Stories in Verse By Leigh Hunt. Now First Collected. With Illustrations |
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| II. | CANTO II. THE BRIDE'S JOURNEY TO RIMINI. |
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 | Stories in Verse |  |
CANTO II. THE BRIDE'S JOURNEY TO RIMINI.
Pass we the followers, and their closing state;
The court was enter'd by a hinder gate;
The duke and princess had retir'd before,
Join'd by the knights and ladies at the door;
But something seem'd amiss, and there ensued
Deep talk among the spreading multitude,
Who stood in groups, or paced the measur'd street,
Filling with earnest hum the noontide heat;
Nor ceas'd the wonder, as the day increas'd,
And brought no symptoms of a bridal feast,
No mass, no tilt, no largess for the crowd,
Nothing to answer that procession proud;
But a blank look, as if no court had been,
Silence without and secrecy within;
And nothing heard by listening at the walls,
But now and then a bustling through the halls,
Or the dim organ rous'd at gathering intervals.
The court was enter'd by a hinder gate;
The duke and princess had retir'd before,
Join'd by the knights and ladies at the door;
But something seem'd amiss, and there ensued
Deep talk among the spreading multitude,
Who stood in groups, or paced the measur'd street,
Filling with earnest hum the noontide heat;
Nor ceas'd the wonder, as the day increas'd,
And brought no symptoms of a bridal feast,
No mass, no tilt, no largess for the crowd,
Nothing to answer that procession proud;
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Silence without and secrecy within;
And nothing heard by listening at the walls,
But now and then a bustling through the halls,
Or the dim organ rous'd at gathering intervals.
The truth was this:—The bridegroom had not come,
But sent his brother, proxy in his room.
A lofty spirit the former was, and proud,
Little gallant, and had a sort of cloud
Hanging for ever on his cold address,
Which he mistook for sovereign manliness.
But more of this hereafter. Guido knew
The prince's faults; and he was conscious too,
That sweet as was his daughter, and prepar'd
To do her duty, where appeal was barr'd,
She had a sense of marriage, just and free,
And where the match look'd ill for harmony,
Might pause with firmness, and refuse to strike
A chord her own sweet music so unlike.
The old man therefore, kind enough at heart,
Yet fond, from habit, of intrigue and art,
And little form'd for sentiments like these,
Which seem'd to him mere maiden niceties,
Had thought at once to gratify the pride
Of his stern neighbour, and secure the bride,
By telling him, that if, as he had heard,
Busy he was just then, 'twas but a word,
And proxies might be found, though not preferr'd;
Only the duke thus farther must presume,
For both their sakes,—that still a prince must come.
The bride meantime was told, and not unmov'd,
To look for one no sooner seen than lov'd;
And when Giovanni, struck with what he thought
Mere proof how his triumphant hand was sought,
Dispatch'd the wish'd-for prince, who was a creature
Form'd in the very poetry of nature,
The effect was perfect, and the future wife
Caught in the elaborate snare, perhaps for life.
But sent his brother, proxy in his room.
A lofty spirit the former was, and proud,
Little gallant, and had a sort of cloud
Hanging for ever on his cold address,
Which he mistook for sovereign manliness.
But more of this hereafter. Guido knew
The prince's faults; and he was conscious too,
That sweet as was his daughter, and prepar'd
To do her duty, where appeal was barr'd,
She had a sense of marriage, just and free,
And where the match look'd ill for harmony,
Might pause with firmness, and refuse to strike
A chord her own sweet music so unlike.
The old man therefore, kind enough at heart,
Yet fond, from habit, of intrigue and art,
And little form'd for sentiments like these,
Which seem'd to him mere maiden niceties,
Had thought at once to gratify the pride
Of his stern neighbour, and secure the bride,
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Busy he was just then, 'twas but a word,
And proxies might be found, though not preferr'd;
Only the duke thus farther must presume,
For both their sakes,—that still a prince must come.
