University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Rimini. The Garden of the Palace. Paolo and a number of noblemen are discovered, seated under an arbor, surrounded by Rene, and other Troubadours, attendants, &c.
Paolo.
I prithee, Rene, charm our ears again
With the same song you sang me yesterday.
Here are fresh listeners.

Rene.
Really, my good lord,
My voice is out of joint. A grievous cold—

[Coughs.]
Paolo.
A very grievous, but convenient cold,
Which always racks you when you would not sing.

Rene.
O, no, my lord! Besides, I hoped to hear
My ditty warbled into fairer ears,
By your own lips; to better purpose, too.

[The Noblemen all laugh.]
First Nobleman.
Rene has hit it. Music runs to waste
In ears like ours.

Second Nobleman.
Nay, nay; chaunt on, sweet Count.

Paolo.
(Coughing.)
Alack! you hear, I've caught poor Rene's cough.

First N.
That would not be, if we wore petticoats.

[The others laugh.]
Paolo.
O, fie!

First N.
So runs the scandal to our ears.

Second N.
Confirmed by all our other senses, Count.

First N.
Witnessed by many a doleful sigh, poured out
By many a breaking heart in Rimini.

Second N.
Poor girls!

First N.
(Mimicking a lady.)
Sweet Count! sweet Count Paolo! O!
Plant early violets upon my grave!
Thus go a thousand voices to one tune.

[The others laugh.]
Paolo.
'Ods mercy! gentlemen, you do me wrong.

First N.
And by how many hundred, more or less?

Paolo.
Ah! rogues, you 'd shift your sins upon my shoulders.

Second N.
You 'd bear them stoutly.

First N.
It were vain to give
Drops to god Neptune. You 're the sea of love
That swallows all things.

Second N.
We the little fish
That meanly scull about within your depths.

Paolo.
Go on, go on! Talk yourselves fairly out.
[Pepe laughs without.]
But, hark! here comes the fool. Fit company
For this most noble company of wits!
(Enter Pepe, laughing violently.)
Why do you laugh?

Pepe.
I'm laughing at the world.
It has laughed long enough at me; and so
I'll turn the tables. Ho! ho! ho! I 've heard
A better joke of Uncle Malatesta's
Than any I e'er uttered.

[Laughing.]
All.
Tell it, fool.

Pepe.
Why, do you know—upon my life, the best
And most original idea on earth:
A joke to put in practice, too. By Jove!
I'll bet my wit 'gainst the stupidity
Of the best gentleman among you all,
You cannot guess it.

All.
Tell us, tell us, fool.

Pepe.
Guess it, guess it, fools.

Paolo.
Come, disclose, disclose!

Pepe.
He has a match afoot.—

All.
A match!

Pepe.
A marriage.

All.
Who?—who?

Pepe.
A marriage in his family.

All.
But, who?

Pepe.
Ah! there 's the point.

All.
Paolo?

Pepe.
No.

First N.
The others are well wived. Shall we turn Turks?

Pepe.
Why, there 's the summit of his joke, good sirs.
By all the sacred symbols of my art—
By cap and bauble, by my tinkling bell—
He means to marry Lanciotto!

[Laughs violently.]
All.
(Laughing.)
Ho!—

Paolo.
Peace! peace! What tongue dare echo you fool's laugh?
Nay, never raise your hands in wonderment:
I'll strike the dearest friend among ye all
Beneath my feet, as if he were a slave,
Who dares insult my brother with a laugh!

Pepe.
By Jove! ye 're sad enough. Here 's mirth's quick cure!
Pretty Paolo has a heavy fist,
I warn you, sirs. Ho! ho! I trapped them all;
[Laughing.]
Now I'll go mar old Malatesta's message.

