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455
SCENE II.
A Camp among the Hills. Before Lanciotto's tent. Enter, from the tent, Lanciotto.Lanciotto.
The camp is strangely quiet. Not a sound
Breaks nature's high solemnity. The sun
Repeats again his every-day decline;
Yet all the world looks sadly after him,
As if the customary sight were new.
Yon moody sentinel goes slowly by,
Through the thick mists of evening, with his spear
Trailed at a funeral hold. Long shadows creep,
From things beyond the furthest range of sight,
Up to my very feet. These mystic shades
Are of the earth; the light that causes them,
And teaches us the quick comparison,
Is all from heaven. Ah! restless man might crawl
With patience through his shadowy destiny,
If he were senseless to the higher light
Towards which his soul aspires. How grand and vast
Is yonder show of heavenly pageantry!
How mean and narrow is the earthly stand
From which we gaze on it! Magnificent,
O God, art thou amid the sunsets! Ah!
What heart in Rimini is softened now,
Towards my defects, by this grand spectacle?
Perchance, Paolo now forgives the wrong
Of my hot spleen. Perchance, Francesca now
Wishes me back, and turns a tenderer eye
On my poor person and ill-mannered ways;
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Through duty into love, and ponders o'er
The sacred meaning in the name of wife.
Dreams, dreams! Poor fools, we squander love away
On thankless borrowers; when bankrupt quite,
We sit and wonder of their honesty.
Love, take a lesson from the usurer,
And never lend but on security.
Captain!
(Enter a Captain.)
Captain.
My lord.
Lan.
They worsted us to-day.
Capt.
Not much, my lord.
Lan.
With little loss, indeed.
Their strength is in position. Mark you, sir.
[Draws on the ground with his sword.]
Here is the pass; it opens towards the plain,
With gradual widening, like a lady's fan.
The hills protect their flanks on either hand;
And, as you see, we cannot show more front
Than their advance may give us. Then, the rocks
Are sorry footing for our horse. Just here,
Close in against the left-hand hills, I marked
A strip of wood, extending down the gorge:
Behind that wood dispose your force ere dawn.
I shall begin the onset, then give ground,
And draw them out; while you, behind the wood,
Must steal along, until their flank and rear
Oppose your column. Then set up a shout,
Burst from the wood, and drive them on our spears,
They have no outpost in the wood, I know;
'T is too far from their centre. On the morrow,
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And think my whole division in full rout,
They will not pause to scrutinize the wood;
So you may enter boldly. We will use
The heart to-day's repulse has given to them,
For our advantage. Do you understand?
Capt.
Clearly, my lord.
Lan.
If they discover you,
Before you gain your point, wheel, and retreat
Upon my rear. If your attack should fail
To strike them with a panic, and they turn
In too great numbers on your small command,
Scatter your soldiers through the wood:
Let each seek safety for himself.
Capt.
I see.
Lan.
Have Pluto shod; he cast a shoe to-day:
Let it be done at once. My helmet, too,
Is worn about the lacing; look to that.
Where is my armorer?
Capt.
At his forge.
Lan.
Your charge
Must be at sunrise—just at sunrise, sir—
Neither before nor after. You must march
At moonset, then, to gain the point ere dawn.
That is enough.
Capt.
Good-even!
[Going.]
Lan.
Stay, stay, stay!
My sword-hilt feels uneasy in my grasp;
[Gives his sword.]
Have it repaired; and grind the point. Strike hard!
I'll teach these Ghibelins a lesson.
[Loud laughter within.]
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What is that clamor?
(Enter hastily Pepe, tattered and travel-stained.)
Pepe.
News from Rimini!
[Falls exhausted.]
Lan.
Is that you, Pepe? Captain, a good-night!
[Exit Captain.]
I never saw you in such straits before.
Wit without words!
Pepe.
That's better than—O!—O!—
[Panting.]
Words without wit.
Lan.
(Laughing.)
You'll die a jester, Pepe.
Pepe.
If so, I'll leave the needy all my wit.
You, you shall have it, cousin.—O! O! O!
[Panting.]
Those devils in the hills, the Ghibelins,
Ran me almost to death. My lord—ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
It all comes back to me—O! Lord 'a mercy!—
The garden, and the lady, and the Count!
Not to forget the poetry—ho! ho!
[Laughing.]
O! cousin Lanciotto, such a wife,
And such a brother! Hear me, ere I burst!
