University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Same. The Garden of the Castle. Enter Pepe, singing.
Pepe.

[Hides behind the bushes.]
(Enter Paolo and Francesca, followed by Ritta. He seats himself in an arbor, and reads. Ritta and Francesca advance.)
Francesca.
Ritta.

Ritta.
My lady.

Fran.
You look tired.

Rit.
I'm not.

Fran.
Go to your chamber.

Rit.
I would rather stay,
If it may please you. I require a walk
And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers,
To stir my blood. I am not very well.

Fran.
I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear.
Paolo has a book to read to me.

Rit.
What, the romance? I should so love to hear!
I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo
Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice.
I 'm weary now, quite weary, and would rest.

Fran.
Just now you wished to walk.

Rit.
Ah! did I so?
Walking, or resting, I would stay with you.

Fran.
The Count objects. He told me, yesterday,
That you were restless while he read to me;
And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed,
And yawned, until he almost paused.

Rit.
Indeed
I will be quiet.

Fran.
But he will not read.

Rit.
Let me go ask him.

[Runs towards Paolo.]
Fran.
Stop! Come hither, Ritta.
[She returns.]
I saw your new embroidery in the hall,—
The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes;
It should be finished.

Rit.
I will bring it here.—
O no! my finger 's sore; I cannot work.

Fran.
Go to your room.

Rit.
Let me remain, I pray.
'T is better, lady; you may wish for me:
I know you will be sorry if I go.

Fran.
I shall not, girl. Do as I order you.
Will you be headstrong?

Rit.
Do you wish it, then?

Fran.
Yes, Ritta.

Rit.
Yet you made pretexts enough,
Before you ordered.

Fran.
You are insolent.
Will you remain against my will?

Rit.
Yes, lady;
Rather than not remain.

Fran.
Ha! impudent!

Rit.
You wrong me, gentle mistress. Love like mine
Does not ask questions of propriety,
Nor stand on manners. I would do you good,
Even while you smote me; I would push you back,
With my last effort, from the crumbling edge
Of some high rock o'er which you toppled me.

Fran.
What do you mean?

Rit.
I know.

Fran.
Know what?

Rit.
Too much.
Pray, do not ask me.

Fran.
Speak!

Rit.
I know—dear lady,
Be not offended—

Fran.
Tell me, simpleton!

Rit.
You know I worship you; you know I'd walk
Straight into ruin for a whim of yours;
You know—

Fran.
I know you act the fool. Talk sense!

Rit.
I know Paolo loves you.

Fran.
Should he not?
He is my brother.

Rit.
More than brother should.

Fran.
Ha! are you certain?

Rit.
Yes, of more than that.

Fran.
Of more?

Rit.
Yes, lady; for you love him too.
I 've said it! Fling me to the carrion crows,
Kill me by inches, boil me in the pot
Count Guido promised me,—but, O, beware!
Back, while you may! Make me the sufferer,
But save yourself!

Fran.
Now, are you not ashamed,
To look me in the face with that bold brow?
I am amazed!

Rit.
I am a woman, lady;
I too have been in love; I know its ways,
Its arts, and its deceits. Your frowning face,
And seeming indignation, do not cheat.
Your heart is in my hand.

Paolo.
(Calls.)
Francesca!

Fran.
Hence,
Thou wanton-hearted minion! hence, I say!—
And never look me in the face again!—
Hence, thou insulting slave!

Rit.
(Clinging to her.)
O lady, lady—

Fran.
Begone!

[Throws her off.]
Rit.
I have no friends—no one to love—
O, spare me!

Fran.
Hence!

Rit.
Was it for this I loved—
Cared for you more than my own happiness—
Ever at heart your slave—without a wish
For greater recompense than your stray smiles?

Paolo.
(Calls.)
Francesca!

Fran.
Hurry!

Rit.
I am gone. Alas!
God bless you, lady! God take care of you,
When I am far away! Alas, alas!

[Exit weeping.]
Fran.
Poor girl!—but were she all the world to me,
And held my future in her tender grasp,
I 'd cast her off, without a second thought,
To savage death, for dear Paolo's sake!
Paolo, hither! Now he comes to me;
I feel his presence, though I see him not,
Stealing upon me like the fervid glow
Of morning sunshine. Now he comes too near—
He touches me—O Heaven!

Paolo.
Our poem waits.
I have been reading while you talked with Ritta.
How did you get her off?

Fran.
By some device.
She will not come again.

Paolo.
I hate the girl:
She seems to stand between me and the light.
And now for the romance. Where left we off?