[Aside.]
[Exit.]
Paolo.
Shame on ye, sirs! I have mistaken you.
I thought I harbored better friends. Poor fops,
Who 've slept in down and satin all your years,
Within the circle Lanciotto charmed
Round Rimini with his most potent sword!—
Fellows whose brows would melt beneath a casque,
Whose hands would fray to grasp a brand's rough hilt,
Who ne'er launched more than braggart threats at foes!—
Girlish companions of luxurious girls!—
Danglers round troubadours and wine-cups!—Men
Whose best parts are their clothes! bundles of silk,
Scented like summer! rag-men, nothing more!—
Creatures as generous as monkeys—brave
As hunted hares—courteous as grinning apes—
Grateful as serpents—useful as lap-dogs—
[During this, the Noblemen, &c., steal off.]
Ha!
I am alone at last! So let me be,
Till Lanciotto fill the vacant room
Of these mean knaves, whose friendship is but breath.

[Exit.]

SCENE II.

The Same. A Hall in the Castle. Enter Malatesta and Lanciotto.
Malatesta.
Guido, ay, Guido of Ravenna, son—
Down on his knees, as full of abject prayers
For peace and mercy as a penitent.

Lanciotto.
His old trick, father. While his wearied arm
Is raised in seeming prayer, it only rests.
Anon, he'll deal you such a staggering blow,
With its recovered strength, as shall convert
You, and not him, into a penitent.

Mal.
No, no; your last bout levelled him. He reeled
Into Ravenna, from the battle-field,
Like a stripped drunkard, and there headlong fell—
A mass of squalid misery, a thing
To draw the jeering urchins. I have this
From faithful spies. There 's not a hope remains
To break the shock of his great overthrow.
I pity Guido.

Lan.
'Sdeath! go comfort him!
I pity those who fought, and bled, and died,
Before the armies of this Ghibelin.
I pity those who halted home with wounds
Dealt by his hand. I pity widowed eyes
That he set running; maiden hearts that turn,
Sick with despair, from ranks thinned down by him;
Mothers that shriek, as the last stragglers fling
Their feverish bodies by the fountain-side,
Dumb with mere thirst, and faintly point to him,
Answering the dame's quick questions. I have seen
Unburied bones, and skulls—that seemed to ask,
From their blank eye-holes, vengeance at my hand—
Shine in the moonlight on old battle-fields;
And even these—the happy dead, my lord—
I pity more than Guido of Ravenna!

Mal.
What would you have?

Lan.
I'd see Ravenna burn,
Flame into heaven, and scorch the flying clouds;
I 'd choke her streets with ruined palaces;
I 'd hear her women scream with fear and grief,
As I have heard the maids of Rimini.
All this I 'd sprinkle with old Guido's blood,
And bless the baptism.

Mal.
You are cruel.

Lan.
Not I;
But these things ache within my fretting brain.
The sight I first beheld was from the arms
Of my wild nurse, her husband hacked to death
By the fierce edges of these Ghibelins.
One cut across the neck—I see it now,
Ay, and have mimicked it a thousand times,
Just as I saw it, on our enemies.—
Why, that cut seemed as if it meant to bleed
On till the judgment. My distracted nurse
Stooped down, and paddled in the running gore
With her poor fingers; then a prophetess,
Pale with the inspiration of the god,
She towered aloft, and with her dripping hand
Three times she signed me with the holy cross.
'T is all as plain as noon-day. Thus she spake,—
“May this spot stand till Guido's dearest blood
Be mingled with thy own!” The soldiers say,
In the close battle, when my wrath is up,
The dead man's blood flames on my vengeful brow
Like a red planet; and when war is o'er,
It shrinks into my brain, defiling all
My better nature with its slaughterous lusts.
Howe'er it be, it shaped my earliest thought,
And it will shape my last.

Mal.
You moody churl!
You dismal knot of superstitious dreams!
Do you not blush to empty such a head
Before a sober man? Why, son, the world
Has not given o'er its laughing humor yet,
That you should try it with such vagaries.—Poh!
I'll get a wife to teach you common sense.

Lan.
A wife for me!

[Laughing.]
Mal.
Ay, sir, a wife for you.
You shall be married, to insure your wits.

Lan.
'T is not your wont to mock me.

Mal.
How now, son!
I am not given to jesting. I have chosen
The fairest wife in Italy for you.
You won her bravely, as a soldier should:
And when you 'd woo her, stretch your gauntlet out,
And crush her fingers in its steely grip.
If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say—
No, by your leave. Should she refuse, howe'er,
With that same iron hand you shall go knock
Upon Ravenna's gates, till all the town
Ring with your courtship. I have made her hand
The price and pledge of Guido's future peace.