Lan.
You 're pleasant, Pepe!
Pepe.
Am I?—Ho! ho! ho!
[Laughing.]
You ought to be; your wife 's a—
Lan.
What?
Pepe.
A lady—
A lady, I suppose, like all the rest.
I am not in their secrets. Such a fellow
As Count Paolo is your man for that.
I'll tell you something, if you'll swear a bit.
Lan.
Swear what?
Pepe.
First, swear to listen till the end.—
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But you must listen.
Lan.
For your jest's sake? Well.
Pepe.
You swear?
Lan.
I do.
Pepe.
Next, swear to know the truth.
Lan.
The truth of a fool's story!
Pepe.
You mistake.
Now, look you, cousin! You have often marked—
I know, for I have seen—strange glances pass
Between Paolo and your lady wife.—
Lan.
Ha! Pepe!
Pepe.
Now I touch you to the quick.
I know the reason of those glances.
Lan.
Ha!
Speak! or I'll throttle you!
[Seizes him.]
Pepe.
Your way is odd.
Let go my gullet, and I'll talk you deaf.
Swear my last oath: only to know the truth.
Lan.
But that may trouble me.
Pepe.
Your honor lies—
Your precious honor, cousin Chivalry—
Lies bleeding with a terrible great gash,
Without its knowledge. Swear!
Lan.
My honor? Speak!
Pepe.
You swear?
Lan.
I swear. Your news is ill, perchance?
Pepe.
Ill! would I bring it else? Am I inclined
To run ten leagues with happy news for you?
O, Lord! that 's jolly!
Lan.
You infernal imp,
Out with your story, ere I strangle you!
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Then take a fast hold on your two great oaths,
To steady tottering manhood, and attend.
Last eve, about this hour, I took a stroll
Into the garden.—Are you listening, cousin?
Lan.
I am all ears.
Pepe.
Why, so an ass might say.
Lan.
Will you be serious?
Pepe.
Wait a while, and we
Will both be graver than a church-yard. Well,
Down the long walk, towards me, came your wife,
With Count Paolo walking at her side.
It was a pretty sight, and so I stepped
Into the bushes. Ritta came with them;
And Lady Fanny had a grievous time
To get her off. That made me curious.
Anon, the pair sat down upon a bank,
To read a poem;—the tenderest romance,
All about Lancelot and Queen Guenevra.
The Count read well—I'll say that much for him—
Only he stuck too closely to the text,
Got too much wrapped up in the poesy,
And played Sir Lancelot's actions, out and out,
On Queen Francesca. Nor in royal parts
Was she so backward. When he struck the line—
“She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth;”
Your lady smiled, and, by the saints above,
Paolo carried out the sentiment!
Can I not move you?
Lan.
With such trash as this?
And so you ran ten leagues to tell a lie?—
Run home again.
Pepe.
I am not ready yet.
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Flings Queen Guenevra and Sir Lancelot
Straight to the devil; growls and snaps his teeth,
Laughs, weeps, howls, dances; talks about his love,
His madness, suffering, and the Lord knows what,
Bullying the lady like a thief. But she,
All this hot time, looked cool and mischievous;
Gave him his halter to the very end;
And when he calmed a little, up she steps
And takes him by the hand. You should have seen
How tame the furious fellow was at once!
How he came down, snivelled, and cowed to her,
And fell to kissing her again! It was
A perfect female triumph! Such a scene
A man might pass through life and never see.
More sentiment then followed,—buckets full
Of washy words, not worth my memory.
But all the while she wound his Countship up,
Closer and closer; till at last—tu!—wit!—
She scoops him up, and off she carries him,
Fish for her table! Follow, if you can;
My fancy fails me. All this time you smile!
Lan.
You should have been a poet, not a fool.
Pepe.
I might be both.
Lan.
You made no record, then?
Must this fine story die for want of ink?
Left you no trace in writing?
Pepe.
None.
Lan.
Alas!
Then you have told it? 'T is but stale, my boy;
I'm second hearer.
Pepe.
You are first, in faith.
Lan.
In truth?
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In sadness. You have got it fresh.
I had no time; I itched to reach your ear.
Now go to Rimini, and see yourself.
You'll find them in the garden. Lovers are
Like walking ghosts, they always haunt the spot
Of their misdeeds.
Lan.
But have I heard you out?
