University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Rimini. A Room in the Castle. Lanciotto discovered reading.
Lanciotto.
O! fie, philosophy! This Seneca
Revels in wealth, and whines about the poor!
Talks of starvation while his banquet waits,
And fancies that a two hours' appetite
Throws light on famine! Doubtless he can tell,
As he skips nimbly through his dancing-girls,
How sad it is to limp about the world
A sightless cripple! Let him feel the crutch
Wearing against his heart, and then I 'd hear
This sage talk glibly; or provide a pad,
Stuffed with his soft philosophy, to ease
His aching shoulder. Pshaw! he never felt,
Or pain would choke his frothy utterance.
'T is easy for the doctor to compound
His nauseous simples for a sick man's health;
But let him swallow them, for his disease,
Without wry faces. Ah! the tug is there.
Show me philosophy in rags, in want,
Sick of a fever, with a back like mine,
Creeping to wisdom on these legs, and I
Will drink its comforts. Out! away with you!
There 's no such thing as real philosophy!
[Throws down the book.]
(Enter Pepe.)
Here is a sage who'll teach a courtier
The laws of etiquette, a statesman rule,
A soldier discipline, a poet verse,
And each mechanic his distinctive trade;
Yet bring him to his motley, and how wide
He shoots from reason! We can understand
All business but our own, and thrust advice
In every gaping cranny of the world;
While habit shapes us to our own dull work,
And reason nods above his proper task.
Just so philosophy would rectify
All things abroad, and be a jade at home.
Pepe, what think you of the Emperor's aim
Towards Hungary?

Pepe.
A most unwise design;
For mark, my lord—

Lan.
Why, there! the fact cries out.
Here 's motley thinking for a diadem!—
Ay, and more wisely in his own regard.

Pepe.
You flout me, cousin.

Lan.
Have you aught that 's new?—
Some witty trifle, some absurd conceit?

Pepe.
Troth, no.

Lan.
Why not give up the Emperor,
And bend your wisdom on your duties, Pepe?

Pepe.
Because the Emperor has more need of wisdom
Than the most barren fool of wit.

Lan.
Well said!
Mere habit brings the fool back to his art.
This jester is a rare philosopher.
Teach me philosophy, good fool.

Pepe.
No need.
You'll get a teacher when you take a wife.
If she do not instruct you in more arts
Than Aristotle ever thought upon,
The good old race of woman has declined
Into a sort of male stupidity.
I had a sweetheart once, she lectured grandly;
No matter on what subject she might hit,
'T was all the same, she could talk and she would.
She had no silly modesty; she dashed
Straight in the teeth of any argument,
And talked you deaf, dumb, blind. Whatever struck
Upon her ear, by some machinery,
Set her tongue wagging. Thank the Lord, she died!—
Dropped in the middle of a fierce harangue,
Like a spent horse. It was an even thing,
Whether she talked herself or me to death.
The latest sign of life was in her tongue;
It wagged till sundown, like a serpent's tail,
Long after all the rest of her was cold.
Alas! poor Zippa!

Lan.
Were you married, fool?

Pepe.
Married! Have I the scars upon me? No;
I fell in love; and that was bad enough,
And far enough for a mere fool to go.
Married! why, marriage is love's purgatory,
Without a heaven beyond.

Lan.
Fie, atheist!
Would you abolish marriage?

Pepe.
Yes.

Lan.
What?

Pepe.
Yes.

Lan.
Depopulate the world?

Pepe.
No fear of that.
I 'd have no families, no Malatesti,
Strutting about the land, with pedigrees
And claims bequeathed them by their ancestors;
No fellows vaporing of their royal blood;
No one to seize a whole inheritance,
And rob the other children of the earth.
By Jove! you should not know your fathers, even!
I 'd have you spring, like toadstools, from the soil—
Mere sons of women—nothing more nor less—
All base-born, and all equal. There, my lord,
There is a simple commonwealth for you!
In which aspiring merit takes the lead,
And birth goes begging.

Lan.
It is so, in truth;
And by the simplest means I ever heard.

