University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Room in Roberto's House.
Roberto, alone.
Rob.
The virtue of a girl is modesty,
Which were in men pale cowardice. To know
One's fitness for high places; then, to prove
The knowledge by bold deed, is, to fulfil
Nature's robust decree. Faint-hearted fools,
None others, snub their opportunities.
Fortune bears malice: she forgives not those,
But whips with hate, who slight her coy advances.
This will not I; but through her sudden love
Wed me to greatness and its lofty joys.
The top place 'mong the haughty few I'll win;
The many's shout shall peal for my proud ear;
Where'er I move shall glare the signs of homage—
The deferential pause of passers-by,
The lifted bonnet and obedient bow;
My every word with wisdom shall be freighted
By yielded wills and bribed imaginations:
The chair of state, the seat of dignity,
There will I sit, circled with regal light,
The focus high of a hushed crowd submissive,
Agape to kiss the fiat of authority.
Enter Berto.
How now, Berto, what hast thou learnt?

Berto.

Signor, when a man goes into the street, and that in a city so learned as Florence, if when he comes home he can tell what he has learnt, he is too wise for the fellows, and is company fit only for himself.

Rob.

Berto, thou art no licensed jester; take not his liberties so often. No more foolery. Whom hast thou seen? what didst thou hear about the election?

Berto.

I saw Bartolomeo, the vintner; I saw Adolpho, the wool-dealer; I saw Biagio, the glovier; I saw Lattanzio, the shoemaker; I saw Nicolini, the armeror; I saw—

Rob.

All good men; how will they vote?

Berto.

Every man of them against your honor. Of all I spoke with I found but one citizen for you.

Rob.

Who was he?

Berto.

Floriano, the half-starved baker.

Rob.

I know Floriano; he's shrewd though poor. Berto, in choice of official men, the honest poor are cleaner in their preferences, higher in their judgments, than the prosperous burghers. The partialities of fat citizens are apt to be poisoned by self-seeking.

Berto.

Judge, signor, of Floriano's judgment: when I

told him of the duke, he swore, he'd rather live on his own crusts than vote for a friend of Fernando.

Rob.

Knave, thou consortest but with knaves. These rascals are all bought by Soderini.

Berto.

It may be. Have you heard, signor, the good news about the duke?

Rob.

Ha! no: what is it?

Berto.

They say, that digging a well—the duke is one of the thirstiest of mortals—digging a well in his garden— your honor knows this garden, near the Roman gate, close upon the studio of—

Rob.

Ay, ay; the news, the good news.

Berto.

The diggers had got but little below the surface, when they struck upon a gold vein. The duke being fond of old things, to make good the old adage—“easy come, easy go,”—throws the gold among the voters by handfuls, as though there were no more virtue in it than in holy water.

Rob.
[Half to himself.]

Saucy varlet.

Enter an Attendant.
Atten.

The Abbé Ignazio.

Berto.
[Aside.]

Now for sweet words from bitter breast. Good-by to truth where abbés are welcome. This reverend tongue is a sponge to wipe out good and drop malice. Here's one of the tigers that set the mob on the brave Savonarola. Rather than not hate him I'd forego my prayers.

Enter the Abbé.
Rob.
Signor, I'm proud to have you cross my threshold.

Ign.
For me, Signor Roberto, proud am I
That such occasions bring me. From our friend,
The duke, I come, the bearer—who is this?

Rob.
Only my major-domo. Speak your mind.

Ign.
I come the happy bearer of good tidings.
Your cause—the cause of all true Florentines—
I am no wordy flatterer, signor,—
Your cause, linked to the best men's hopes and wants,
Wears the fresh look of healthy expectation,
Your many friends make many friends, and these
Breeding so fast, each day counts new recruits.

Rob.
Berto, thou hear'st; thy bakers, gloviers, vintners,—

Berto.
Are not among the new recruits.

Ign.
They are not.
We need them not: of less account are these
Than in the old rude times, ere men were sifted
By the great Medici. Thanks to their rule,
The common herd, in losing half their power,
Have lost some of their insolence, and are,
Like hungry beasts, tamer to those that feed them.