You told me all?
Pepe.
All; I have nothing left.
Lan.
Why, you brain-stricken idiot, to trust
Your story and your body in my grasp!
[Seizes him.]
Pepe.
Unhand me, cousin!
Lan.
When I drop you, Pepe,
You'll be at rest.
Pepe.
I will betray you—O!
Lan.
Not till the judgment day.
[They struggle.]
Pepe.
(Drawing Paolo's dagger.)
Take that!
Lan.
(Wresting the dagger from him.)
Well meant,
But poorly done! Here 's my return.
[Stabs him.]
Pepe.
O! beast!
[Falls.]
This I expected; it is naught—Ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
I'll go to sleep; but you—what you will bear!
Hunchback, come here!
Lan.
Fie! say your prayers.
Pepe.
Hark, hark!
Paolo hired me, swine, to murder you.
Lan.
That is a lie; you never cared for gold.
Pepe.
He did, I say! I'll swear to it, by heaven!
Do you believe me?
Lan.
No!
Pepe.
You lie! you lie!
Look at the dagger, cousin—Ugh!—good-night!
[Dies.]
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O! horrible! It was a gift of mine—
He never laid it by. Speak, speak, fool, speak!
[Shakes the body.]
How didst thou get it?—speak! Thou 'rt warm—not dead—
Thou hast a tongue—O! speak! Come, come, a jest—
Another jest from those thin mocking lips!
Call me a cripple—hunchback—what thou wilt;
But speak to me! He cannot. Now, by heaven,
I'll stir this business till I find the truth!
Am I a fool? It is a silly lie,
Coined by yon villain with his last base breath.
What ho! without there!
(Enter Captain and Soldiers.)
Captain.
Did you call, my lord?
Lan.
Did Heaven thunder? Are you deaf, you louts?
Saddle my horse! What are you staring at?
Is it your first look at a dead man? Well,
Then look your fill. Saddle my horse, I say!
Black Pluto—stir! Bear that assassin hence.
Chop him to pieces, if he move. My horse!
Capt.
My lord, he 's shoeing.
Lan.
Did I ask for shoes?
I want my horse. Run, fellow, run! Unbarbed—
My lightest harness on his back. Fly, fly!
[Exit a Soldier.]
[The others pick up the body.]
Ask him, I pray you, if he did not lie!
Capt.
The man is dead, my lord.
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(Laughing.)
Then do not ask him!
[Exeunt Soldiers with the body.]
By Jupiter, I shall go mad, I think!
[Walks about.]
Capt.
Something disturbs him. Do you mark the spot
Of purple on his brow?
[Apart to a Soldier.]
Soldier.
Then blood must flow.
Lan.
Boy, boy! (Enter a Page.)
My cloak and riding-staff. Quick, quick!
How you all lag! (Exit Page.)
I ride to Rimini.
Skirmish to-morrow. Wait till my return—
I shall be back at sundown. You shall see
What slaughter is then!
Capt.
Ho! turn out a guard!—
Lan.
I wish no guard; I ride alone.
[Reënter Page, with a cloak and staff.]
[Taking them.]
Well done!
Thou art a pretty boy.—And now my horse!
(Enter a Soldier.)
Soldier.
Pluto is saddled—
Lan.
'T is a damned black lie!
Sol.
Indeed, my lord—
Lan.
O! comrade, pardon me:
I talk at random. What, Paolo too,—
A boy whom I have trotted on my knee!
Poh! I abuse myself by such a thought.
Francesca may not love me, may love him—
Indeed she ought; but when an angel comes
To play the wanton on this filthy earth,
Then I'll believe her guilty. Look you, sir!
Am I quite calm?
Capt.
Quite calm, my lord.
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You see
No trace of passion on my face?—No sign
Of ugly humors, doubts, or fears, or aught
That may disfigure God's intelligence?
I have a grievous charge against you, sir,
That may involve your life; and if you doubt
The candor of my judgment, choose your time:
Shall I arraign you now?
Capt.
Now, if you please.
I'll trust my cause to you and innocence
At any time. I am not conscious—
Lan.
Pshaw!
I try myself, not you. And I am calm—
That is your verdict—and dispassionate?
Capt.
So far as I can judge.
Lan.
'T is well, 't is well!
Then I will ride to Rimini. Good-night!
[Exit.]
[The others look after him, amazedly, and exeunt.]
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