University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Open Country near Florence.
Enter Crescenzi, Diodati, and Nobles.
Cres.
The Duke is much disturbed—ill fate attends him—
This sport goes ill—this princely Falconry!—
'Tis thousand pities!—for my part, methinks,
This vast assembled crowd does desperate mischief!—
The birds are scared by shouts, and cries, and tramplings—
'Tis all one hubbub now!—

First Noble.
When on the ground,
New lit upon their prey—the rush and stir
Of hurrying hundreds startle them and scare—
Nor can the Falconers lure them back again.

Second Noble.
Our fairest Florentines, with flaunting colours,
And flying draperies, and far-fluttering plumes,
And waving kerchiefs, (to say nought besides,
Of tongues that far out-ring the Hawk's gay bells,)
May well affright the poor long hooded birds—
The Falcon Queen, His Highness' favourite Hawk,
Is lost—they long have followed her in vain!—

Dio.
The Falcon Queen! a mighty bird and brave!—
Oh! I have seen her, like a rushing storm,
Make the Heavens darken with her wings—she seemed
(So the eye fastened to her shadowing suddenness—
Still seeing her where she had been—and was not—
Until she multiplied in endless movement—)
A winged Ubiquity—an Omnipresence—
Here, there, and everywhere!—

Enter the Grand Duke, attended by Courtiers, Falconers, &c.;—a Hawk on his wrist.
Grand Duke.
Ho! Falconers good!—
Ho!—gallant Hearts!—ye followed well the sport!—
We made a glorious Storm of it!—by Heavens!—
The hoofs of Thunder on the echoing ground—
The wings of Lightning in the quivering skies!—
But my fair Bird, the Falcon-Queen, is lost!—
I fear me she is lost—the Bird was scared
By all the bravery of our Florentines!—
Their scarlets and their purples and their yellows!—
But come! Signors of Florence!—to the field!—
Another cast—my Bird of Beauty here—
“La Belle Dame sans Merci”—must straight be tried,
With her companion good, “the Flying Dragon!”—
Hence! fair Signors!—

First Noble.
Your Highness does us honour!—

[Exeunt Grand Duke, Nobles, Falconers.
Dio.
A moment, stay!—didst mark the Princess?

Cres.
Yes!—
Indeed I did—with cruel-curious keenness!—

Dio.
Be sure she loves the Guicciardini—else
I never read a Maid's ingenuous heart
Blazoned upon her cheek,—deep bathed in blushes—
For so the cheek of sweet Beatrice was—
That ever fairly in all beauty wore
Its rich blood-royal bloom, and mock'd the rose!—

Cres.
Fair is the youthful Princess!—dowered with grace!—
But Oh! not fair as is the unmatched Costanza!—
All others are as Æthiops by her side—
Yet she could spare them charms to make them angels!—
Costanza is consummate Beauty!—

Dio.
Soh!—
Good troth!—thy Praise is warm; I ever thought
Thy heart was well inclined unto the maid—
But now suspect thou sighest for her bright charms—
With all a Lover's vehemence!—

Cres.
'Twere in vain!—
Thou know'st she is contracted to Lorenzo!—
Indeed 'twere vain!—besides—

Dio.
Hark!—hark!—a shout!—
A wild long-echoing shout!—and hark! again!—
Was't not Algarves' name I caught?—

Cres.
It was!—
Ring cries of “Live the Princess!”—“Live Algarves!”—
What means it?—come!—we must not linger here!—