The bride meantime was told, and not unmov'd,
To look for one no sooner seen than lov'd;
And when Giovanni, struck with what he thought
Mere proof how his triumphant hand was sought,
Dispatch'd the wish'd-for prince, who was a creature
Form'd in the very poetry of nature,
The effect was perfect, and the future wife
Caught in the elaborate snare, perhaps for life.
One shock there was, however, to sustain,
Which nigh had rous'd her whole sweet wits again.
She saw, when all were housed, in Guido's face
A look of leisurely surprise take place;
A little whispering follow'd for a while,
And then 'twas told her, with an easy smile,
That Prince Giovanni, to his great chagrin,
Had been delay'd by something unforeseen,
But rather than defer his day of bliss
(If his fair ruler took it not amiss)
Had sent his brother Paulo in his stead;
“Who,” said old Guido, with a nodding head,
“May well be said to represent his brother,
For when you see the one, you know the other.”
Which nigh had rous'd her whole sweet wits again.
She saw, when all were housed, in Guido's face
A look of leisurely surprise take place;
A little whispering follow'd for a while,
And then 'twas told her, with an easy smile,
That Prince Giovanni, to his great chagrin,
Had been delay'd by something unforeseen,
But rather than defer his day of bliss
(If his fair ruler took it not amiss)
Had sent his brother Paulo in his stead;
“Who,” said old Guido, with a nodding head,
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For when you see the one, you know the other.”
By this time Paulo join'd them where they stood,
And seeing her in some uneasy mood,
Chang'd the mere cold respects his brother sent
To such a strain of cordial compliment,
And paid them with an air so frank and bright,
As to a friend whose worth is felt at sight,
That air in short which sets you at your ease,
Without implying your perplexities,
That what with the surprise in every way,
The hurry of the time, the appointed day,
The very shame, which now appeared increas'd,
Of begging leave to have her hand releas'd,
And above all, those tones, and smiles, and looks,
Which seem'd to realize the dreams of books,
And help'd her genial fancy to conclude
That fruit of such a stock must all be good,
She knew no longer how she could oppose:
Quick were the marriage-rites; and at the close,
The proxy, turning midst the general hush,
Kiss'd her meek lips, betwixt a rosy blush.
And seeing her in some uneasy mood,
Chang'd the mere cold respects his brother sent
To such a strain of cordial compliment,
And paid them with an air so frank and bright,
As to a friend whose worth is felt at sight,
That air in short which sets you at your ease,
Without implying your perplexities,
That what with the surprise in every way,
The hurry of the time, the appointed day,
The very shame, which now appeared increas'd,
Of begging leave to have her hand releas'd,
And above all, those tones, and smiles, and looks,
Which seem'd to realize the dreams of books,
And help'd her genial fancy to conclude
That fruit of such a stock must all be good,
She knew no longer how she could oppose:
Quick were the marriage-rites; and at the close,
The proxy, turning midst the general hush,
Kiss'd her meek lips, betwixt a rosy blush.
At last, about the vesper hour, a score
Of trumpets issued from the palace door,
The banners of their brass with favours tied,
And with a blast proclaim'd the wedded bride.
But not a word the sullen silence broke,
Till something of a gift the herald spoke,
And with a bag of money issuing out,
Scatter'd the ready harvest round about;
Then burst the mob into a jovial cry,
And largess! largess! claps against the sky,
And bold Giovanni's name, the lord of Rimini.
Of trumpets issued from the palace door,
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And with a blast proclaim'd the wedded bride.
But not a word the sullen silence broke,
Till something of a gift the herald spoke,
And with a bag of money issuing out,
Scatter'd the ready harvest round about;
Then burst the mob into a jovial cry,
And largess! largess! claps against the sky,
And bold Giovanni's name, the lord of Rimini.
The rest however still were looking on,
Careless and mute, and scarce the noise was gone,
When riding from the gate with banners rear'd,
Again the morning visitors appear'd.
The prince was in his place; and in a car,
Before him, glistening like a farewell star,
Sate the dear lady with her brimming eyes;
And off they set, through doubtful looks and cries;
For some too shrewdly guess'd, and some were vex'd
At the dull day, and some the whole perplex'd,
And all great pity thought it to divide
Two that seem'd made for bridegroom and for bride.
