
Our stern tormentor fashions so astutely,
That each new fear, enduing, strains it to
Its several shape. Watching each rising hope,
He stings it mad with some especial horror,
And by a track of anguish feels his way
Straight to his victim's heart. In that worst moment
The messenger of doom assumes the angel!
Looks that evangelise, eyes that beam light
Into the soul, till every dead hope glitters
Like a crown'd corpse; a moment's shining silence,
Slow placid words that hurry to a torrent;
Then the gulf-stream of passion! high command,
Entreaty, reason, adjuration;—all
The martial attitudes of a grand soul.
The lavish wealth of infinite resource!
Diamonds thrown broad-cast for denaros!—ay,
That Argosy he spoke of, scatter'd on
The maddest waves of rushing rapid, surging
Headlong through foaming straits, above, below,
Tossing the wealth of kingdoms, hurtles not
With such tumultuous riches as the flood
Of his strange eloquence. And then the scared
And half-drown'd trader—lifting his blind thought
Above the waters, that with sudden ebb
Left him in silence—finds he is alone.
Of all the golden wreck, his struggling soul
Holds fast but this—Rome is that glorious galleon,
Now stranded and forlorn: her freight of honours
Strew'd up and down the world, purpling strange snows
And loading cold barbaric winds with incense.
That night, at home, the merchant tells his story,
Wherewith, still later, madam at her glass
Stirs sleepy Abigail. Sweet Abigail,
Still nearer midnight, garrulously coy,
'Twixt amorous Corydon and her warm charms,
Weaves the gauze meshes of the thrice-told tale.
Next morn on 'Change betimes the story stalks
By blind deaf faces, as a spirit might walk
Among the wooden gods of the sea-kings.
The hour of contract over,—the fierce edge
Of morning appetite now turn'd with gold—
Nature appeased, and the commercial soul
In jolly after-dinner complaisance
Relax'd and smiling,—prosperous ears attend
The merchant never weary of recounting.
‘Insured, Sir?’ ‘I fear not.’ ‘Heyday, heyday,
A sorry venture!’ Then the angry hum
Subsiding, all surround the man of facts.
Sage heads shook much that day. Municipal
Grave brains plagued with strange phantoms, never yet
Free of the city, in the sacred gloom
Of shades official, ached, and retched, and heaved,
To throw the incivic innovation off:
And in the pangs of labour crying out,
Betrayed the parentage. So this strange priest
Made his foes preach for him, till all Leghorn
Hung on his lips. With bold incessant presence
Whereto no shrine is sacred, no stern fastness
Strong, no offended majesty majestic,
No sinner excommunicate, no saint
Holy, no Dives rich, no Lazarus poor,
No human heart unworthy—this strange man—
This cowl'd evangelist, that Monk is not—
(For he preach'd yesterday that not a bare
Untempled spot, unblest, unconsecrate
On earth, but is sufficient sanctuary
For the best hour of the best life;—no cloud
In any heaven so dark that a good prayer
Cannot ascend,)—this polyglot of prophets,
Roams like a manifold infection, shedding
Through the sick souls of men the strange disease
Of his own spirit. Not an art or calling
Wherein men work'd in peace, but at his touch
Spreads the indefinite sorrow. In the field
Halting the team of early husbandman,
He chides him for the German weeds that choke
The Roman crop of glory; bids him seek
The plough of Cincinnatus, and bring forth
Into the sunshine of the age, that soil,
That old heroic soil whence patriots spring!
Hard by the wondering swain, sequester'd close
By summer elms and vines, the village forge
From cheerful anvil all the long day rings
The chimes of labour. Thence at winter night
Shines to the distant villager the star
Of home; to which the homeless wayfarer,
Trudging with fainting steps the storm-vex'd moor,
Turns hopeless eyes, as to the vestal fire
Of sweet impossible peace. Thereby the priest
Pausing, the sturdy smith suspends his stroke
Before the reverend stranger; who accepts
The homage with such liquidating grace
That the stunn'd peasant, unabsolved of duty,
Renews obeisance. Then the pale intruder
Striding some stool, with hand upon the bellows,
Moves the slack fire, and bids the work go on:
Cursing the slave who stoops for prince or priest
The dignity of toil. To the rough music
Setting strong words, he sends with easy skill
Wrongs, hopes, and duties trooping through the soul
Of the stout smith, and there on his own smithy
Blows the rough iron of his heart red-hot.
Seizing the magic time, with sudden hand
He stamps him to the quick;—‘Patriot! the hour
Is come to beat our ploughshares into swords,
Our pruning hooks to spears!’ The brand driven home,
The apostle vanishes, lest weaker words
Efface the sign.

