University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

IN THE PALACE. Andrea and Filippa.
Andrea.
Many the stories you've repeated to me,
Lady Filippa! I have clean forgotten 'em;
But all the bloody giants every girl
Before our bed-time threw into my night-cap,
Lie safe and sound there still.

Filippa.
I quite believe
You've not the heart to drive them out, my prince.

Andrea.
Not I indeed. And then your sage advice!

Filippa.
Is all that too forgotten?

Andrea.
No, not all;
But, dear Filippa, now that I am married,
And sovran (one may say) or next door to it,
You must not give me any more advice . .
Not that I mind it; but to save appearances. [She bends: he goes, but returns suddenly.

Lady Filippa! lady seneschal!

Filippa.
My prince! command me.

Andrea.
Solve me one more question.
How happens it (while old men are so wise)
That any foolish thing, advice or story,
We call it an old woman's?

Filippa.
Prince Andrea!
I know not as for stories and advice;
I only know, when we are disappointed
In any thing, or teazed with it, we scoff
And call it an old man's.

Andrea.
Ah spiteful sex!

Filippa.
Here comes Maria: ask her no such questions.

Andrea.
I wish Fra Rupert heard your words.

Filippa.
To prove them?

Maria.
Give him a nosegay at the door.

Andrea.
He spurns
Such luxury.

Maria.
Since his arrival here,
Perfumes, they tell me, are more general
And tenfold dearer: everybody wears them
In self-defence: men take them with their daggers;
Laundresses sprinkle them on vilest linen,
Lest they be called uncleanly; round the churches
What once were clouds of incense, now are canopies
Of the same benzoin; kites could not fly thro';
The fainting penitents are prone to catch
At the priest's surplice as he passes by,
And cry, above their prayers to heaven for mercy,
Stop! stop! turn back! waft me a little yet.

Andrea.
The father is indeed more fox than civet,
And stinks out sins like sulphur and stale eggs. (To Maria.)

You will not run away with him?

Maria.
Tarantola!
Worse than most venomous tarantola,
He bites, and will not let us dance for it.

SCENE II.

IN THE GARDENS OF CAPO DI MONTE. Boccaccio and Fiammetta.
Fiammetta.
I do not know whether it be quite right
To listen, as I have, morn after morn
And evening after evening.

Boccaccio.
Are my sighs
Less welcome in the garden and the bower,
Than where loud organ bellow'd them away,
And chorister and waxlight ran between?

Fiammetta.
You sadly interrupted me at vespers:
Never do that again, sir! When I pray,
I like to pray with all my heart. Bold man!
Do you dare smile at me?

Boccaccio.
The bold man first
Was smiled at; was he not?

Fiammetta.
No, no such thing:
But if he was, it was because he sigh'd
At the hot weather he had brought with him.

Boccaccio.
At the cold weather he fear'd coming on
He sighed.

Fiammetta.
And did it come?

Boccaccio.
Too gracious lady!

Fiammetta.
Keep gracious lady for dull drawing-rooms;
Fiammetta is my name; I would know yours.

Boccaccio.
Giovanna.

Fiammetta.
That I know (aside).
I ought, alas!
Often with Acciaioli and Petrarca
I've seen you walking, but have never dared
To ask your name from them; your house's name
I mean of course; our own names stand for nothing.
You must be somebody of high estate.

Boccaccio.
I am not noble.

Fiammetta.
(shrinking back).
Oh! . . then! . .

Boccaccio.
I must go!
That is the sentence, is it not?

Fiammetta.
(runs and takes his hand).
Don't tell me
Thou art not noble: say thou art most noble:
Norman . . half-Norman . . quarter-Norman . . say it.

Boccaccio.
Say an untruth?

Fiammetta.
Only this one; my heart
Will faint without it. I will swear to think it
A truth, wilt thou but say it. 'Tis a truth:
Thy only falsehood thou hast told already,
Merely to try me. If thou art not noble . .
Noble thou art, and shalt be! [She sobs and pauses: he presses her hand to his bosom.

Who gainsays it?

Boccaccio.
A merchant's son, no better, is thy slave,
Fiammetta!

Fiammetta.
(smiling).
Now art thou disguised indeed.
Come, show me specimens of turquises,
Amethysts, emeralds, diamonds . . out with them.