Ev'n she, whose heart this strange, abrupt event
Had cross'd and sear'd with burning wonderment,
Could scarce, at times, a starting cry forbear
At leaving her own home and native air;
Till passing now the limits of the town,
And on the last few gazers looking down,
She saw by the road-side an aged throng,
Who, wanting power to bustle with the strong,
Had learnt their gracious mistress was to go,
And gather'd there, an unconcerted show;
Bending they stood with their old foreheads bare,
And the winds finger'd with their reverend hair.
Farewell! farewell, my friends! she would have cried,
But in her throat the leaping accents died,
And, waving with her hand a vain adieu,
She dropt her veil, and backwarder withdrew,
And let the kindly tears their own good course pursue.
Careless and mute, and scarce the noise was gone,
When riding from the gate with banners rear'd,
Again the morning visitors appear'd.
The prince was in his place; and in a car,
Before him, glistening like a farewell star,
Sate the dear lady with her brimming eyes;
And off they set, through doubtful looks and cries;
For some too shrewdly guess'd, and some were vex'd
At the dull day, and some the whole perplex'd,
And all great pity thought it to divide
Two that seem'd made for bridegroom and for bride.
Ev'n she, whose heart this strange, abrupt event
Had cross'd and sear'd with burning wonderment,
Could scarce, at times, a starting cry forbear
At leaving her own home and native air;
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And on the last few gazers looking down,
She saw by the road-side an aged throng,
Who, wanting power to bustle with the strong,
Had learnt their gracious mistress was to go,
And gather'd there, an unconcerted show;
Bending they stood with their old foreheads bare,
And the winds finger'd with their reverend hair.
Farewell! farewell, my friends! she would have cried,
But in her throat the leaping accents died,
And, waving with her hand a vain adieu,
She dropt her veil, and backwarder withdrew,
And let the kindly tears their own good course pursue.
It was a lovely evening, fit to close
A lovely day, and brilliant in repose.
Warm, but not dim, a glow was in the air;
The soften'd breeze came smoothing here and there;
And every tree, in passing, one by one,
Gleam'd out with twinkles of the golden sun:
For leafy was the road, with tall array,
On either side, of mulberry and bay,
And distant snatches of blue hills between;
And there the alder was with its bright green,
And the broad chestnut, and the poplar's shoot,
That like a feather waves from head to foot,
With, ever and anon, majestic pines;
And still, from tree to tree, the early vines
Hung garlanding the way in amber lines.
A lovely day, and brilliant in repose.
Warm, but not dim, a glow was in the air;
The soften'd breeze came smoothing here and there;
And every tree, in passing, one by one,
Gleam'd out with twinkles of the golden sun:
For leafy was the road, with tall array,
On either side, of mulberry and bay,
And distant snatches of blue hills between;
And there the alder was with its bright green,
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That like a feather waves from head to foot,
With, ever and anon, majestic pines;
And still, from tree to tree, the early vines
Hung garlanding the way in amber lines.
Nor long the princess kept her from the view
Of those dear scenes, as back from sight they flew:
For sitting now, calm from the gush of tears,
With dreaming eye fix'd down, and half-shut ears,
Hearing, yet hearing not, the fervent sound
Of hoofs, thick reckoning, and the wheel's moist round,
A call of “Slower!” from the farther part
Of the check'd riders woke her with a start;
And looking up again, half sigh, half stare,
She lifts her veil, and feels the freshening air.
Of those dear scenes, as back from sight they flew:
For sitting now, calm from the gush of tears,
With dreaming eye fix'd down, and half-shut ears,
Hearing, yet hearing not, the fervent sound
Of hoofs, thick reckoning, and the wheel's moist round,
A call of “Slower!” from the farther part
Of the check'd riders woke her with a start;
And looking up again, half sigh, half stare,
She lifts her veil, and feels the freshening air.
'Tis down a hill they go, gentle indeed,
And such, as with a bold and playful speed
Another time they would have scorn'd to measure;
But now they take with them a lovely treasure,
And feel they should consult her gentle pleasure.