Berto.
[Aside.]
There he means every word that he says

Ign.
Fear not for our success. The duke is hoarse
With speaking for you, and the holy church
Is on your side. Pope Borgia, our strong chief,
Who ne'er forsook his friends—

Berto.
[Aside.]
No: he never had any but priests.

Ign.
Has sent a legate
To personate his will in this election.
Events to be, show often with such bulk,
They tax the sense like present certainties.
Such, signor, is the lifting of yourself
To the great station of command in Florence.
There I behold you with so certain eyes,
That thus I in advance pay you my homage.

[Kisses Roberto's hand.
Rob.
Oh! reverend sir, you do me too much honor,
I'm dumb with diffidence. When I am great,
With acts I'll thank you then becomingly.

Ign.
Signor, I'm honored by your confidence.
'T is a proud day when I can help to bind
Such men together as the duke and you.
He burns to be saluted as your son.
To the Ladies Leonora and Cecilia
I'll do my service at the duke's to-night.
Signor, I take my leave.

[Exeunt severally.
Enter Ernesto, by the way Ignazio went out.
Ern.
Was it not Ignazio whom I met going out?

Berto.
Ay: dost thou smell carrion?

Ern.
What mean'st thou?

Berto.

The vulture has been feasting: the carcass is my poor master. Signor, the duke seeks to hasten the marriage, lest, by failure of the election, it be balked.

Ern.

Didst thou hear what passed?

Berto.

I was present. The abbé told Roberto one thing and me another.

Ern.

How was that?

Berto.

He told lies; the which my master took for truths, and I for what they were. To make brass seem gold and sour sweet, no alchymist like one of Rome's most trusted priests. Signor Ernesto, I have learned something; something I thought I knew. I only knew it by halves.

Ern.

What is that?

Berto.

The unmeasurable, the unfathomable, the unimaginable virtue—

Ern.

Of what in Heaven's name?

Berto.

Of impudence. All the lessons in the big book of our neighbor Machiavelli are covered by that one word.

Ern.

And your master's degree in this province of learning you have from Ignazio. Now for our plot. I must see Leonora. To Filippo I have divulged my knowledge of his secret; he rejoices to have us for allies. Berto, go ask Leonora to give me a few moments. [Exit Berto.]
Frankness will do more with her than art: she herself is truthful. But she's giddy; yet 't will be safest to make her a full confidence.

Re-Enter Berto.
Berto.

Signor, the lady Leonora awaits you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Alonzo's Studio.
Alonzo: to him enter Filippo.
Fil.
Is no place clean of black iniquity?
Are men beasts all, with godlike front; within,
Rankness and dross; without, festooned and sleek?
Alonzo, let me look at thee. Art sure
Thou art not leopard visaged like a man.

Alon.
Hast thou been fobbed—thy pockets picked so soon?

Fil.
This sculptured grace, this painted nobleness;
This beauty's bloom, climbing the ponderous stone;
This gleaming art, that makes the sun shine warmer,—
Is all hypocrisy, all sensual play?

Alon.
Our air has turned him lunatic. What hast thou?

Fil.
I've heard a thing, the which, but that I'll stay
To baffle it, would make me run from Florence.
His single child Roberto sells for place.

Alon.
Thou'st mad, or thou hast talked with madmen.

Fil.
Hear
Ernesto speak—my tongue but mimics his.—
The Duke Fernando has engaged to stamp
Roberto gonfalonier; for the which minting
Roberto pays with his daughter. One hour hence
We shall be witnesses to the gross bargain.

Alon.
Too gross for thought; for act, impossible.
Can thing so fair be subject to abuse?
Such beauty hath a quality transcendant,
That should breed virtue in corruption's sty,
And swell the good to fruitfull'st excellence.

Fil.
And yet, but for my knightly oath—which here
I swear—to rescue, if such power be in me,
Cecilia from this hideous prisonment,—
Gay Leonora would draw half my worship.

Alon.
The highest beauty lives not in the visage,
But in the soul's palatial chambers, whence
To the open portal in the face it comes,
To look its blessing on humanity.