Pepe.
Think of it, cousin. Tell it to your friends,
The statesmen, soldiers, and philosophers;
Noise it about the earth, and let it stir
The sluggish spirits of the multitudes.
Pursue the thought, scan it, from end to end,
Through all its latent possibilities.
It is a great seed dropped, I promise you,
And it must sprout. Thought never wholly dies;
It only wants a name—a hard Greek name—
Some few apostles, who may live on it—
A crowd of listeners, with the average dulness
That man possesses—and we organize;
Spread our new doctrine, like a general plague;
Talk of man's progress and development,
Wrongs of society, the march of mind,
The Devil, Doctor Faustus, and what not;
And, lo! this pretty world turns upside down,
All with a fool's idea!

Lan.
By Jupiter,
You hit our modern teachers to a hair!
I knew this fool was a philosopher.
Pepe is right. Mechanic means advance;
Nature bows down to science' haughty tread,
And turns the wheel of smutty artifice;
New governments arise, dilate, decay,
And foster creeds and churches to their tastes:
At each advance, we cry, “Behold, the end!”
Till some fresh wonder breaks upon the age.
But man, the moral creature, midst it all
Stands still unchanged; nor moves towards virtue more,
Nor comprehends the mysteries in himself,
More than when Plato taught academies,
Or Zeno thundered from his Attic porch.

Pepe.
I know not that; I only want my scheme
Tried for a while. I am a politician,
A wrongs-of-man man. Hang philosophy!
Let metaphysics swallow, at a gulp,
Its last two syllables, and purge itself
Clean of its filthy humors! I am one
Ready for martyrdom, for stake and fire,
If I can make my great idea take root!
Zounds! cousin, if I had an audience,
I 'd make you shudder at my eloquence!
I have an itching to reform the world.

Lan.
Begin at home, then.

Pepe.
Home is not my sphere;
Heaven picked me out to teach my fellow-men.
I am a very firebrand of truth—
A self-consuming, doomed, devoted brand—
That burn to ashes while I light the world!
I feel it in me. I am moved, inspired,
Stirred into utterance, by some mystic power
Of which I am the humble instrument.

Lan.
A bad digestion, sage, a bilious turn,
A gnawing stomach, or a pinching shoe.

Pepe.
O! hear, but spare the scoffer! Spare the wretch
Who sneers at the anointed man of truth!
When we reached that, I and my followers
Would rend you limb from limb. There!—ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
Have I not caught the slang these fellows preach;
A grand, original idea, to back it;
And all the stock in trade of a reformer?

Lan.
You have indeed; nor do I wonder, Pepe.
Fool as you are, I promise you success
In your new calling, if you'll set it up.
The thing is far too simple.

[Trumpet sounds within.]
Pepe.
Hist! my lord.

Lan.
That calls me to myself.

Pepe.
At that alarm,
All Rimini leaped up upon its feet.
Cousin, your bridal-train. You groan! 'Ods wounds!
Here is the bridegroom sorely malcontent—
The sole sad face in Rimini. Since morn,
A quiet man could hardly walk the streets,
For flowers and streamers. All the town is gay.
Perhaps 't is merry o'er your misery.

Lan.
Perhaps; but that it knows not.

Pepe.
Yes, it does:
It knows that when a man 's about to wed,
He 's ripe to laugh at. Cousin, tell me, now,
Why is Paolo on the way so long?
Ravenna 's but eight leagues from Rimini—

Lan.
That 's just the measure of your tongue, good fool.
You trouble me. I 've had enough of you—
Begone!

Pepe.
I 'm going; but you see I limp.
Have pity on a cripple, gentle Count.

[Limps.]
Lan.
Pepe!

Pepe.
A miracle, a miracle!
See, see, my lord, at Pepe's saintly name
The lame jog on.

Malatesta.
(Without.)
Come, Lanciotto!

Lan.
Hark!
My father calls.

Pepe.
If he were mine, I 'd go—
That 's a good boy!

[Pats Lanciotto's back.]
Lan.
(Starting.)
Hands off! you'll rue it else!