Boccaccio.
A merchant's, and poor merchant's son am I;
Gems I have none to offer, but pure love
Proof to the touchstone, to the crucible.

Fiammetta.
What then or who is noble, and thou not?
I have heard whispers that myself am not so
Who am king Robert's daughter. We may laugh
At those who are, if thou and I are none.
Thou art my knight, Giovanni! There now; take [Giving him her scarf.

Thy patent of nobility, and wear it.

Boccaccio.
(kisses it).
What other but were cobweb after this?

Fiammetta.
Ha! kiss it! but take care you don't kiss me.

[Runs away.

SCENE III.

IN THE PALACE. Sancia and Filippa.
Sancia.
Even you, my dear Filippa, are alert
As any of the girls, and giddy too:
You have dropt something now you can not find.

Filippa.
I have been busy, looking here and there
To find Andrea.

Sancia.
Leave him with his bride,
Until they tire of saying tender things.

Filippa.
Untender things, I fear, are going on.
He has been truant to the friar Rupert
Of late, who threatens him with penances
For leaving some injunction unperform'd.
And more perhaps than penances are near:
For sundry captains, sundry nobles, meet
At friar Anselm's cell; thither had sped
Fra Rupert. In the garden of Saint Clara
Voices were heard, and threats; then whispers ran
Along the walls. They walkt out, one by one,
Soldiers with shuffling pace unsoldierly,
Friars with folded hands, invoking heaven,
And hotly calm as night ere burst Vesuvius.

Sancia.
Beyond the slight affronts all princes bear
From those who miss what others have obtain'd,
Andrea shall fear nothing: Heaven protects him.

Filippa.
Heaven, in its equal dispensation, gives
The pious palms, the prudent length of days.
We seek him not then with the same intent
Of warning?

Sancia.
With the same of warning; you,
Where the good angels guard; I, where the bad
Seduce him. Having reign'd, and having heard
That thither tend his wishes . .

Filippa.
Momentary.

Sancia.
But lawless wishes have returning wings
Of speed more than angelic. I would win
His private ear, lest courtiers take possession;
I would persuade him, with his lovely bride
To share all other troubles than the crown's.

SCENE IV.

IN THE PALACE. Andrea and Maria.
Andrea.
Are we then going up to Capo-Monte?
How long shall we remain there? all the night?

Maria.
Until the evening.

Andrea.
And where then?

Maria.
Aversa.

Andrea.
Ay, because there I askt her if she loved me:
Beside . . the strangest thing on earth . . young brides
Fly from the altar and roost anywhere
Rather than near it. What should frighten them?
But, if we go, why not set off directly?

Maria.
We stay because the people round the gates,
Who left too late their farms and villages
To see our queen and you, expect at noon
To follow the procession.

Andrea.
What procession?
Is there another marriage? O rare sport!

Maria.
(continuing).
From Castel-Nuovo far as Capo-Monte.

Andrea.
O glorious! But we really shall be let
Into the gardens and the groves?

Maria.
Why not?
Who should prevent us?

Andrea.
Into all? Among
The marble men and women who stand there,
And only stir by moonlight? I don't think
They stir at all: I am half-sure they don't.

Maria.
I have been always of the same opinion.

Andrea
(shakes his head).
Although he said it who says mass, I doubt it.

Maria.
Ah! but to doubt is not to be half-sure:
The worse end may stick fast, like broken tooth.

Andrea.
Now if you laugh, you make an unbeliever.
You girls are . .

Maria.
Pray what are we?

Andrea.
Cunninger.
Fra Rupert told me he would break their bones.

Maria.
Did he?

Andrea.
As bad. He'd tumble them down headlong,
If ever he once caught me looking up
Again at those who stood alert for swimming.

Maria.
When?

Andrea.
Four years back. To me they seem'd pure marble,
But Frate Rupert never could have spited
Mere marble so, although they lookt like women.
I scarcely would believe him when he said
They once were devils, but could do no harm
Now the salt water had been sprinkled on 'em,
Unless we look at them as worshippers.

Maria.
I am sure you did not.

Andrea.
No; upon my faith!

Maria.
We never stand about them; we walk on.