Dio.
Nay! speed here some informants—pause awhile!—

Enter Giovanni and Francesco.
Cres.
What means this outery?—

Fran.
Excellent Signors!—
A dire mischance was threatened and averted!—
The Princess Beatrice's mettled horse
Had well nigh dashed himself, with his fair burthen,
Adown the bank by yonder chrystal stream!—
A pigeon lately loosed—for refuge fled
Ev'n to the fair Princess's glittering draperies,
That swept low down beneath her courser's housings—
(And finally sought safety on her lap,)—
The hawk swift followed it—the affrighted steed,
With furious snorting, and with startled bound,
Received the unwelcome guests—his desperate hoof
Brained the doomed hawk, the while, the fluttering pigeon
Flew 'twixt his fore-legs—adding dread to dread!—
Though at that moment Count Giordano held
The silken reins, the infuriate creature burst
With one wild bound away—till intercepted
By Count Algarves—a most gallant horseman,
Who from the distance viewed the fearful danger,
And sped him to the rescue—which accomplished—
'Twas found, that in its brave atchievement thus—
Himself was hurt—but slightly, in the arm—
Strained by the shock!—

Cres.
Come! come! my Friend, at once!—
We should not loiter, but should promptly tender
Our joint congratulations cordially—
Both to the Princess and the Sovereign Duke!—

[Exeunt Cres. and Dio.
Gio.
Oh! that I had saved our fair Princess's life—
I doubt not I had then been knighted straight—
Thwack!—thwack!—and made Hereditary high—
Great chief Lord Constable and Chamberlain!—
Ill luck!—and cross befallings, by the rood!—
The foul fiend fly off with that meddling Spaniard!—
Say I—and all his olive-coloured brethren!—
What right hath he to come and thrust himself
Between us and the beckoning Honours thus?—
The gold spurs snatching, off our longing heels—
The bread from out our gaping mouths—'fore Heaven!—
'Tis past my patience to endure the thought—
We have lost gold spurs—squires—lacqueys—place—promotion!—
Francesco! thou'rt too tame!—

Fran.
To say the truth—
Need were for better riders than myself
To save distress'd Princesses—in such streights!—
Aye! or than you, Giovanni!—and I doubt,
Awaited you for spurs until you lanced
Your Courser's flanks on such adventurous errand—
Your heels should go unrowelled till your death—
Guiltless of being gilt!—much lacking lacqueys!—

Enter Algarves and Millaflores.
Milla.
Giovanni and Francesco!—to your posts!—
I stand amazed to find you loitering here!—
His Highness must not miss you in his train!—
'Tis such remissness in the Court's retainers—
That most endangers Kingdoms and their Rulers—
[Exeunt Gio. and Fran.
Well! prithee!—Signor Count Algarves!—now
Detail to me how 'twas you saved the Princess—
A most sublime atchievement!—

Al.
It was thus—
The pigeon flew into Her Highness' lap—

Milla.
Excuse me, Sir—you speak most unadvisedly—
Princesses have no laps—it is indeed
Outrageous insult!—nay! I would observe,
Abomination—so to speak of them!—

Al.
Faith! well, Sir! on the august Princess's knees!—

Milla.
Her knees!—

Al.
Come, come! the deuce is in't!—d'ye mean
They are like jointless dolls?—why! what the plague!
Perhaps you think that Princes have no limbs,
Sage Millaflores! you are in error there!—
'Tis only Courtiers have no understandings!—
No knees!—(nay, suffer me to speak, I pray!)—
How could she fall upon them, which she did—
What time I checked her mad, infuriate horse,
And snatched her from the saddle, while I felt
Her poor Heart beat—

Milla.
Your language, Sir! excuse me!—
Becomes yet more injurious!—would you dare
Suppose Princesses can have hearts that beat?—

Al.
'Fore Heaven, Sir, if they have not, you will make
Myself remember I have hands that can!—
If thus these strange insulting interruptions
With most unseasoned rigour you pursue!
I will not bear it longer!—

Milla.
Nay, indeed
I must decline your proffered favour, Sir,—
Your hands are too unworthy of the office,
Seeing they're not of honourable clay—
(And also, that your arms are quite unknown)—
And if you venture to presume to act it,
I must assure you I shall hold myself
Bound to consider myself—still unbeaten;—
I grieve to contradict thus any man,
But cannot answer to my conscience, so
To let myself look on myself as thrashed
By hands so bare of adventitious aptness!—
Hands! Sir!—if you have at your fingers' ends
Your pedigree, I may consent to this—
(You must observe, that liberal though I am,
And panting to establish equal rights,
While yet the present system still subsists,
I feel it is my duty—clearly marked—
To stand by mine own order thus and place)—
Now I do look on hands—