And such, as with a bold and playful speed
Another time they would have scorn'd to measure;
But now they take with them a lovely treasure,
And feel they should consult her gentle pleasure.
And now with thicker shades the pines appear;
The noise of hoofs grows duller on the ear;
And quitting suddenly their gravelly toil,
The wheels go spinning o'er a sandy soil.
The noise of hoofs grows duller on the ear;
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The wheels go spinning o'er a sandy soil.
Here first the silence of the country seems
To come about her with its listening dreams,
And full of anxious thoughts, half freed from pain,
In downward musing she relaps'd again,
Leaving the others who had pass'd that way
In careless spirits of the early day,
To look about, and mark the reverend scene,
For awful tales renown'd, and everlasting green.
To come about her with its listening dreams,
And full of anxious thoughts, half freed from pain,
In downward musing she relaps'd again,
Leaving the others who had pass'd that way
In careless spirits of the early day,
To look about, and mark the reverend scene,
For awful tales renown'd, and everlasting green.
A heavy spot the forest looks at first,
To one grim shade condemn'd, and sandy thirst,
Chequer'd with thorns, with thistles run to seed,
Or plashy pools, half cover'd with green weed,
About whose sides the swarming insects fry
In the hot sun, a noisome company.
But entering more and more, they quit the sand
At once, and strike upon a grassy land,
From which the trees, as from a carpet, rise
In knolls and clumps, with rich varieties.
A moment's trouble find the knights to rein
Their horses in, which, feeling turf again,
Thrill, and curvet, and long to be at large
To scour the space and give the winds a charge,
Or pulling tight the bridles, as they pass,
Dip their warm mouths into the freshening grass.
But soon in easy rank, from glade to glade,
Proceed they, coasting underneath the shade,
Some baring to the cool their placid brows,
Some looking upward through the glimmering boughs,
Or peering grave through inward-opening places,
And half prepar'd for glimpse of shadowy faces.
For in these woods it is, and hereabouts,
As not a soul in all Romania doubts,
That the proud dame, who drove the knight to death,
On stated days, resuming mortal breath,
Naked, and crying “Mercy!” with wild face,
Is doom'd to fly him, as he spurs in chase,
And have her heart, through pitiless wide wounds,
Torn from her shrieking side, to feed his hounds.
To one grim shade condemn'd, and sandy thirst,
Chequer'd with thorns, with thistles run to seed,
Or plashy pools, half cover'd with green weed,
About whose sides the swarming insects fry
In the hot sun, a noisome company.
But entering more and more, they quit the sand
At once, and strike upon a grassy land,
From which the trees, as from a carpet, rise
In knolls and clumps, with rich varieties.
A moment's trouble find the knights to rein
Their horses in, which, feeling turf again,
Thrill, and curvet, and long to be at large
To scour the space and give the winds a charge,
78
Dip their warm mouths into the freshening grass.
But soon in easy rank, from glade to glade,
Proceed they, coasting underneath the shade,
Some baring to the cool their placid brows,
Some looking upward through the glimmering boughs,
Or peering grave through inward-opening places,
And half prepar'd for glimpse of shadowy faces.
For in these woods it is, and hereabouts,
As not a soul in all Romania doubts,
That the proud dame, who drove the knight to death,
On stated days, resuming mortal breath,
Naked, and crying “Mercy!” with wild face,
Is doom'd to fly him, as he spurs in chase,
And have her heart, through pitiless wide wounds,
Torn from her shrieking side, to feed his hounds.
Various the trees and passing foliage here,—
Wild pear, and oak, and dusky juniper,
With briony between in trails of white,
And ivy, and the suckle's streaky light,
And moss, warm gleaming with a sudden mark,
Like growths of sunshine left upon the bark,
And still the pine, flat-topp'd, and dark, and tall,
In lordly right, predominant o'er all.
Wild pear, and oak, and dusky juniper,
With briony between in trails of white,
And ivy, and the suckle's streaky light,
And moss, warm gleaming with a sudden mark,
Like growths of sunshine left upon the bark,
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In lordly right, predominant o'er all.