[Exit.]
Pepe.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! I laid my hand upon his hump!
Heavens, how he squirmed! And what a wish I had
To cry, Ho! camel! leap upon his back,
And ride him to the devil! So, we 've had
A pleasant flitting round philosophy!
The Count and Fool bumped heads, and struck ideas
Out by the contact! Quite a pleasant talk—
A friendly conversation, nothing more—
'Twixt nobleman and jester. Ho! my bird,
I can toss lures as high as any man.
So, I amuse you with my harmless wit?
Pepe 's your friend now—you can trust in him—
An honest, simple fool! Just try it once,
You ugly, misbegotten clod of dirt!
Ay, but the hump—the touch upon the hump—
The start and wriggle—that was rare! Ha! ha!

[Exit, laughing.]

SCENE II.

The Same. The Grand Square before the Castle. Soldiers on guard, with banners, &c. Citizens, in holiday dresses, cross the scene. The houses are hung with trophies, banners, garlands, &c. Enter Malatesta, with guards, attendants, &c.
Malatesta.
Captain, take care the streets be not choked up
By the rude rabble. Send to Cæsar's bridge
A strong detachment of your men, and clear
The way before them. See that nothing check
The bride's first entrance into Rimini.
Station your veterans in the front. Count Guido
Comes with his daughter, and his eyes are sharp.
Keep up a show of strength before him, sir;
And set some laborers to work upon
The broken bastion. Make all things look bright;
As if we stood in eager readiness,
And high condition, to begin a war.

Captain.
I will, my lord.

Mal.
Keep Guido in your eye;
And if you see him looking over-long
On any weakness of our walls, just file
Your bulkiest fellows round him; or get up
A scuffle with the people; anything—
Even if you break a head or two—to draw
His vision off. But where our strength is great,
Take heed to make him see it. You conceive?

Capt.
Trust me, my lord.

[Exit with guards.]
(Enter Pepe.)
Pepe.
Room, room! A hall, a hall!
I pray you, good man, has the funeral passed?

Mal.
Who is it asks?

Pepe.
Pepe of Padua,
A learned doctor of uncivil law.

Mal.
But how a funeral?

Pepe.
You are weak of wit.
Francesca of Ravenna 's borne to church,
And never issues thence.

Mal.
How, doctor, pray?

Pepe.
Now, for a citizen of Rimini,
You 're sadly dull. Does she not issue thence
Fanny of Rimini? A glorious change,—
A kind of resurrection in the flesh!

Mal.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! thou cunning villain! I was caught.
I own it, doctor.

Pepe.
(Aside.)
This old fool would laugh
To see me break a straw, because the bits
Were of unequal lengths. My character
Carries more dulness, in the guise of wit,
Than would suffice to break an ass's back.
(Distant shouts, music, &c.)
Hark! here comes Jeptha's daughter, jogging on
With timbrels and with dances.

Mal.
Jeptha's daughter!
How so?

Pepe.
Her father's sacrifice.

Mal.
(Laughing.)
Ho! ho!
You'll burst my belt! O! you outrageous wretch,
To jest at Scripture!

Pepe.
You outlandish heathen,
'T is not in Scripture!

Mal.
Is it not?

Pepe.
No more
Than you are in heaven. Mere Hebrew history.
She went up to the mountains, to bewail
The too-long keeping of her honesty.
There 's woman for you! there 's a character!
What man would ever think of such a thing?
Ah! we of Rimini have little cause
For such a sorrow. Would she 'd been my wife!
I'll marry any woman in her case.

Mal.
Why, Pepe?

Pepe.
Why? because, in two months' time,
Along comes father Jeptha with his knife,
And there 's an end. Where is your sacrifice?
Where 's Isaac, Abraham? Build your altar up:
One pile will do for both.

Mal.
That 's Scripture, sure.

Pepe.
Then I'm a ram, and you may slaughter me
In Isaac's stead.

Mal.
Here comes the vanguard. Where,
Where is that laggard?

Pepe.
At the mirror, uncle,
Making himself look beautiful. He comes,
[Looking out.]
Fresh as a bridegroom! Mark his doublet's fit
Across the shoulders, and his hose!—
By Jove, he nearly looks like any other man!