Al.
Leave fooling, Sir!—

Milla.
(with dignity.)
It ne'er was in my power to play the fool—
By Nature o'er-endued with deepest wisdom—
But I must make you fully understand—
Your new-made title, Count! cannot be old!—
Wait some few generations—then indeed—
In short, Sir! I conceive your Great-great-Grandson
Might be allowed to challenge and chastise me!—
Hands?—hands?—have yours the knightly gauntlet worn?
(Aside.)
I guess the Peasant's hedge gloves would suit better!—
(Aloud.)
I doubt if in such lofty exercise
I can indulge them—manual labour may
Have oft dishonoured them—and then, perchance,
In contact with base things—

Al.
Death! Sir!—beware!—
Lest manual labour they should now attempt,
And come in contact with base things indeed!—
(Aside.)
But let me not take heed of this vain fool,
Or aught that he can say,—'tis out of reason!)—

Milla.
Hands! Count!—yourself may be perhaps the offspring
Of some left-handed marriage!—I must know—
Besides—good Sir!—if that same name you bear
Be handed down at least two generations—
Ev'n though not noble—gentle in degree!—
If not, worthy, worthy Count, you might pretend
To beat me! but no image of a bruise
Should blacken o'er my high Imagination—
Hands! Sir!—it is not that I mean exactly—
Hands are not Hands!—but then the vulgar views
Taken of course by Physiologists—
By dull anatomists and grave Logicians,
And studious naturalists, and rude mechanics,
Are different from a man's of noble blood—
A man of science in high breeding's art!—
True!—the Arms they terminate—and furnish thus
The extremities—

Al.
Hold! Sir! the Duke is coming!—

Enter the Grand Duke, Attendants, &c.
Duke.
Algarves!—long we vainly sought for thee—
Thou hast retreated from our thanks and praises!—
Now, Gentlemen! we do not need your service—
But fain would hold discourse awhile alone,
With our good friend the Count Algarves!—
[Milla. &c. go out.
Now!—
Hear! hear me, best and bravest!—I do feel
Thou hast been twice made the Saviour of my Life!—
Thus having saved my Sister's as mine own—
My Sister's!—ev'n a dearer part of mine!—
Mine obligations unto thee oppress me!—
Nought I can give can equal thy deserts!—

Al.
(Aside.)
Oh! torture to the height of madness!—this!—
(Aloud.)
Your Highness far o'errates my petty deeds!—

Duke.
No! no!—I do not!—and I cannot—no!—
Algarves!—as a proof of mine esteem—
My friendship, love, and boundless gratitude—
How now! thou tremblest!—

Al.
I am crushed—o'erwhelmed!—

Duke.
Aye! by a very avalanche, methinks,—
It leaves your brow, in sooth, as white and tintless!—
But listen how I purpose to promote you!—
I offer you my much-loved Sister's hand—
And such advancement as may best befit
The Consort of a Princess of our House—
The additions and the accompanyings all
Of such exalted state!—

Al.
Forbear!—forbear!—
For every reason, yet forbear! my Liege!—
(Aside.)
Dastard as traitor!—all my courage fails me!—
Oh! would I dared confess!—

Duke.
Forbear!—explain!—
What mean'st thou?—

Al.
Most dread Lord! this cannot be!—
I cannot wed the Princess!—

Duke.
How!—is't so?—
Darest thou refuse my Sister?—scorn the honour
That I would do thee?—

Al.
Pity me, Great Duke!—
I cannot give that faithful Heart which should
Accompany this most unworthy hand!—

Duke.
Thou lov'st another?—

Al.
Duke! I love another!—
With soul and heart and mind to her devoted!—

Duke.
That other is?—

Al.
Costanza Lambertazzi!—

Duke.
And hast good hope?—

Al.
My Liege! I have good hope—
But I entreat your Highness to forbear—
Nor on that point to probe with further question!—
Liege Lord!—wilt graciously permit me now
To speak of thy most honoured Sister?