Lan.
All this is done!

Mal.
Done, out of hand; and now
I wait a formal answer, nothing more.
Guido dare not decline. No, by the saints,
He 'd send Ravenna's virgins here in droves,
To buy a ten days' truce.

Lan.
Sir, let me say,
You stretch paternal privilege too far,
To pledge my hand without my own consent.
Am I a portion of your household stuff,
That you should trade me off to Guido thus?
Who is the lady I am bartered for?

Mal.
Francesca, Guido's daughter.—Never frown;
It shall be so!

Lan.
By heaven, it shall not be!
My blood shall never mingle with his race.

Mal.
According to your nurse's prophecy,
Fate orders it.

Lan.
Ha!

Mal.
Now, then, I have struck
The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts.
Bah! on your sibyl and her prophecy!
Put Guido's blood aside, and yet, I say,
Marry you shall.

Lan.
'T is most distasteful, sir.

Mal.
Lanciotto, look ye! You brave gentlemen,
So fond of knocking out poor people's brains,
In time must come to have your own knocked out:
What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands,
To carry on your business, and our house
Die out for lack of princes?

Lan.
Wed my brothers:
They'll rear you sons, I'll slay you enemies.
Paolo and Francesca! Note their names;
They chime together like sweet marriage-bells.
A proper match. 'T is said she 's beautiful;
And he is the delight of Rimini,—
The pride and conscious centre of all eyes,
The theme of poets, the ideal of art,
The earthly treasury of Heaven's best gifts!
I am a soldier; from my very birth,
Heaven cut me out for terror, not for love.
I had such fancies once, but now—

Mal.
Pshaw! son,
My faith is bound to Guido; and if you
Do not throw off your duty, and defy,
Through sickly scruples, my express commands,
You'll yield at once. No more: I'll have it so!

[Exit.]
Lan.
Curses upon my destiny! What, I—
Ho! I have found my use at last—What, I,
I, the great twisted monster of the wars,
The brawny cripple, the herculean dwarf,
The spur of panic, and the butt of scorn—
I be a bridegroom! Heaven, was I not cursed
More than enough, when thou didst fashion me
To be a type of ugliness,—a thing
By whose comparison all Rimini
Holds itself beautiful? Lo! here I stand,
A gnarléd, blighted trunk! There 's not a knave
So spindle-shanked, so wry-faced, so infirm,
Who looks at me, and smiles not on himself.
And I have friends to pity me—great Heaven!
One has a favorite leg that he bewails,—
Another sees my hip with doleful plaints,—
A third is sorry o'er my huge swart arms,—
A fourth aspires to mount my very hump,
And thence harangue his weeping brotherhood!
Pah! it is nauseous! Must I further bear
The sidelong shuddering glances of a wife?
The degradation of a showy love,
That over-acts, and proves the mummer's craft
Untouched by nature? And a fair wife, too!—
Francesca, whom the minstrels sing about!
Though, by my side, what woman were not fair?
Circe looked well among her swine, no doubt;
Next me, she'd pass for Venus. Ho! ho! ho!
[Laughing.
Would there were something merry in my laugh!
Now, in the battle, if a Ghibelin
Cry, “Wry-hip! hunchback!” I can trample him
Under my stallion's hoofs; or haggle him
Into a monstrous likeness of myself:
But to be pitied,—to endure a sting
Thrust in by kindness, with a sort of smile!—
'Sdeath! it is miserable!

(Enter Pepe.)
Pepe.
My lord—

Lan.
My fool!

Pepe.
We'll change our titles when your bride's bells ring—
Ha, cousin?

Lan.
Even this poor fool has eyes,
To see the wretched plight in which I stand.
[Aside.]
How, gossip, how?

Pepe.
I, being the court-fool,
Am lord of fools by my prerogative.

Lan.
Who told you of my marriage?