Fran.
Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra strayed
Along the forest, in the youth of May.
You marked the figure of the birds that sang
Their melancholy farewell to the sun—
Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified—
Like gentle mourners o'er a great man's grave.
Was it not there? No, no; 't was where they sat
Down on the bank, by one impulsive wish
That neither uttered.

Paolo.
(Turning over the book.)
Here it is. (Reads.)
“So sat
Guenevra and Sir Lancelot”—'T were well
To follow them in that.

[They sit upon a bank.]
Fran.
I listen: read.
Nay, do not; I can wait, if you desire.

Paolo.
My dagger frets me; let me take it off.
[Rises.]
In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by.
[Lays aside his dagger, and sits again.]
Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day.
[Reads.]
“So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot,
Under the blaze of the descending sun,
But all his cloudy splendors were forgot.
Each bore a thought, the only secret one,
Which each had hidden from the other's heart,
Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun.
Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start,
Put by the ripples of her golden hair,
Gazing upon her with his lips apart.
He marvelled human thing could be so fair;
Essayed to speak; but, in the very deed,
His words expired of self-betrayed despair.
Little she helped him, at his direst need,
Roving her eyes o'er hill, and wood, and sky,
Peering intently at the meanest weed;
Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot's eye.
Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe,
Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh;
Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew;
Until she felt Sir Lancelot's arm around
Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew.
While through his fingers timidly he wound
Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed
Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound:
For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed,
Firing her blood with most contagious heat,
Till brow, check, neck, and bosom, all were flushed.
Each heart was listening to the other beat.
As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk,
Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet,
So met their faces. Down the forest walk
Sir Lancelot looked—he looked cast, west, north, south—
No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk:
She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth.”
[Kisses Francesca.]
I'll read no more!

[Starts up, dashing down the book.]
Fran.
Paolo!

Paolo.
I am mad!
The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er,
The straining cord has broken, and my heart
Riots in free delirium! O, Heaven!
I struggled with it, but it mastered me!
I fought against it, but it beat me down!
I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me;
And every tear rolled backward on my heart,
To blight and poison!

Fran.
And dost thou regret?

Paolo.
The love? No, no! I'd dare it all again,
Its direst agonies and meanest fears,
For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse!
Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand;
Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge!
Thou canst not name a terror so profound
That I will look or falter from. Be bold!
I know thy love—I knew it long ago—
Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp
The peril to my breast, and ask of thee
A kindred desperation.

Fran.
(Throwing herself into his arms.)
Take me all,—
Body and soul! The women of our clime
Do never give away but half a heart:
I have not part to give, part to withhold,
In selfish safety. When I saw thee first,
Riding alone amid a thousand men,
Sole in the lustre of thy majesty,
And Guido da Polenta said to me,
“Daughter, behold thy husband!” with a bound
My heart went forth to meet thee. He deceived,
He lied to me—ah! that 's the aptest word—
And I believed. Shall I not turn again,
And meet him, craft with craft? Paolo, love.
Thou 'rt dull—thou 'rt dying like a feeble fire
Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze,
A flash of glory, and a long, long night?

Paolo.
No, darling, no! You could not bend me back;
My course is onward; but my heart is sick
With coming fears.

Fran.
Away with them! Must I
Teach thee to love? and reïnform the ear
Of thy spent passion with some sorcery
To raise the chilly dead?

Paolo.
Thy lips have not
A sorcery to rouse me as this spell.

[Kisses her.]
Fran.
I give thy kisses back to thee again:
And, like a spendthrift, only ask of thee
To take while I can give.

Paolo.
Give, give forever!
Have we not touched the height of human bliss?
And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back
Among the prostrate, did we not soar once?—
Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods
On high Olympus? If they cast us, now,
Amid the furies, shall we not go down
With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips,
And richer memories settled in our hearts?
Francesca.

Fran.
Love?

Paolo.
The sun is sinking low
Upon the ashes of his fading pyre,
And gray possesses the eternal blue;
The evening star is stealing after him,
Fixed, like a beacon, on the prow of night;
The world is shutting up its heavy eye
Upon the stir and bustle of to-day;—
On what shall it awake?