Andrea
(in a low voice).
What! when you are but one or two together?
I like their looks: the women are quite lovely,
And the men too (for devils) not amiss.
I wonder where they laid their plaguy scourges;
They must have had them, or were never worshipt.

Maria.
Did not the Frate tell you?

Andrea.
Ask the Frate!
He would have found them in a trice, and held
The scourges good enough, though not the devils.

Maria.
I think you mind him less than formerly.

Andrea.
I am a married man.

Maria.
But married men
Fear priests and friars more than single ones.

Andrea.
He is the holiest monk upon God's earth,
And hates you women most.

Maria.
Then the least holy.

Andrea.
Dost think it? If I thought him so, I'd fear
The beast no longer, broad as are his shoulders,
His breath . . pho! . . like a water-snake's, his fist
Heavy as those big books in chapter-houses,
And hairy as the comet; for they say
'Twas hairy; though I saw no hairs upon it.

Maria.
Whenever love comes upon thee, Andrea,
Art thou not kinder?

Andrea.
Kinder, but not holier.

Maria.
Is not thy heart more grateful?

Andrea.
As may happen;
A little thing would make it so.

Maria.
And, tell me,
Art thou not readier to give alms?

Andrea.
Tell me
How long, Maria, those bright eyes have seen
Into my thoughts? Fra Rupert knows not half one
Unless he question for an hour or better
And stamp and threaten, nor then more than half one.
I'll never fear him now: I'll tell him so.

Maria.
Be not too hasty: tell him no such thing.
But fear him not: fear rather those about him.

[Fra Rupert is prying.
Andrea.
Whom?

Maria.
His Hungarians.

Andrea.
They're my countrymen.

Maria.
Should they make all us dread them?

Andrea.
Me?

Maria.
Even you,
Under Fra Rupert, like the best, or worst.
Should they possess our kingdom?

Andrea.
My wife's kingdom?
No, by the Saints! they shall not touch her kingdom.

Fra Rupert
(crossing the farther part of the stage).
They shall not touch her kingdom . . and shalt thou?

Andrea.
I heard a voice.

Maria.
(laughing).
No doubt, no doubt, the Frate's.

Andrea.
I hear and feel him farther off than thou dost.

Maria.
Andrea! were thy ears as quick to hear
Thy friends as enemies.

Andrea.
Still would that eye
Glare over me, like the great open one
Above the throne at church, of gold and azure,
With neither brows nor lashes, but black clouds
Round it, and nought beside.

Maria.
The three eyes match,
May-be; but is there anything in church
So like his voice?

Andrea.
The organ bellows are,
Without the keys. That was not much unlike it . .
A little softer . . and not too soft, neither.

Maria.
I heard no voice whatever, not a sound.
Are you still half afraid?

Andrea.
No, if thou are not.

Maria.
Are you convinced?

Andrea.
I was not very soon.
Men weigh things longer than you women do.
Maria! take my word, I am quite sated
Of fearing, tho' (thank God!) the worst is past.

Maria.
I praise this manliness, this resolution.

Andrea.
Dost thou? Already am I grown more manly,
More resolute. O! had your praise come earlier,
And heartily as now, another man
In thought and action might have been Andrea!
But will you tell Giovanna what you think?

Maria.
I will indeed, and joyfully.

Andrea.
Her praise
Is better still: yours screws the spur on heel,
Hers scarfs the neck and lifts the lance to hand.
What's all this tinkling?

[Guitars in the next chamber; the door opens.
Maria
(smiling).
O! again Fra Rupert!
One of these voices surely must be his!
Which of them? can not you distinguish it?

Andrea
(calls out).
Who sings there?

Maria.
Do not stop them: let us hear.

Petronilla.
Ah! do not go! ah do not go
Among the silly and the idle!
A lover surely should not so
From her who loves him slip and sidle.

Garisendo.
The saltarella waits for me,
And I must go and I must play . .
Come! do not dance, but hear and see,
To-morrow we will love all day.

Andrea.
Now she is reasonable, he might spare her
A handful of his ribbons, or that net
Silver and blue there dangling down his nape.
Who is he? I don't know him.

Maria.
Garisendo.

Andrea.
And t'other?