Duke.
Speak!

Al.
I do know one who loves the beauteous Princess,
Ev'n as she should be loved—with fullest Soul—
And uttermost devotion and Heart's homage—
One too, whom I have reasons strong and cogent,
To think the gracious Princess loves as deeply—
My Friend, the Guicciardini!—

Duke.
What!—is't thus?—
I nought of this suspected—nought observed!—
If 'tis indeed as you imagine—good!—
The Guicciardini shall espouse my Sister!—
His title to so high an honour, know,
Is being thy best friend!—for thy dear sake,
My brave Deliverer, do I yield consent
To these espousals, and at thy sole instance!—
It shall be so!—but for thyself, beseech thee
Choose now some fitting mark of my regard—
My perfect friendship!—

Al.
For myself!—myself!—
The rack—the wheel—the dungeon—or the grave!—
At once the torture—or at once the tomb!—
All! everything but this!—thy maddening kindness!—

Duke.
What transport thus possesses thee?—

Al.
But hear!—
And sentence, sentence me!— (throws himself on his knees:)
I am a traitor!—
The rankest, basest, foulest that e'er trailed
His slime empoisoned o'er the exuberant growths
Of generous bounty—unsuspecting goodness!—
I have been leagued—thank Heaven that I can say
Have been—that 'twas a moment's passing phrenzy—
With plotters 'gainst thy Princely state!—

Duke.
And life?—
The Life, Algarves! that yourself preserved?—

Al
No! infamous beyond all words to speak!—
I yet stopped short of such a fiendish horror!—
Thou askedst me to choose some mark of grace—
Of favour—and I would do so—yet ask
No grace—no favour—save most rigorous justice!—
No bounty—but eternal Banishment!—
Nay, better far—far better—instant death!—
Mercy!—and curse me!—Pity!—then and crush me!—
Forbearance!—and but stretch me on the rack!—
For this—thy murdering magnanimity
Drives the sharp death-blow to my living Soul!—
Low in the dust let me pour out that Soul—
And deprecate—ah no!—implore and pray
Thy worst severity!—

Duke.
Up!—up!—my Friend!
High as my Heart!—up! up! I say!—and then
Thou'rt higher than the Sun!—for I do feel
Forgiveness—Mercy—best ennoble Man,
Being—best attributes of Him who made Him!—

Al.
This wounds to more profound extremity!—
Oh! measurelessly more than hate and harshness!—
These towering magnanimities of Soul
Rebuke me with a Voice that shames the Trumpet!—
But I will not be pardoned!—I will not!—
I do refuse thy mercies—and deny them!—
Reject thy great forgiveness and forbearance!—
Thou hast no right to throw aside from thee
All the awful attributes that wait on Monarchs!—
I ask for justice—and thou giv'st me mercy—
I claim thy justice and refuse that mercy!—

Duke.
Art mad, Algarves?—if thou lov'st me, cease!—
Nor think a moment of some strange delirium
Hath cancelled obligations—

Al.
What!—that word!—
That word again!—Oh! maddening mockery! hush!—
Know'st not that I am bound to thee as much—
Nay! more! a thousand—thousand times yet more—
By being made e'en the Instrument of Heaven
For saving thus thy life, than thou to me—
Than unto me—weak tool of Power—art thou,
Who wert reserved by Providence for safety?—
Thus Parents better love their children ever,
(Whom they impose all obligations on)—
Than children do their Parents!—Still, doth man
All tremblingly in mystic joy, receive
Heaven's holy sanction thus to act its part!—
And the Deliverer owes to the Delivered
A most large debt!—Still since the eventful day
I felt strong ties—the strongest of all ties—
United thee and me; since mine was made
The blessedness to lengthen out thy life!—
I had that happy consciousness for ever,
And thanked thee, who the high occasion gave
To me to snatch a fellow-creature thus—
Back from the grave that yawned before his feet!—
I was the grateful One and ought to be so—
But how?—Oh! how have I shown gratitude
For this—for all—for all thou hast since done for me?—