Pepe.
Rimini!
A frightful liar; but true for once, I fear.
The messenger from Guido has returned,
And the whole town is wailing over him.
Some pity you, and some the bride; but I,
Being more catholic, I pity both.

Lan.
Still, pity, pity! (Aside. Bells toll.)
Ha! whose knell is that?

Pepe.
Lord Malatesta sent me to the tower,
To have the bells rung for your marriage-news.
How, he said not; so I, as I thought fit,
Told the deaf sexton to ring out a knell.
[Bells toll.]
How do you like it?

Lan.
Varlet, have you bones,
To risk their breaking? I have half a mind
To thresh you from your motley coat!

[Seizes him.]
Pepe.
Pardee!
Respect my coxcomb, cousin. Hark! ha, ha!
[Laughing.]
(Bells ring a joyful peal.)
Some one has changed my music. Heaven defend!
How the bells jangle! Yonder graybeard, now,
Rings a peal vilely. He 's more used to knells,
And sounds them grandly. Only give him time,
And, I'll be sworn, he'll ring your knell out yet.

Lan.
Pepe, you are but half a fool.

Pepe.
My lord,
I can return the compliment in full.

Lan.
So, you are ready.

Pepe.
Truth is always so.

Lan.
I shook you rudely; here 's a florin.

[Offers money.]
Pepe.
No:
My wit is merchandise, but not my honor.

Lan.
Your honor, sirrah!

Pepe.
Why not? You great lords
Have something you call lordly honor; pray,
May not a fool have foolish honor too?
Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat—
'T was the first sacrilege it ever knew—
And you shall pay it. Mark! I promise you.

Lan.
(Laughing.)
Ha, ha! you bluster well. Upon my life,
You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath.
Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek—
Thus, gossip, thus— (Strikes him.)
what would you then demand?

Pepe.
Your life!

Lan.
(Laughing.)
Ha, ha! there is the camp-style too—
A very cut-throat air! How this shrewd fool
Makes the punctilio of honor show!
Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles,
And what a figure is poor chivalry!
Thanks for your lesson, Pepe!

[Exit.]
Pepe.
Ere I 'm done,
You'll curse as heartily, you limping beast!
Ha! so we go—Lord Lanciotto, look!
[Walks about, mimicking him.]
Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth,
To match your honor and nobility!
You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake,
Or strike in jest, a natural man like me?—
You curséd lump, you chaos of a man,
To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good!
[Bells ring.]
There go the bells rejoicing over you:
I'll change them back to the old knell again.
You marry, faugh! Beget a race of elves;
Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within
The limits of your nature! Here we go,
Tripping along to meet our promised bride,
Like a rheumatic elephant!—ha, ha!

[Laughing.]
[Exit, mimicking Lanciotto.]

SCENE III.

The Same. A Room in the Same. Enter Lanciotto, hastily.
Lanciotto.
Why do these prodigies environ me?
In ancient Rome, the words a fool might drop,
From the confusion of his vagrant thoughts,
Were held as omens, prophecies; and men
Who made earth tremble with majestic deeds,
Trembled themselves at fortune's lightest threat.
I like it not. My father named this match
While I boiled over with vindictive wrath
Towards Guido and Ravenna. Straight my heart
Sank down like lead; a weakness seized on me,
A dismal gloom that I could not resist;
I lacked the power to take my stand, and say—
Bluntly, I will not! Am I in the toils?
Has fate so weakened me, to work its end?
There seems a fascination in it, too,—
A morbid craving to pursue a thing
Whose issue may be fatal. Would that I
Were in the wars again! These mental weeds
Grow on the surface of inactive peace.
I'm haunted by myself. Thought preys on thought
My mind seems crowded in the hideous mould
That shaped my body. What a fool am I
To bear the burden of my wretched life,
To sweat and toil under the world's broad eye,
Climb into fame, and find myself—O, what?—
A most conspicuous monster! Crown my head,
Pile Cæsar's purple on me—and what then?
My hump shall shorten the imperial robe,
My leg peep out beneath the scanty hem,
My broken hip shall twist the gown awry;
And pomp, instead of dignifying me,
Shall be by me made quite ridiculous.
The faintest coward would not bear all this:
Prodigious courage must be mine, to live;
To die asks nothing but weak will, and I
Feel like a craven. Let me skulk away
Ere life o'ertask me.