Maria.
Petronilla.

Andrea.
Nor her neither.

Maria.
I and Giovanna know here every face.

Andrea.
And every name?

Maria.
Every one.

Andrea.
Clever creatures!

Maria.
By all those twitchings at the two guitars,
And tappings of fore-finger on the wrist,
They seem to be at fault.

Andrea.
No harm, no matter,
Zooks! they are up again; he first . . that's odd.

Maria.
Nay, but he only tells her what to sing.

Petronilla.
There is a lad upon the sea,
There is, O Mary! such a lad!
And all he thinks of, it is me.

Garisendo.
Why then, my jewel! he is mad.

Petronilla.
Mad! he is no more mad than you.

Garisendo.
Unless he stamps, and stares, and cries,
As certain pretty creatures do,
And stain their cheeks and spoil their eyes.

Petronilla.
I love, I love him with my whole . .

[Sobbing.
Garisendo.
Go on, go on: you mean to say
(I'd lay a wager) heart and soul,
And very well, no doubt, you may.

Petronilla.
No, I may not, you cruel man!
He never did what you have done,
Yet, say and do the worst you can,
I love, I love, but you alone.

Maria.
He has not much offended.

Andrea.
Who can tell?
I am quite sorry they have fallen out.
What almanack can calculate fine weather
In those strange fickle regions where God plants
A man and woman, and sticks love between!

Maria.
All the man's fault.

Andrea.
All hers: she went and teased him:
With my own eyes I saw it; so might you.

Maria.
You do not always look so melancholy
At music; yet what music can be gayer
Than this is?

Andrea.
Gayer, say you? Ay, the music.
But if folks quarrel so in joke, what will they
In earnest? If, before they're man and wife . .
Ah! Heaven be praised! there's time to break it off.
Look, look at them!

Maria.
She seems more reconciled.

Andrea.
Reconciled! I should say . .

Maria.
Pray, don't say anything.

Andrea.
Ready for . . By my troth! 'twas a salute.

Maria.
Now what things run into your head, Andrea!

Andrea.
It was as like as pea to pea, if not . .
However, let them know, another time
They must not sing about the house in that way.

Maria.
Why not?

Andrea.
Giovanna might not like it now.

Maria.
So! you would do then all she likes?

Andrea.
I would:
But if she ever hears that wicked song,
She might not do all I like. Sweet Maria!
Persuade them, when you see them, to forget it;
And, when you go to bed, turn on your pillow,
First drop it from one ear, then from the other,
And never pick it up again, God love you!

Maria.
I'll run to them directly with your wishes.

Andrea.
Stay: the last verse is clever: pick out that.

Maria.
And nothing more?

Andrea
(anxiously).
Don't overload your memory.

SCENE V.

FRA RUPERT'S CELL. Andrea and Fra Rupert.
Fra Rupert.
What! am I never to be left alone,
Andrea? Let me have my pleasures too,
Such as they are.

Andrea.
They're very much like mine.
Have we not prayed and scourged and wept together?

Fra Rupert.
Ah! were that now the case!

Andrea.
Well, father, well!
I would not stand between you and your duty:
But I thought, being prince . .

Fra Rupert
(sneering).
Thou, being prince,
Thoughtest! Thou verily not only toppest
Thyself, but most among thy fellows, lad!
And so, Andrea! being prince, thou thoughtest?

Andrea.
Good-bye, thou art as brave and blithe as ever. [Goes, but turns back.

I had one little thing upon my conscience.

Fra Rupert.
I am quite ready: let me know the whole:
Since yesterday? Nod? wink? to me?

Andrea
(to himself).
He chafes me.

Fra Rupert.
And throw thy head back thus?

Andrea.
My head's my own.

Fra Rupert.
Wonderful! be not over-sure of that. [Aside.

If thou art contrite, go!

Andrea.
I will not go;
I am not contrite.

Fra Rupert.
I am in a maze!

Andrea.
A scrape thou'rt in.

Fra Rupert.
A scrape! Who could betray me?

[To himself.
Andrea.
Thou'st lost thy lamb, old shepherd! no great pet.

Fra Rupert.
No, nor great loss: when lambs, tho', lose their shepherd
They find the shambles nearer than the fold.