Much they admire that old religious tree,
With its new leaves now burning goldenly,—
A tree that seems as it should only grow
Where lonesome winds or solemn organs blow.
At noisy intervals, the living cloud
Of cawing rooks breaks o'er them, gathering loud
Like a wild people, when invaders come;
Then all again, but for themselves, seems dumb,
Or ring-dove, that repeats his pensive plea,
Or startled gull up-screaming towards the sea:
But what they mostly hear, is still the sound
Of their own pomp and progress o'er the ground;
And, birds except, they scarce meet living thing,
Save, now and then, a goat loose wandering,
Or a few cattle, looking up aslant
With sleepy eyes and meek mouths ruminant;
Or once, a plodding woodman, old and bent,
Passing with half indifferent wonderment,
Yet turning, at the last, to look once more;
Then feels his trembling staff, and onward as before.
With its new leaves now burning goldenly,—
A tree that seems as it should only grow
Where lonesome winds or solemn organs blow.
At noisy intervals, the living cloud
Of cawing rooks breaks o'er them, gathering loud
Like a wild people, when invaders come;
Then all again, but for themselves, seems dumb,
Or ring-dove, that repeats his pensive plea,
Or startled gull up-screaming towards the sea:
But what they mostly hear, is still the sound
Of their own pomp and progress o'er the ground;
And, birds except, they scarce meet living thing,
Save, now and then, a goat loose wandering,
Or a few cattle, looking up aslant
With sleepy eyes and meek mouths ruminant;
Or once, a plodding woodman, old and bent,
Passing with half indifferent wonderment,
Yet turning, at the last, to look once more;
Then feels his trembling staff, and onward as before.
So ride they pleas'd,—till now the couching sun
Levels his final look through shadows dun;
And the clear moon, with meek o'er-lifted face,
Seems come to look into the silvering place.
Then first the bride waked up, for then was heard,
Sole voice, the poet's and the lover's bird,
Preluding first, as though the sounds were cast
For the dear leaves about her, till at last
With floods of rapture, in a perfect shower,
She vents her heart on the delicious hour.
Lightly the horsemen go, as if they'd ride
A velvet path, and hear no voice beside:
A placid hope assures the breath-suspending bride.
Levels his final look through shadows dun;
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Seems come to look into the silvering place.
Then first the bride waked up, for then was heard,
Sole voice, the poet's and the lover's bird,
Preluding first, as though the sounds were cast
For the dear leaves about her, till at last
With floods of rapture, in a perfect shower,
She vents her heart on the delicious hour.
Lightly the horsemen go, as if they'd ride
A velvet path, and hear no voice beside:
A placid hope assures the breath-suspending bride.
So ride they in delight through beam and shade;—
Till many a rill now pass'd, and many a glade,
They quit the piny labyrinths, and soon
Emerge into the full and day-like moon;
Chilling it seems; and pushing steed on steed,
They start them freshly with a homeward speed.
Then well-known fields they pass, and straggling cots.
Boy-storied trees, and love-remember'd spots,
And turning last a sudden corner, see
The moon-lit towers of slumbering Rimini.
The marble bridge comes heaving forth below
With a long gleam; and nearer as they go,
They see the still Marecchia, cold and bright,
Sleeping along with face against the light.
A hollow trample now,—a fall of chains,—
The bride has enter'd,—not a voice remains;—
Night, and a maiden silence, wrap the plains.
Till many a rill now pass'd, and many a glade,
They quit the piny labyrinths, and soon
Emerge into the full and day-like moon;
Chilling it seems; and pushing steed on steed,
They start them freshly with a homeward speed.
Then well-known fields they pass, and straggling cots.
Boy-storied trees, and love-remember'd spots,
And turning last a sudden corner, see
The moon-lit towers of slumbering Rimini.
The marble bridge comes heaving forth below
With a long gleam; and nearer as they go,
They see the still Marecchia, cold and bright,
Sleeping along with face against the light.
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The bride has enter'd,—not a voice remains;—
Night, and a maiden silence, wrap the plains.
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