Mal.
You 'd best not let him hear you. Sirrah, knave,
I have a mind to swinge you!

[Seizes his ear.]
Pepe.
Loose my ear!
You 've got the wrong sow, swineherd! You 're unjust.
Being his father, I was fool sufficient
To think you fashioned him to suit yourself,
By way of a variety. The thought
Was good enough, the practice damnable.

Mal.
Hush! or I'll clap you in the pillory.

(Enter Lanciotto.)
Pepe.
(Sings.)
(Music, &c., within.)

Lanciotto.
You 're a raven, croaker.

Pepe.
And you no white crow, to insure us luck.

Mal.
There 's matter in his croak.

Pepe.
There always is;
But men lack ears.

Mal.
Then eyes must do our work.
Old Guido shall be looked to. If his force
Appear too great, I'll camp him out of town.

Lan.
Father, you are a sorry host.

Mal.
Well, well,
I 'm a good landlord, though. I do not like
This flight of eagles more than Pepe. 'Sdeath!
Guido was ever treacherous.

Lan.
My lord,
You mar my holiday by such a thought.
My holiday! Dear saints! it seems to me
That all of you are mocking me.

Pepe.
So—so—
Guido was ever treacherous?—so—so!

Mal.
So—so! How so?

Pepe.
What if this treachery
Run in the blood? We'll tap a vein then—so!

Mal.
Sew up your mouth, and mind your fooling, fool!

Pepe.
Am I not fooling? Why, my lord, I thought
The fooling exquisite.

Lan.
(Aside.)
This thoughtless knave
Hits near us sometimes with his random shafts.
Marriage for me! I cannot comprehend,
I cannot take it to my heart; the thing
Seems gross, absurd, ridiculous. Ah! well,
My father bears the folly of it all;
I 'm but an actor in his comedy.
My part is bad, but I must through with it.

[Retires.]
(Shouts, music, &c., within.)
Pepe.
Look! here 's the whole parade! Mark yonder knave—
The head one with the standard. Nature, nature!
Hadst thou a hand in such a botch-work? Why,
A forest of his legs would scarcely make
A bunch of fagots. Mark old Guido, too!
He looks like Judas with his silver. Ho!
Here 's news from sweet Ravenna!

Mal.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! ha!

Pepe.
Ah! now the bride!—that 's something—she is toothsome.
Look you, my lord—now, while the progress halts—
Cousin Paolo, has he got the dumps?
Mercy! to see him, one might almost think
'T was his own marriage. What a doleful face!
The boy is ill. He caught a fever, uncle,
Travelling across the marshes. Physic! physic!
If he be really dying, get a doctor,
And cut the matter short. 'T were merciful.

Mal.
For heaven's sake, cease your clamor! I shall have
No face to meet them else. 'T is strange, for all:
What ails Paolo?

Pepe.
Dying, by this hand!

Mal.
Then I will hang you.

Pepe.
Don't take up my craft.
Wit 's such a stranger in your brain that I
Scarce knew my lodger venturing from your mouth.
Now they come on again.

Mal.
Stand back!

Pepe.
(Looking round.)
The bridegroom?
He flies betimes, before the bride shows fight.

[Walks back, looking for Lanciotto.]
(Music, shouts, ringing of bells, &c. Enter Men-at-arms, with banners, &c., Guido, Cardinal, Knights, Attendants, &c.;

---

415

then Paolo, conducting Francesca, followed by Ritta, Ladies, Pages, &c., and other Men-at-arms. They file around the stage, and halt.)
Mal.
Welcome, to Rimini, Count Guido! Welcome,
And fair impressions of our poor abode,
To you, my daughter! You are well returned,
My son, Paolo! Let me bless you, son.
[Paolo approaches.]
How many spears are in old Guido's train?

[Apart to Paolo.]
Paolo.
Some ten-score.

Mal.
Footmen?

Paolo.
Double that.