Andrea.
Father! you said you must confer with me
Another time?

Fra Rupert.
I did so.

Andrea.
Why not now?

Fra Rupert.
I see not why: but soon Caraccioli,
And first Caraffa, must unbosom here.
Thou hast much power, Andrea! thou canst do
Anything now to glorify thy country.

Andrea.
Suppose I wish to swim to Ischia; could I?

Fra Rupert.
My boy! thou hast not wind enough for that.
Am I to be evaded, taunted, posed?
Or thinkest thou, Andrea, that because
A silly girl espouses thee . .

Andrea.
By Peter!
She who espouses me shall ne'er be call'd
A silly girl. I am a husband, Frate!
I am a boy no longer: I can cope
With women: and shall men then, even tho' friars,
Pretend to more? I will go back and call
The maidens: they shall pelt you from the palace
If ever you set foot within its walls.

Fra Rupert.
Should every stone from maiden hit my nose,
A grain of dust would hurt it tenfold more.

Andrea.
Know, they have tongues that yours could never meet.

Fra Rupert.
Andrea! wouldst thou kill me with unkindness?

Andrea.
Gad! he sheds tears! . . Now at him!
. . Yes, I would.

Fra Rupert.
And bring down these grey hairs . .

Andrea.
Which hairs are they?
The skull's are shaven, and the beard's are dirty;
They may be grey though.

Fra Rupert.
Shame upon thy mirth!
I am a poor old man.

Andrea.
'Tis your vocation.
Beside, I have heard say that poverty
Is the best bargain for the best place yonder
In Paradise. All prick their feet before
They clamber upward into that inclosure:
'Tis well worth while.

Fra Rupert.
Age too (alas how heavy!)
To serve my loving ward, my prince's son,
I would support still longer, willingly.

Andrea.
Frate! 'tis more than I can say for it. [Rupert creeps supplicatingly toward him.

Out of my sight! crawl back again . . I loathe thee.

SCENE VI.

Fra Rupert
(alone).
I have no malice in me: if I know
My secret heart, no heart so pure of malice:
But all my cares and vigils, hopes and dreams,
Blown by a boy, spurn'd by a brute, away!
So ends it? Blessed Stephen! not so ends it.
It ends with him, and with him only: me
No sword can touch. Why are not come those fools?
I thought the other would have kept them off.
I will have power without him, and not thro' him.
They must have clean forgotten. 'Tis the hour . .
'Tis past it . . no, not past it . . just the hour;
The bell now strikes for noon.
[A knocking.
One comes at last.

[Opens the door: Caraffa enters.
Fra Rupert.
Exactly to the moment.

Caraffa.
I was walking
About the cloister till I heard the bell,
For Father Rupert's hours are golden ones.

Fra Rupert.
May my friends spend them profitably for me!
Caraffa! thine are number'd.

Caraffa.
All men's are.

Fra Rupert.
But some are not notcht off like schoolboy's days
Anxious to see his parent. Thou may'st see
Thy parent too.

Caraffa.
I left him but just now.

Fra Rupert.
We all have one, one whom we all have left
Too often. Hast thou not some sins for me?

Caraffa.
As many as a man could wish to have.

Fra Rupert.
Are there none dangerous? none involving life?
Hast thou forgotten our last conference?

Caraffa.
No, nor shall ever. But what danger there?

Fra Rupert.
Need I to say, Francesco, that no breath
Transpired from me? We both were overheard.

Caraffa.
I think you hinted it.

Fra Rupert.
I fear'd it only.
Thou knowest my fond love . . I will not say
For thee . . thou art but second in my breast . .
Poor, poor Andrea!

Caraffa.
Never fear about him.
Giovanna, even tho' she did not love,
(O that she did not!) yet would never wrong him.

Fra Rupert.
Nay, God forbid she should! 'Twas not for me
To mark her looks, her blushes, gestures . . how
Faltered the word “Caraffa” as she spoke it.
Thy father then said nothing?

Caraffa.
Not a word;
What should he?

Fra Rupert.
Not a word. Old men are close:
And yet I doubted . . I am apt to doubt . .
Whether he might not . . for ambition stirs
Most fathers . . just let slip . . Why didst thou falter?
For never faltered child as thou didst falter.
Thou knowest then her mind better than we?