[Offers to stab himself.]
(Enter Paolo.)
Paolo.
(Seizing his hand.)
Brother! what is this?
Lanciotto, are you mad? Kind Heaven! look here—
Straight in my eyes. Now answer, do you know
How near you were to murder? Dare you bend
Your wicked hand against a heart I love?
Were it for you to mourn your wilful death,
With such a bitterness as would be ours,
The wish would ne'er have crossed you. While we 're bound
Life into life, a chain of loving hearts,
Were it not base in you, the middle link,
To snap, and scatter all? Shame, brother, shame!
I thought you better metal.

Lan.
Spare your words.
I know the seasons of our human grief,
And can predict them without almanac.
A few sobs o'er the body, and a few
Over the coffin; then a sigh or two,
Whose windy passage dries the hanging tear;
Perchance, some wandering memories, some regrets;
Then a vast influx of consoling thoughts—
Based on the trials of the sadder days
Which the dead missed; and then a smiling face
Turned on to-morrow. Such is mortal grief.
It writes its histories within a span,
And never lives to read them.

Paolo.
Lanciotto,
I heard the bells of Rimini, just now,
Exulting o'er your coming marriage-day,
While you conspired to teach them gloomier sounds.
Why are you sad?

Lan.
Paolo, I am wretched;
Sad 's a faint word. But of my marriage-bells—
Heard you the knell that Pepe rang?

Paolo.
'T was strange:
A sullen antic of his crabbed wit.

Lan.
It was portentous. All dumb things find tongues
Against this marriage. As I passed the hall,
My armor glittered on the wall, and I
Paused by the harness, as before a friend
Whose well-known features slack our hurried gait;
Francesca's name was fresh upon my mind,
So I half-uttered it. Instant, my sword
Leaped from its scabbard, as with sudden life,
Plunged down and pierced into the oaken floor,
Shivering with fear! Lo! while I gazed upon it—
Doubting the nature of the accident—
Around the point appeared a spot of blood,
Oozing upon the floor, that spread and spread—
As I stood gasping by in speechless horror—
Ring beyond ring, until the odious tide
Crawled to my feet, and lapped them, like the tongues
Of angry serpents! O, my God! I fled
At the first touch of the infernal stain!
Go—you may see—go to the hall!

Paolo.
Fie! man,
You have been ever played on in this sort
By your wild fancies. When your heart is high,
You make them playthings; but in lower moods,
They seem to sap the essence of your soul,
And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs.

Lan.
Go look, go look!

Paolo.
(Goes to the door, and returns.)
There sticks the sword, indeed,
Just as your tread detached it from its sheath;
Looking more like a blessed cross, I think,
Than a bad omen. As for blood—Ha, ha!
[Laughing.]
It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this!
Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself
For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems,
Do wonders for us. Brother, come; I'll be
Your tiring-man, for once.

Lan.
Array this lump—
Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts
Best left imprisoned in the aching heart,
Lest the freed malefactors should dispread
Infamous ruin with their liberty.
There 's not a man—the fairest of ye all—
Who is not fouler than he seems. This life
Is one unending struggle to conceal
Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one
In vestal whiteness with a lecher's lust;—
There sits a judge, holding law's scales in hands
That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch;—
Here goes a priest, with heavenward eyes, whose soul
Is Satan's council-chamber;—there a doctor,
With nature's secrets wrinkled round a brow
Guilty with conscious ignorance;—and here
A soldier rivals Hector's bloody deeds—
Out-does the devil in audacity—
With craven longings fluttering in a heart
That dares do aught but fly! Thus are we all
Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world,
That takes us at our seeming.

Paolo.
Say 't is true;
What do you drive at?

Lan.
At myself, full tilt.
I, like the others, am not what I seem.
Men call me gentle, courteous, brave.—They lie!
I'm harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve
To cast my devils out upon the earth,
I 'd show this laughing planet what a hell
Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn,
It has forced back to canker in the heart
Of one poor cripple!