Fran.
On love that gives
Joy at all seasons, changes night to day,
Makes sorrow smile, plucks out the barbéd dart
Of moaning anguish, pours celestial balm
In all the gaping wounds of earth, and lulls
The nervous fancies of unsheltered fear
Into a slumber sweet as infancy's!
On love that laughs at the impending sword,
And puts aside the shield of caution: cries,
To all its enemies, “Come, strike me now!—
Now, while I hold my kingdom, while my crown
Of amaranth and myrtle is yet green,
Undimmed, unwithered; for I cannot tell
That I shall e'er be happier!” Dear Paolo,
Would you lapse down from misery to death,
Tottering through sorrow and infirmity?
Or would you perish at a single blow,
Cut off amid your wildest revelry,
Falling among the wine-cups and the flowers,
And tasting Bacchus when your drowsy sense
First gazed around eternity? Come, love!
The present whispers joy to us; we'll hear
The voiceless future when its turn arrives.

Paolo.
Thou art a siren. Sing, forever sing!
Hearing thy voice, I cannot tell what fate
Thou hast provided when the song is o'er;—
But I will venture it.

Fran.
In, in, my love!

[Exeunt.]
(Pepe steals from behind the bushes.)
Pepe.
O, brother Lanciotto!—O, my stars!—
If this thing lasts, I simply shall go mad!
[Laughs, and rolls on the ground.]
O Lord! to think my pretty lady puss
Had tricks like this, and we ne'er know of it!
I tell you, Lanciotto, you and I
Must have a patent for our foolery!
“She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth!”—
There 's the beginning; where 's the end of it?
O poesy! debauch thee only once,
And thou 'rt the greatest wanton in the world!
O cousin Lanciotto—ho, ho, ho!
[Laughing.]
Can a man die of laughter? Here we sat;
Mistress Francesca so demure and calm;
Paolo grand, poetical, sublime!—
Eh! what is this? Paolo's dagger? Good!
Here is more proof, sweet cousin Broken-back.
“In thoughts of love, we'll lay our weapons by!”
[Mimicking Paolo.]
That 's very pretty! Here 's its counterpart:
In thoughts of hate, we'll pick them up again!
[Takes the dagger.]
Now for my soldier, now for crook-backed Mars!
Ere long all Rimini will be ablaze.
He'll kill me? Yes: what then? That 's nothing new,
Except to me; I'll bear for custom's sake.
More blood will follow; like the royal sun,
I shall go down in purple. Fools for luck;
The proverb holds like iron. I must run,
Ere laughter smother me.—O, ho, ho, ho!

[Exit, laughing.]

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;
Fashions excuses for me, schools her heart
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,
When they are flushed with seeming victory,
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.]
Ha!
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.—
O! you may rave, curse, howl, and tear your hair;
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!

Pepe.
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.
After the kiss, up springs our amorous Count,
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?

Pepe.
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.]
Lan.
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.

Lan.
(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.

Lan.
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.]

SCENE III.

Rimini. The Garden of the Castle. Enter Paolo and Francesca.
Francesca.
Thou hast resolved?

Paolo.
I 've sworn it.

Fran.
Ah! you men
Can talk of love and duty in a breath;
Love while you like, forget when you are tired,
And salve your falsehood with some wholesome saw;
But we, poor women, when we give our hearts,
Give all, lose all, and never ask it back.

Paolo.
What couldst thou ask for that I have not given?
With love I gave thee manly probity,
Innocence, honor, self-respect, and peace.
Lanciotto will return, and how shall I—
O! shame, to think of it!—how shall I look
My brother in the face? take his frank hand?
Return his tender glances? I should blaze
With guilty blushes.

Fran.
Thou canst forsake me, then,
To spare thyself a little bashful pain?
Paolo, dost thou know what 't is for me,
A woman—nay, a dame of highest rank—
To lose my purity? to walk a path
Whose slightest slip may fill my ear with sounds
That hiss me out to infamy and death?
Have I no secret pangs, no self-respect,
No husband's look to bear? O! worse than these,
I must endure his loathsome touch; be kind
When he would dally with his wife, and smile
To see him play thy part. Pah! sickening thought!
From that thou art exempt. Thou shalt not go!
Thou dost not love me!

Paolo.
Love thee! Standing here,
With countless miseries upon my head,
I say, my love for thee grows day by day.
It palters with my conscience, blurs my thoughts
Of duty, and confuses my ideas
Of right and wrong. Ere long, it will persuade
My shaking manhood that all this is just.

Fran.
Let it! I'll blazon it to all the world,
Ere I will lose thee. Nay, if I had choice,
Between our love and my lost innocence,
I tell thee calmly, I would dare again
The deed which we have done. O! thou art cruel
To fly me, like a coward, for thy ease.
When thou art gone, thou 'lt flatter thy weak heart
With hopes and speculations; and thou 'lt swear
I suffer naught, because thou dost not see.
I will not live to bear it!