A Student.
Lelio! dost thou remember——

Lelio.
I know thy thought,—the shopman of the
vale——

Student.
Nay, Lelio——

Lelio.
Now I have it—the stout Tuscan,
With wain o'erloaded——

Student.
Not he——

Lelio.
Ah! the maid
Who sang in German——

Student.
No——

Lelio.
Stay! she who wore
The cameo victory——

Student.
Now hear me, Lelio.
When he saw——

Lelio.
What! when meeting country boys
With laurel and acanthus——

Student.
No! the saints!

Lelio.
True, true, the tale of the parch'd field beside
The aqueduct——

Student.
Wrong! Holy Mary!

Lelio.
Well——

Student.
Peace, I say, Lelio!

Lelio.
Sometime hence, dear friend;
I am not weary. 'Twas of the round tower
Of Vesta, whence the epicurean Time,
Fresh from the feasts of Rome, took but the heart,
And all is there but the celestial flame
That consecrated all——

Student.
Have thine own way,
But were I Lelio——

Lelio.
Tut, I know thy story.
'Twas of the eve when, meeting by the way
An ancient pedagogue, whose thin, time-worn,
And reverend features (whereabout grey locks
Hung lank as weeds), great names went in and out,
Mournfully populous, like olden heroes
Haunting some Roman ruin; our fierce patriot——
Say I not well?

Student.
Hast thou in truth forgotten
The village priest?

Lelio.
The priest? our priest says little
To alb and stole—whether from shrewd self-knowledge,
Or feeling that all tyrants are familiars,
And that those proud prætorians who subverted
The commonwealth of God would lord it over
An earthly heritage—therefore, good comrade,
Owe us thy tale.

Student.
One day——

Lelio.
One moment first,
(‘One day’ can spare it). I shall ne'er forget,
When falling in upon a lone wild road
With a fat monk, our patriot, for sheer lack
Of occupation, challenges a war
Of words. Good saints! a firework by a fountain!
A schoolboy's freak played out with cannon balls
And rotten apples! As our Santo's lightnings
Through the thick haze of t'other's sanctity
Singed brow and beard, heavens! how the reverend eyes
(Wrestling with wrinkles and siesta-time)
Did struggle to a stare. And the good man,
Heaving his flesh, buzzed like a portly fly
In thundery weather; our relentless Santo
At parting gives him for to-morrow's text
The whip of knotted cords that cleansed the temple.
‘Preach, priest,’ he cries, ‘that from these sacred bounds,
This outraged temple Italy, each Roman
Scourge those that sell the sacrilegious doves
Of perjured peace. O'erturn, o'erturn,’ he cries,
‘The tables of those German money-changers,
That make this house of prayer a den of thieves.’
Assaulting thus with rude declaim those ears
Dull with the gentle lowings of fat kine
And soft excitements of refectory-bell,
Our Santo leaves him, ere the saint disturb'd,
In doubt of man or demon, could revolve
Upon his axis.

All.
Ah, ah! Well done, Lelio!

Lelio.
Our friar on this——

One.
Why the saints smite thee, Lelio!
Now, Lelio!—Eh? nay, Sirs, as I'm alive
This was my story!

Another.
Give thee joy of it,
Old Giacco, 'twas a sorry tale, now mine——

Lelio.
Friends! we grow solemn. Wine, I say. A song,
A song.

One.
Ay, something loyal——

Lelio.
Worthy friends,
We should do well to purify the air
Whereof these tales were made; forced by our lips
Into unwilling treason.

One.
Lelio!

Another.
Shame!

Lelio.
Therefore, my merry boys, I vote a ditty,
A well-affected ditty—nay, some say
'Twas writ by Metternich and Del Caretto,
At Schoenbrun after dinner. Nay, no groans!
Sweet friends, no groans! Nay, hear me, friends.

Shouts from many.
Down with him!

Lelio.
No Carbonaro——

Many.
Down with him!

Lelio.
I call it
The triple crown, or the three jolly kings,
The Devil——

Some.
Hear!

Some.
Hurrah!

Lelio.
The Devil——

All.
Hurrah!

Lelio.
The Pope and the Kaiser.

All.
Hurrah! Lelio! Lelio!
True to the backbone still! Up with him, boys!
Chair him! a hall! a hall! now, Lelio, now!
Shout cheerly, man—here's thunder for a chorus!