Paolo.
Ha!

Lan.
Ay, now 't is out!
A word I never breathed to man before.
Can you, who are a miracle of grace,
Feel what it is to be a wreck like me?
Paolo, look at me. Is there a line,
In my whole bulk of wretched contraries,
That nature in a nightmare ever used
Upon her shapes till now? Find me the man,
Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing,
So out of harmony with all things else,
And I'll go raving with bare happiness,—
Ay, and I'll marry Helena of Greece,
And swear I do her honor!

Paolo.
Lanciotto,
I, who have known you from a stripling up,
Never observed, or, if I did, ne'er weighed
Your special difference from the rest of men.
You 're not Apollo—

Lan.
No!

Paolo.
Nor yet are you
A second Pluto. Could I change with you—
My graces for your nobler qualities—
Your strength, your courage, your renown—by heaven,
We 'd e'en change persons, to the finest hair.

Lan.
You should be flatterer to an emperor.

Paolo.
I am but just. Let me beseech you, brother,
To look with greater favor on yourself;
Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain
To take the place of sound realities.
Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull
Your cruel delusions in domestic peace.
Ghosts fly a fireside: 't is their wont to stalk
Through empty houses, and through empty hearts.
I know Francesca will be proud of you.
Women admire you heroes. Rusty sages,
Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been
Their idols ever; while we fair plump fools
Are elbowed to the wall, or only used
For vacant pastime.

Lan.
To Ravenna?—no!
In Rimini they know me; at Ravenna
I 'd be a new-come monster, and exposed
To curious wonder. There will be parade
Of all the usual follies of the state;
Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands,
Would strut before me, like vain mountebanks
Before their monkeys. Then, I should be stared
Out of my modesty; and when they look,
How can I tell if 't is the bridegroom's face
Or hump that draws their eyes? I will not go.
To please you all, I'll marry; but to please
The wonder-mongers of Ravenna—Ha!
Paolo, now I have it. You shall go,
To bring Francesca; and you'll speak of me,
Not as I ought to be, but as I am.
If she draw backward, give her rein; and say
That neither Guido nor herself shall feel
The weight of my displeasure. You may say,
I pity her—

Paolo.
For what?

Lan.
For wedding me.
In sooth, she'll need it. Say—

Paolo.
Nay, Lanciotto,
I'll be a better orator in your behalf,
Without your promptings.

Lan.
She is fair, 't is said;
And, dear Paolo, if she please your eye,
And move your heart to anything like love,
Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm
By such a match.

Paolo.
(Laughing.)
Ha! that is right: be gay!
Ply me with jokes! I 'd rather see you smile
Than see the sun shine.

Lan.
I am serious.
I'll find another wife, less beautiful,
More on my level, and—

Paolo.
An empress, brother,
Were honored by your hand. You are by much
Too humble in your reckoning of yourself.
I can count virtues in you, to supply
Half Italy, if they were parcelled out.
Look up!

Lan.
I cannot: Heaven has bent me down.
To you, Paolo, I could look, however,
Were my hump made a mountain. Bless him, God!
Pour everlasting bounties on his head!
Make Crœsus jealous of his treasury,
Achilles of his arms, Endymion
Of his fresh beauties,—though the coy one lay,
Blushing beneath Diana's earliest kiss,
On grassy Latmos; and may every good,
Beyond man's sight, though in the ken of Heaven,
Round his fair fortune to a perfect end!
O, you have dried the sorrow of my eyes;
My heart is beating with a lighter pulse;
The air is musical; the total earth
Puts on new beauty, and within the arms
Of girding ocean dreams her time away,
And visions bright to-morrows!

(Enter Malatesta and Pepe.)
Malatesta.
Mount, to horse!

Pepe.
(Aside.)
Good Lord! he 's smiling! What 's the matter now?
Has anybody broken a leg or back?
Has a more monstrous monster come to life?
Is hell burst open?—heaven burnt up? What, what
Can make yon eyesore grin?—I say, my lord,
What cow has calved?

Paolo.
Your mother, by the bleat.

Pepe.
Right fairly answered—for a gentleman!
When did you take my trade up?