Paolo.
Die,—'t were best;
'T is the last desperate comfort of our sin.

Fran.
I'll kill myself!

Paolo.
And so would I, with joy;
But crime has made a craven of me. O!
For some good cause to perish in! Something
A man might die for, looking in God's face;
Not slinking out of life with guilt like mine
Piled on the shoulders of a suicide!

Fran.
Where wilt thou go?

Paolo.
I care not; anywhere
Out of this Rimini. The very things
That made the pleasures of my innocence
Have turned against me. There is not a tree,
Nor house, nor church, nor monument, whose face
Took hold upon my thoughts, that does not frown
Balefully on me. From their marble tombs
My ancestors scowl at me; and the night
Thickens to hear their hisses. I would pray,
But heaven jeers at it. Turn where'er I will,
A curse pursues me.

Fran.
Heavens! O, say not so!
I never cursed thee, love; I never moved
My little finger, ere I looked to thee
For my instruction.

Paolo.
But thy gentleness
Seems to reproach me; and, instead of joy,
It whispers horror!

Fran.
Cease! cease!

Paolo.
I must go.

Fran.
And I must follow. All that I call life
Is bound in thee. I could endure for thee
More agonies than thou canst catalogue—
For thy sake, love—bearing the ill for thee!
With thee, the devils could not so contrive
That I would blench or falter from my love!
Without thee, heaven were torture!

Paolo.
I must go.

[Going.]
Fran.
O! no—Paolo—dearest!—

[Clinging to him.]
Paolo.
Loose thy hold!
'T is for thy sake, and Lanciotto's; I
Am as a cipher in the reckoning.
I have resolved. Thou canst but stretch the time.
Keep me to-day, and I will fly to-morrow—
Steal from thee like a thief.

[Struggles with her.]
Fran.
Paolo—love—
Indeed, you hurt me!—Do not use me thus!
Kill me, but do not leave me. I will laugh—
A long, gay, ringing laugh—if thou wilt draw
Thy pitying sword, and stab me to the heart!
(Enter Lanciotto behind.)
Nay, then, one kiss!

Lanciotto.
(Advancing between them)
Take it: 't will be the last.

Paolo.
Lo! Heaven is just!

Fran.
The last! so be it.

[Kisses Paolo.]
Lan.
Ha!
Dare you these tricks before my very face?

Fran.
Why not? I 've kissed him in the sight of heaven;
Are you above it?

Paolo.
Peace, Francesca, peace!

Lan.
Paolo—why, thou sad and downcast man,
Look up! I have some words to speak with thee.
Thou art not guilty?

Paolo.
Yes, I am. But she
Has been betrayed; so she is innocent.
Her father tampered with her. I—

Fran.
'T is false!
The guilt is mine. Paolo was entrapped
By love and cunning. I am shrewder far
Than you suspect.

Paolo.
Lanciotto, shut thy ears;
She would deceive thee.

Lan.
Silence, both of you!
Is guilt so talkative in its defence?
Then, let me make you judge and advocate
In your own cause. You are not guilty?

Paolo.
Yes.

Lan.
Deny it—but a word—say no. Lie, lie!
And I'll believe.

Paolo.
I dare not.

Lan.
Lady, you?

Fran.
If I might speak for him—

Lan.
It cannot be:
Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt?

Fran.
No! I assert it; but—

Lan.
In heaven's name, hold!
Will neither of you answer no to me?
A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape.
Bethink you, life is centred in this thing.
Speak! I will credit either. No reply?
What does your crime deserve?

Paolo.
Death.

Fran.
Death to both

Lan.
Well said! You speak the law of Italy;
And by the dagger you designed for me,
In Pepe's hand,—your bravo?

Paolo.
It is false!
If you received my dagger from his hand,
He stole it.

Lan.
There, sweet heaven, I knew! And now
You will deny the rest? You see, my friends,
How easy of belief I have become!—
How easy 't were to cheat me!

Paolo.
No; enough!
I will not load my groaning spirit more;
A lie would crush it.

Lan.
Brother, once you gave
Life to this wretched piece of workmanship,
When my own hand resolved its overthrow.
Revoke the gift.

[Offers to stab himself.]
Paolo.
(Preventing him.)
Hold, homicide!

Lan.
But think,
You and Francesca may live happily,
After my death, as only lovers can.

Paolo.
Live happily, after a deed like this!