Mal.
'T is well.
Again I bid you welcome! Make no show
Of useless ceremony with us. Friends
Have closer titles than the empty name.
We have provided entertainment, Count,
For all your followers, in the midst of us.
We trust the veterans of Rimini
May prove your soldiers that our courtesy
Does not lag far behind their warlike zeal.
Let us drop Guelf and Ghibelin henceforth,
Coupling the names of Rimini and Ravenna
As bridegroom's to his bride's.

Guido.
Count Malatesta,
I am no rhetorician, or my words
Might keep more even with the love I feel:
Simply, I thank you. With an honest hand
I take the hand which you extend to me,
And hope our grasp may never lose its warmth.—
You marked the bastion by the water-side?
Weak as a bulrush.

[Apart to a Knight.]
Knight.
Tottering weak, my lord.

Gui.
Remember it; and when you 're private, sir,
Draw me a plan.

Knight.
I will, my lord.

Gui.
How 's this?
I do not see my future son-in-law.

Mal.
Lanciotto!

Lan.
(Advancing.)
I am here, my lord.

Francesca.
(Starting.)
O! heaven!
Is that my husband, Count Paolo? You,
You then, among the rest, have played me false!
He is— [Apart to Paolo.]


Paolo.
My brother.

Lan.
(Aside.)
Ha! she turns from me.

Pepe.
(Approaching Lanciotto, sings.)
Around, around the lady turned,
She turned not to her lord;
She turned around to a gallant, gallant knight,
Who ate at his father's board.
A pretty ballad! all on one string though.

Lan.
Pepe, go hence! (Pepe retires.)

(Aside.)
I saw her start and pale,
Turn off with horror; as if she had seen—
What?—simply me. For, am I not enough,
And something over, to make ladies quail,
Start, hide their faces, whisper to their friends,
Point at me—dare she?—and perform such tricks
As women will when monsters blast their sight?
O! saints above me, have I come so low?
Yon damsel of Ravenna shall bewail
That start and shudder. I am mad, mad, mad!
I must be patient. They have trifled with her:
Lied to her, lied! There 's half the misery
Of this broad earth, all crowded in one word.
Lied, lied!—Who has not suffered from a lie?
They 're all aghast—all looking at me too.
Francesca 's whiter than the brow of fear:
Paolo talks.—Brother, is that well meant?
What if I draw my sword, and fight my way
Out of this cursed town? 'T would be relief.
Has shame no hiding-place? I 've touched the depth
Of human infamy, and there I rest.
By heaven, I'll brave this business out! Shall they
Say at Ravenna that Count Lanciotto,
Who 's driven their shivering squadrons to their homes,
Haggard with terror, turned before their eyes
And slunk away? They'll look me from the field,
When we encounter next. Why should not I
Strut with my shapeless body, as old Guido
Struts with his shapeless heart? I'll do it! (Offers, but shrinks back.)
'Sdeath!
Am I so false as to forswear myself?
Lady Francesca!

[Approaches Francesca.]
Fran.
Sir—my lord—

Lan.
Dear lady,
I have a share in your embarrassment,
And know the feelings that possess you now.

Fran.
O! you do not.

Paolo.
(Advancing.)
My lady—

Lan.
Gentle brother,
Leave this to me. [Paolo retires.]


Fran.
Pray do not send him off.

Lan.
'T is fitter so.

Fran.
He comforts me.

Lan.
Indeed?
Do you need comfort?

Fran.
No, no—pardon me!
But then—he is—you are—

Lan.
Take breath, and speak.

Fran.
I am confused, 't is true. But, then, my lord,
You are a stranger to me; and Paolo
I 've known so long!

Lan.
Since yesterday.

Fran.
Ah! well:
But the relationship between us two
Is of so close a nature, while the knowledge,
That each may have of each, so slender is
That the two jar. Besides, Paolo is
Nothing to me, while you are everything.
Can I not act? [Aside.]


Lan.
I scarcely understand.
You say your knowledge of me, till to-day,
Was incomplete. Has naught been said of me
By Count Paolo or your father?

Fran.
Yes;
But nothing definite.

Lan.
Perchance, no hint
As to my ways, my feelings, manners, or—
Or—or—as I was saying—ha! ha!—or—
[Laughing.]
As to my person?

Fran.
Nothing, as to that.