Caraffa.
I know it? I divine it? Would I did!

Fra Rupert.
Nay, rather let the bubble float along
Than break it: the rich colours are outside.
Everything in this world is but a bubble,
The world itself one mighty bubble, we
Mortals, small bubbles round it!

Caraffa.
Frate! Frate!
Thou art a soapy one! No catching thee! [Aside.
[Aloud.]

What hopes thou showest me! If these were solid
As thou, most glorious bubble who reflect'st them,
Then, then indeed, to me from this time forth
The world, and all within the world, were bubbles.

Fra Rupert.
A knight art thou, Caraffa! and no title
(Secular title, mind! secular title)
Save only royalty, surpasses knighthood.
There is no condescension in a queen
Placing her foot within the palm of knight,
And springing from it on her jewel'd saddle:
No condescension is there if she lend
To theirs the sceptre who lent hers the sword.
Knights there have been, and are, where kings are not,
Kings without knights what are they?

Caraffa.
Norman blood
Runs in my veins as in her own: no king
(Savage or tame) shall stand above those knights
Who raised his better to the throne he won:
Of such am I. But what am I before
Giovanna! to adore, to worship her,
Is glory far above the chiselling
Of uncouth kings, or dashing them to earth:
O be it mine!

Fra Rupert.
Perhaps some other Norman
May bear less tamely the new yoke; perhaps
A Filangieri may, this very night . .

Caraffa.
No Filangieri ever stoopt to treachery.
No sword of Norman ever struck by night.
Credulous monk! to me name Filangieri!
Quellers of France and England as we are,
And jealous of precedency, no name
(Offence to none) is higher than Filangieri.

Fra Rupert.
Boaster!

Caraffa.
I boast of others; few do that
Who merit such a title.

Fra Rupert.
Lower thy crest;
Pause! thou art in my hands.

Caraffa.
I am in God's.

Fra Rupert
(mildly, after hesitation).
Who knows but God hath chosen thee, amid
His ministers of wrath, to save thy country
And push oppression from her! Dreams and signs
Miraculous have haunted me.

Caraffa.
Thee, Frate!

Fra Rupert.
Me, even me. My ministry is over:
Marriage ends pupilage, and royalty
Ends friendship. Little is it short of treason
To say that kings have friends.

Caraffa.
How short of treason
I know not, but I know how wide of truth.

Fra Rupert.
Listen! There are designs against the life
Of young Andrea.

Caraffa.
By the saints above!
I hope there are not.

Fra Rupert.
If thy name be found
Among conspirators (and those are call'd
Conspirators who vindicate their country)
Where thy sword is, there must thy safety be.
The night for vengeance is the marriage-night.

Caraffa.
I draw the sword without defiance first?
I draw the sword uninjured? Whom against?
Against a life so young! so innocent
Of any guile! a bridegroom! in his bed!
O! is this horror only at the crime?
Or is it . . No, by heaven! 'tis heaven's own horror
At such unmanly deed. I, Frate! I,
Caraffa, stain with tears Giovanna's cheek!
I sprinkle poison on the flowers she smells!

Fra Rupert
(resolutely).
Hark ye, Caraffa! If the public good . .

Caraffa.
Away with public good! Was never book
Put in my hand? was never story told me?
Show me one villain vile beyond the rest,
Did not that villain talk of public good?

Fra Rupert.
Only at friars are Caraffa's stabs.
Valiant and proud and wealthy as thou art,
Thou may'st have nothing left on earth to-morrow.

Caraffa.
I shall have more to-morrow than to-day.
My honour may shoot up all in one night,
As did some tree we read of.

Fra Rupert.
Thou art rash.

Caraffa.
Rashness may mellow into courage; time
Is left me.

Fra Rupert.
For thy prayers.

Caraffa.
My prayer then is,
Peace, safety, glory, joy, to our Giovanna!

Fra Rupert.
Thou may'st depart.

Caraffa
(indignantly).
For ever.

[Goes.
Fra Rupert.
He says well.

Caraccioli enters.
Fra Rupert
(smiling and embracing him).
Caraccioli! without our friend Caraffa!

Caraccioli.
He should have been here first.