Fil.
So yesterday I felt it at thy side
In double measure from two windows large.
My bliss had there been whole, had my eye seized
The two in one. My senses were distraught;
And I lost either, grasping at the two.

Alon.
Like the wise quadruped thou hast heard speak of.

Fil.
Giber, I'll tell thee what 'twas like: so listen.
Couched in a boat far off on th' Adriatic,
I've seen the sun his cloud-wove treases lay
Upon th' Euganian hills, their nightly pillow;
Then from th' opposing shore the moon rise full;
And both, poised on th' horizon's polished rim,
Gaze grandly one upon the other, like
Confronted deities, that grew in grandeur
By sudden interfusing of their looks;
Whilst I, not to divide my trancing wonder,
But hold as one the two sublimities,
That filled all heaven, longed for a Janus-head.

Alon.
Bravo! And now thou'dst have a Janus-heart.

Fil.
Away now to this duke's. Tis time. Thou'lt squire me
In my knight-errantry.

Alon.
Unto the death.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in the House of Duke Fernando, lighted up for Company.
The Duke; the Duchess, his mother.
Duch.
Henceforth I sheath my woman's weapon, and
No more with speech assail your staunch resolves.
To bland civility I'll subjugate
My carriage, so that pride show not its wounds
In bleeding words or bruiséd looks. 'Tis late
For me to learn so hard a lesson

Duke.
Mother,
You let imagination smother you,
Steeping your senses in the rotting past.
Life draws its sap from the quick-panting present.
Who would live healthily must breathe new air,
Made daily by the sun and night-cooled earth.
Yield to the past, the past will govern you;
Embrace the present, and you rule the future.
To look behind is to be weak: the strong
Looks forward, hugging close the bounding now.
The commonwealth needs ever stout new men.
Such were the Medici.

Duch.
Baseborn and base.
Myself I once refused a Medici,
In wealth a Crœsus to your rich Roberto.

Duke.
Dear mother, grant me this. Let but your eyes,
When they behold Cecilia, be true inlets,
Fairly delivering what they have received,
You'll see a hundred coronets on her brow,
And swear great Charlemagne her ancestor.

Duch.
Beauty, my son, is common. Nature joys
To scatter outward gifts—

Duke.
And inward too;—
Here comes the abbé, my embassador.
Enter Ignazio.
I catch good tidings from his gait. What news?

Ign.
Both good and bad.

Duke.
We'll hear the bad then first.

Ign.
The people, with its old perversity,
Still strives to have a will. Your Florentines
Are stuffed with impious heresy, the leaven
Of the blaspheming monk, Savonarola.
They'd spite the Pope; and so, choose Soderini,
Who feeds their hairy ears with promises;
And these the braying multitude sucks in,
Thinking them provender to fatten on.
The upshot is, we shall be largely beaten.

Duke.
The higher guilds—

Ign.
Turn out the strongest 'gainst us
Of this no whisper to the sage Roberto.
My friend Ariosto's fancy is not more nimble
To conjure corporalities from shadows.
He sits already in the chair of state.
I warrant you his tongue is glib in forms
Of ceremonial speech, his mirror practised
In bows official.—Comfort you with this,
For loss of the election: you have 'scaped,
My lord, a madman for your father-in-law.
The simultaneous weights of two such honors
Had surely cracked a skull so thin. Let not
Cold rumors cool him; but to-morrow lock,
With hand and seal, the contract for your marriage.

Enter several Gentlemen and Ladies.
Duke.
Welcome, kind friends. Ladies, you do me honor.
Signor Ottavio, what's your quarrel with us?
Your cheek is tanned by other suns than ours.

Ott.
My lord, I have of late divorced myself
From Florence but to brace my love for her
Neath skies less motherly.

Enter Roberto, Cecilia and Leonora.
Duke.
Ladies, my heart
Is in my tongue when I say welcome. Mother,
The ladies Cecilia and Leonora.
Signor Roberto, Florence has no son
For whom my doors so smoothly turn as you.
Her citizens, I trust, will prove they know
Whom they should prize. What of the election?

Rob.
Rumors
Fly thick and blind as hailstones in the night.
'T is a rough time in Florence; but our cause,
My lord, bears itself bravely.