Lan.
To what?

Fran.
Your—person.

Lan.
That 's the least of all.
[Turns aside.]
Now, had I Guido of Ravenna's head
Under this heel, I 'd grind it into dust!
False villain, to betray his simple child!
And thou, Paolo—not a whit behind—
Helping his craft with inconsiderate love!—
Lady Francesca, when my brother left,
I charged him, as he loved me, to conceal
Nothing from you that bore on me: and now
That you have seen me, and conversed with me,
If you object to anything in me,—
Go, I release you.

Fran.
But Ravenna's peace?

Lan.
Shall not be perilled.

Gui.
(Coming behind, whispers her.)
Trust him not, my child;
I know his ways; he 'd rather fight than wed.
'T is but a wish to have the war afoot.
Stand firm for poor Ravenna!

Lan.
Well, my lady,
Shall we conclude a lasting peace between us
By truce or marriage rites?

Gui.
(Whispers her.)
The devil tempts thee:
Think of Ravenna, think of me!

Lan.
My lord,
I see my father waits you.

[Guido retires.]
Fran.
Gentle sir,
You do me little honor in the choice.

Lan.
My aim is justice.

Fran.
Would you cast me off?

Lan.
Not for the world, if honestly obtained;
Not for the world would I obtain you falsely.

Fran.
The rites were half concluded ere we met.

Lan.
Meeting, would you withdraw?

Fran.
No. Bitter word!

[Aside.]
Lan.
No! Are you dealing fairly?

Fran.
I have said.

Lan.
O! rapture, rapture! Can it be that I—
Now I'll speak plainly; for a choice like thine
Implies such love as woman never felt.
Love me! Then monsters beget miracles,
And Heaven provides where human means fall short.
Lady, I'll worship thee! I'll line thy path
With suppliant kings! Thy waiting-maids shall be
Unransomed princesses! Mankind shall bow
One neck to thee, as Persia's multitudes
Before the rising sun! From this small town,
This centre of my conquests, I will spread
An empire touching the extremes of earth!
I'll raise once more the name of ancient Rome;
And what she swayed she shall reclaim again!
If I grow mad because you smile on me,
Think of the glory of thy love; and know
How hard it is, for such a one as I,
To gaze unshaken on divinity!
There 's no such love as mine alive in man.
From every corner of the frowning earth,
It has been crowded back into my heart.
Now, take it all! If that be not enough,
Ask, and thy wish shall be omnipotent!
Your hand. (Takes her hand.)
It wavers.

Fran.
So does not my heart.

Lan.
Brave! Thou art every way a soldier's wife;
Thou shouldst have been a Cæsar's! Father, hark!
I blamed your judgment, only to perceive
The weakness of my own.

Mal.
What means all this?

Lan.
It means that this fair lady—though I gave
Release to her, and to Ravenna—placed
The liberal hand, which I restored to her,
Back in my own, of her own free good-will.
Is it not wonderful?

Mal.
How so?

Lan.
How so!

Paolo.
Alas! 'tis as I feared!

[Aside.]
Mal.
You 're humble?—How?

Lan.
Now shall I cry aloud to all the world,
Make my deformity my pride, and say,
Because she loves me, I may boast of it?
[Aside.]
No matter, father, I am happy; you,
As the blessed cause, shall share my happiness.
Let us be moving. Revels, dashed with wine,
Shall multiply the joys of this sweet day!
There 's not a blessing in the cup of life
I have not tasted of within an hour!

Fran.
(Aside.)
Thus I begin the practice of deceit,
Taught by deceivers, at a fearful cost.
The bankrupt gambler has become the cheat,
And lives by arts that erewhile ruined me.
Where it will end, Heaven knows; but I—
I have betrayed the noblest heart of all!

Lan.
Draw down thy dusky vapors, sullen night—
Refuse, ye stars, to shine upon the world—
Let everlasting blackness wrap the sun,
And whisper terror to the universe!
We need ye not! we'll blind ye, if ye dare
Peer with lack-lustre on our revelry!
I have at heart a passion, that would make
All nature blaze with recreated light!

[Exeunt.]