Fra Rupert
(aside).
Perfectly safe!
I did not follow him into the cloister.

Caraccioli.
Father! you seem as pondering to yourself
How that wild fellow kept his word so ill;
Caraffa-like!

Fra Rupert.
I keep mine well with him.

Caraccioli.
He should have thought of that.

Fra Rupert.
He had no time.

Caraccioli.
Always so kind! so ready with your plea
For little imperfections! Our Francesco,
Somewhat hot-headed, is warm-hearted too.

Fra Rupert.
His petty jealousy about the queen
(Were there no sin behind it) we might smile at.
Caraffa stands not with Caraccioli.

Caraccioli.
On the same level . . there particularly.

Fra Rupert.
Ho! ho! you laugh and jeer about each other?

Caraccioli.
We might. How she would laugh at two such ninnies!

Fra Rupert.
At one, most certainly. But laughing girls
Often like grave men best. There's something grand
As well as grave even in the sound “Caraccioli.”

Caraccioli.
I have no hopes.

Fra Rupert.
How I rejoice to hear it!
Hopes are but wishes, wishes are but sin,
And, fed with ranker exhalations, poison.

Caraccioli.
The subtilest consumes me.

Fra Rupert.
What?

Caraccioli.
Despair.

Fra Rupert.
Violets and primroses lie under thorns
Often as asps and adders; and we find
The unexpected often as the expected,
The pleasant as the hideous.

Caraccioli.
That may be,
But what avails your lesson? whither tends it?

Fra Rupert.
My son! I hear from those who know the world
And sweep its noisome litter to my cell,
There are mild days when love calls love abroad
As birds call birds, and even leaves call leaves:
Moments there are, my poor Caraccioli!
Moments in which the labyrinth of the ear
At every turn of its proclivity
Grows warmer, and holds out the clue, itself:
Severity should not beget despair.
I would not much encourage thee, nor yet
Dash all thy hopes, however inconsiderate,
For hopes there may be, though there should not be,
Flickering even upon despondency.
There may be sounds in certain names to smite
The stagnant heart, and swell its billows high
Over wide spaces, over distant years . .
There may; but who would utter them and know it?
Delicate is the female sense, yet strong
In cherishing and resenting; very prompt
At hiding both, and hating the discoverer.
Never, my Paolo! look too deeply in,
Or thou may'st find what thou art looking for.
Not that she ever said one word against thee;
She even lower'd her voice in naming thee,
Seeing her sister and the rest sit giggling,
“Anything else! anything else!” said she,
And snapt the thread she workt with, out of spite.
A friend, who hopes the best, may tell the worst.
Patience will weary; even Giovanna's patience.
I could go farther, and relate . . but why
Why ('tis too light to touch upon) relate
The little hurt she gave Filippa's ancle
With that lark heel of hers, by twitching it
Uneasily? O the impatient sex!
She did shed . . tears I will not say . . a tear . .
Shed it! no, I am wrong: it came, it stayed,
As hangs one star, the first and only one,
Twinkling, upon some vernal evening.

Caraccioli.
I am but clay beneath her feet. Alas!
Clay there would quicken into primal man,
Glorified and immortal once again.

Fra Rupert.
Thou art too hot, my Paolo! One pulse less
In the half-hour might have been rather better.
Lovest thou our Francesco?

Caraccioli.
Like a brother.

Fra Rupert.
He should not then have brought thy life in peril.
Andrea is quite furious: all at court
Are sworn upon thy ruin.

Caraccioli.
Upon mine?
I will then calmly tell them they are wrong.

Fra Rupert.
Will they as calmly hear? Francesco said,
Imprudent youth! you boasted of remembering
Every the lightest mole about Giovanna.

Caraccioli.
I say it?

Fra Rupert.
Those were not your words?

Caraccioli.
My words!

Fra Rupert.
Certainly not . . precisely.

Caraccioli.
Holy Mary!
Is there in Naples, Hungary, or Hell,
The monster who dares utter them?

Fra Rupert.
'Tis hard
Our friend should be the very man.

Caraccioli.
'Tis false,
Frate! 'tis false: my friend is not the man.

[Bursts away.
Fra Rupert
(sneering).
I will not follow him into the cloister.