Enter Alonzo and Filippo.
Duke.
Gentlemen,
Welcome. Signor Valerio, were the truth
Full known, you miss the liquid roads of Venice,
And the hushed gondola's voluptuous carriage.

Fil.
My lord, strangers in Florence lose their memories.

Duke.
A better guide to Beauty's hiding-places
Our city knows not than your friend, Alonzo.
Have you seen Michael Angelo?

Alon.
We've seen him
Look grander than his present self.

Duke.
How mean you?

Alon.
Standing before Leonardo's last Cartoon;
The bulging veins of his big forehead flooded
With fiery inflow of new power. Beside him—
Like an old lion listening his cub's young roar—
Renowned Leonardo stood, serene, exalted
In Buonarotti's fresh unstained emotion.
There was a sight to gorge a Tuscan's pride.
Yet more we saw. Swift through the door, a youth—
His visage beaming expectation—strode
To the front. At first he piercing gazed, all eye;
And then, over his beardless womanly face—
Like inward swell upon a glassy sea—
A tremor passed, heaving his smooth large brow
And placid look to sudden strength; until
The heart's clear quivering deep ran o'er in tears.
He turned: eyes met and hands, and in one breath
Broke the long silence, “Angelo,” “Raphael.”
Then he beheld the bearded head sublime;
And as he gazed drew slightly back in awe;
And great Da Vinci sweetly looked on him.

Ott.
Aptly you speak, sir, for your quiet craft,
And deftly lift your chiefs. As Florentine,
I almost wish, with you I could upmount
To your o'ertopping pinnacle of pride.
But I have stood in Venice, when the Doge
From the stored East came clogged with Turkish spoil,
To beard the mighty King of western France;
And I have heard the boastful cannon boom,
As proud Genóa crowded to her quays
To welcome home great Doria from the seas;
I've seen the flaunting chivalry of Spain
Group round their lofty Isabel, when she
Gave thankful audience to that vast Italian—
The foremost sailor of the sea-girt earth—
Who gendered in his brain a Continent,
And laid it at his wondering Mistress' feet.
Here were the steadfast grandeurs of broad action,
That make the heart throb prophecies of fame.
For these o'ermastering doers, Florence has
But writers, poets, painters, indoor workers,
Soft cunning weavers of ideal webs.

Alon.
The precious webs, whereof are wrought the cradles
That rock the infancy of stoutest deeds.
Th' ideal is, high wants of highest men,
Whose happy natures nurse the pith, that lifts
From height to height climbing humanity.
High poetry is higher history,
A record written by an inward puissance.
No story has the race that lacks th' ideal,
Which has its incarnation in th' elect,
Whose thoughts, grown larger than their times, leap out
In acts and words that lash the sluggard times
To their great motion, making history
With daily doings. Acts and words are twins,
Mutual reverberants, inseparable
As sound from speech, or starlight from the night,
And wed to Beauty, last in endless lineage;
For beauty is the Cybele of the mind.
Unwed to Beauty, lives nor act nor word
In men's imaginative memory.
Beauty's high priests, the dedicated poets—
Whether with pen or pencil ministering—
Are the fine nerves of Peoples. Weak in these,
They are as barren as the drooping air
Scanted in currents of electric life.
Heroes are acted beauty, and true greatness
Draws from th' ideal its choice nourishment.
A winged unresting presence, Beauty sways
Above our daily work, singing us heavenward.
For fifteen hundred years a great Ideal,
Quickening the heart, transmutes humanity.
Fanning the nations with its lustral wings,
Such vaulting hopes it stirs, that men, upswung
By its creative potency, believe
Its holy author's life shall yet be lived;
And his words, more beautiful than ever else
Were spoken—“Love thy neighbor as thyself,”—
No more ideal, be men's daily act.

Cec.
For your high teaching, sir, I thank you.

Rob.
Cecilia,
You are too bold.

Cec.
Are honest thanks, sir, boldness?

[The scenes part behind, displaying a banquet. The Duke gives his arm to Cecilia, Roberto to the Duchess, &c., and as the company move toward the tables the Curtain drops.]