Paolo.
When your wit
Went begging, sirrah.

Pepe.
Well again! My lord,
I think he'll do.

Mal.
For what?

Pepe.
To take my place.
Once fools were rare, and then my office sped;
But now the world is overrun with them:
One gets one 's fool in one 's own family,
Without much searching.

Mal.
Pepe, gently now.
Lanciotto, you are waited for. The train
Has passed the gate, and halted there for you.

Lan.
I go not to Ravenna.

Mal.
Hey! why not?

Paolo.
For weighty reasons, father. Will you trust
Your greatest captain, hope of all the Guelfs,
With crafty Guido? Should the Ghibelins
Break faith, and shut Lanciotto in their walls—
Sure the temptation would be great enough—
What would you do?

Mal.
I 'd eat Ravenna up!

Pepe.
Lord! what an appetite!

Paolo.
But Lanciotto
Would be a precious hostage.

Mal.
True; you 're wise;
Guido 's a fox. Well, have it your own way.
What is your plan?

Paolo.
I go there in his place.

Mal.
Good! I will send a letter with the news.

Lan.
I thank you, brother.

[Apart to Paolo.]
Pepe.
Ha! ha! ha!—O! O!

[Laughing.]
Mal.
Pepe, what now?

Pepe.
O! lord, O!—ho! ho! ho!

[Laughing.]
Paolo.
Well, giggler?

Pepe.
Hear my fable, uncle.

Mal.
Ay.

Pepe.
Once on a time, Vulcan sent Mercury
To fetch dame Venus from a romp in heaven.
Well, they were long in coming, as he thought;
And so the god of spits and gridirons
Railed like himself—the devil. But—now mark—
Here comes the moral. In a little while,
Vulcan grew proud, because he saw plain signs
That he should be a father; and so he
Strutted through hell, and pushed the devils by,
Like a magnifico of Venice. Ere long,
His heir was born; but then—ho! ho!—the brat
Had wings upon his heels, and thievish ways,
And a vile squint, like errant Mercury's,
Which honest Vulcan could not understand;—
Can you?

Paolo.
'Sdeath! fool, I'll have you in the stocks.
Father, your fool exceeds his privilege.

Pepe.
(Apart to Paolo.)
Keep your own bounds, Paolo. In the stocks
I 'd tell more fables than you 'd wish to hear.
And so ride forth. But, cousin, don't forget
To take Lanciotto's picture to the bride.
Ask her to choose between it and yourself.
I'll count the moments, while she hesitates,
And not grow gray at it.

Paolo.
Peace, varlet, peace!

Pepe.
(Apart to him.)
Ah! now I have it. There 's an elephant
Upon the scutcheon; show her that, and say—
Here 's Lanciotto in our heraldry!

Paolo.
Here 's for your counsel!

[Strikes Pepe, who runs behind Malatesta.]
Mal.
Son, son, have a care!
We who keep pets must bear their pecks sometimes.
Poor knave! Ha! ha! thou 'rt growing villanous!

[Laughs and pats Pepe.]
Pepe.
Another blow! another life for that!

[Aside.]
Paolo.
Farewell, Lanciotto. You are dull again.

Lan.
Nature will rule.

Mal.
Come, come!

Lan.
God speed you, brother!
I am too sad; my smiles all turn to sighs.

Paolo.
More cause to haste me on my happy work.

[Exit with Malatesta.]
Pepe.
I'm going, cousin.

Lan.
Go.

Pepe.
Pray, ask me where.

Lan.
Where, then?

Pepe.
To have my jewel carried home:
And, as I'm wise, the carrier shall be
A thief, a thief, by Jove! The fashion 's new.

[Exit.]
Lan.
In truth, I am too gloomy and irrational.
Paolo must be right. I always had
These moody hours and dark presentiments,
Without mischances following after them.
The camp is my abode. A neighing steed,
A fiery onset, and a stubborn fight,
Rouse my dull blood, and tire my body down
To quiet slumbers when the day is o'er,
And night above me spreads her spangled tent,
Lit by the dying cresset of the moon.
Ay, that is it; I'm homesick for the camp.

[Exit.]