Lan.
Now, look ye! there is not one hour of life
Among us three. Paolo, you are armed—
You have a sword, I but a dagger: see!
I mean to kill you.

Fran.
(Whispers Paolo.)
Give thy sword to me.

Paolo.
Away! thou 'rt frantic! I will never lift
This wicked hand against thee.

Lan.
Coward, slave!
Art thou so faint? Does Malatesta's blood
Run in thy puny veins? Take that!

[Strikes him.]
Paolo.
And more:
Thou canst not offer more than I will bear.

Lan.
Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt
Transformed thee to! Why, I have seen the time
When thou 'dst have struck at heaven for such a thing!
Art thou afraid?

Paolo.
I am.

Lan.
O! infamy!
Can man sink lower? I will wake thee, though:—
Thou shalt not die a coward. See! look here!

[Stabs Francesca.]
Fran.
O!—O!—

[Falls.]
Paolo.
Remorseless man, dare you do this,
And hope to live? Die, murderer!

[Draws, rushes at him, but pauses.]
Lan.
Strike, strike!
Ere thy heart fail.

Paolo.
I cannot.

[Throws away his sword.]
Lan.
Dost thou see
Yon bloated spider—hideous as myself—
Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig?
When he has touched it, one of us must die.
Here is the dagger.—Look at me, I say!
Keep your eyes from that woman! Look, think, choose!—
Turn here to me: thou shalt not look at her!

Paolo.
O, heaven!

Lan.
'T is done!

Paolo.
(Struggling with him.)
O! Lanciotto, hold!
Hold, for thy sake! Thou wilt repent this deed.

Lan.
I know it.

Fran.
(Rising.)
Help!—O! murder!—help, help, help!

[She totters towards them, and falls.]
Lan.
Our honor, boy!

[Stabs Paolo, he falls.]
Fran.
Paolo!

Paolo.
Hark! she calls.
I pray thee, brother, help me to her side.

[Lanciotto helps him to Francesca.]
Lan.
Why, there!

Paolo.
God bless thee!

Lan.
Have I not done well?
What were the honor of the Malatesti,
With such a living slander fixed to it?
Cripple! that 's something—cuckold! that is damned!
You blame me?

Paolo.
No.

Lan.
You, lady?

Fran.
No, my lord.

Lan.
May God forgive you! We are even now:
Your blood has cleared my honor, and our name
Shines to the world as ever.

Paolo.
O!—O!—

Fran.
Love,
Art suffering?

Paolo.
But for thee.

Fran.
Here, rest thy head
Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood!
It stains thy ringlets. Ha! he dies! Kind saints,
I was first struck, why cannot I die first?
Paolo, wake!—God's mercy! wilt thou go
Alone—without me? Prithee, strike again!
Nay, I am better—love—now—O!

[Dies.]
Lan.
(Sinks upon his knees.)
Great heaven!

Malatesta.
(Without.)
This way, I heard the cries.

(Enter, with Guido, Attendants, etc.)
Guido.
O! horrible!

Mal.
O! bloody spectacle! Where is thy brother?

Lan.
So Cain was asked. Come here, old men! You shrink
From two dead bodies and a pool of blood—
You soldiers, too! Come here!

[Drags Malatesta and Guido forward.]
Mal.
O!—O!—

Lan.
You groan!
What must I do, then? Father, here it is,—
The blood of Guido mingled with our own,
As my old nurse predicted. And the spot
Of her infernal baptism burns my brain
Till reason shudders! Down, upon your knees!
Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they'll wake.
Keep still! Kneel, kneel! You fear them? I shall prowl
About these bodies till the day of doom.

Mal.
What hast thou done?

Gui.
Francesca!—O! my child!

Lan.
Can howling make this sight more terrible?
Peace! You disturb the angels up in heaven,
While they are hiding from this ugly earth.
Be satisfied with what you see. You two
Began this tragedy, I finished it.
Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up
Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie!
A moment since, they walked, and talked, and kissed!
Defied me to my face, dishonored me!
They had the power to do it then; but now,
Poor souls, who'll shield them in eternity?
Father, the honor of our house is safe:
I have the secret. I will to the wars,
And do more murders, to eclipse this one.
Back to the battles; there I breathe in peace;
And I will take a soldier's honor back.—
Honor! what 's that to me now? Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
A great thing, father! I am very ill.
I killed thy son for honor: thou mayst chide.
O God! I cannot cheat myself with words!
I loved him more than honor—more than life—
This man, Paolo—this stark, bleeding corpse!
Here let me rest, till God awake us all!

[Falls on Paolo's body.]