Duke.
I charge thee now—no more!—I will not hear thee!—
Thou shalt not trench on my Prerogative—
My loftiest!—holiest!—I have pardoned thee!—
And I will pardon thee—and for thy sake—
Thy screened accomplices—unnamed—unknown!—
Yet tell me, who dared tempt thee,—for I feel
Thou hast been tempted—tell me honestly—
At once now tell me!—

Al.
Whatsoe'er their guilt,
Mine—overshadowing and outstripping theirs,—
As night's pitch darkness doth a cloud's faint gloom,
Doth render me indeed the most unfit
For task of such denouncement!—Urge me not!—
Oh!—urge me not! Great Duke!—take—take my life.
With tortures such as might, for thousand deaths,
With all their argument of agony,
Stand representatives—but spare me there!—

Duke.
I ask no more—but must not hide from thee
That I have shrewd suspicions of the truth.
Princes have many ears that do them service,
Well as long arms!—and though no Dionysius,
One I possess, that makes me Lord of secrets
I often wish were buried in oblivion—
'Tis e'en my faithful Minister's!—let pass—
We need not enter now on long discussions!—
Be sure I know thy tempter—more, I say not,—
But though for thy sake I do pardon him,
'Tis not with such full Soul, but that I yet
Shall visit his dark crime with retribution—
Not such as well it merits, but light chastening—
Thou know'st not all the darkness of his deeds—
Hush!—Hush! we are interrupted—not a word—
Prepare thy friend—the noble Guicciardini—
For all the good and greatness we design him!—

Enter Francesco.
Fran.
So please your Highness—by your fair command,
Another flight hath just been tried and finished;
“La Belle Dame sans merci” surpassed herself—
Her stoops were thunderstrokes, herself, she conquered,—
Nor needed from her partner aught of aid,
And brought the vanquished quarry to the ground—
Her first swoop sent it forty fathoms down,
All shrieking—fluttering in the air!—

Enter Giovanni.
Gio.
My Liege!—
The flying Dragon hath received a hurt;—
Dividing from her partner, each selecting
A noble Heron, (it fortuned, two flew near,)
She battled bravely 'gainst her screaming foe—
But plunging down impetuously and fiercely,
Spiked on the Heron's sharp spearlike beak remained—
That deadly weapon she can wield so well,—
Upraised to do the mortal hurt.—

Duke.
Ill chance!—
Our sport to-day hath cost us dear—I wot—
The Falcon Queen—a noble Bird of war—
Of most admired and finished science—lost!—
And now the Flying Dragon hurt to death!—
Fly “La belle Dame” once more, if serves the wind—
Methought but now 'twas changing—then feed up!—
Apprize the Princess I would speak with her—
And instant, one of you—go advertise
Unto that same effect, Signor di Montri,
Our Lord Grand Falconer—hence!—and spare not speed!—
[Exeunt Fran. and Gio.
What still amort!—look up! my Friend, look up!—
Thou thought'st thyself infallible it seems—
Now this hath happened well, to show thee truth.
We all are weak if we relax our watching—
For ne'er beleaguered city yet required
Such wakeful sentinels, such careful warders,
As man's 'seiged heart beset with all temptations!—
Come with me, we must seek thy gallant Friend!—
Come with me, for I will not let thee go,
Until I see a voucher in thine eye
That thou wilt keep the Peace—towards thyself!—

Al.
Good Saints guard ever all your princely thoughts!—

[Exeunt.