 | Paolo & Francesca |  |
35
A week elapses between Acts I. and II.
Giovanni seated with papers; Paolo, in armour, pacing up and down.
Gio.
You chafe to go?
Pao.
I languish for the road,
The open road, and chime of mailéd feet.
Gio.
And still I marvel at such anxious haste.
Pao.
My troop is mustered now: six miles from hence
I take command for Florence.
Gio.
Well, I'll urge
Your stay no more; yet I suspect no less.
Pao.
What?
Gio.
That no soldier-business lures you hence.
36
Brother, again!
Gio.
I'll laugh at you no more.
[He rises and speaks slowly.
I have a deeper cause to wish your stay
Than when I urged it last.
Pao.
A deeper cause?
Gio.
I have been warned of peril to Francesca.
Pao.
Peril!
Gio.
Blind Angela in vision saw
One stealing in upon my wife to woo her.
Ah! you, too, start! I am not then the fool
I call myself to be so burdened down—
You too it touches.
Pao.
'Twas a moment's fear.
Gio.
[Taking his hand.]
Such sympathy is ours, so close are we,
That what I suffer you straightway must feel.
Pao.
What manner, then, of man was he that wooed?
Gio.
Ah, there! his face was dim. O, Paolo!
37
Look in his eyes as into yours, and know.
Well, this is folly!—can be reasoned off—
And yet it troubles me. Now since I must
Surely be absent on affairs, I could
More easily Francesca leave behind
If you were by her side.
Pao.
If I?
Gio.
And whom
Than my own brother could I better leave?
Pao.
Ah, brother, such a charge I cannot well
Support. If this thing happened by some chance,
I in the house, you absent—'tis a duty
I would not willingly take up.
Gio.
See how
You cool to me.
Pao.
Set me to any service;
Despatch me into peril—ask my life.
I'll give away my being and breath for you.
38
My love?
Gio.
I must not, else I should go mad,
So dear you are to me.
Pao.
And he, this wooer,
If he should wrong Francesca any way
My dagger to his heart were swift as yours.
Gio.
I know that well.
Enter Francesca.
Francesca, whence come you?
Franc.
From fostering garden flowers.
Gio.
Paolo
Is set on going. I have urged, implored—
He has no answer, only he will go.
Enter a Servant hurriedly.
Ser.
A courier, sir, spurred out of Pesaro!
Gio.
So I expected! I will come to him.
[Exit Giovanni hurriedly and Servant.
39
[To Paolo.]
Will you not stay? My husband wishes it—
My husband and your brother—so he speaks
Twice with each word.
Pao.
My brother and myself
Have spoken of this, and yet you see I go.
Franc.
If for his sake you will not stay, perhaps
Even for mine you will a little linger.
All here are kind to me, all grave and kind,
But O, I have a fluttering up toward joy,
Lightness and laughter, and a need of singing.
You are more near my age—you understand.
Where are you vulnerable, Paolo?
You are so cased in steel—is't here? or here?
Lay that sad armour by—that steel cuirass.
See, then! I will unloose it with my hands.
I cannot loose it—there's some trick escapes me.
Pao.
Francesca, think not I can lightly leave you
40
Ah! can you think it is not sweet to breathe
That delicate air and flowery sigh of you,
The stealing May and mystery of your spirit?
Am I not flesh and blood?—am I not young?
Is it easy, then, for youth to run from youth?—
And yet from you I run. Or are we swift
To fly delight?—And yet from you I fly.
What shall I say?
Franc.
Sweet are your words, but dark.
Is beauty to be dreaded, then, and shunned?
Pao.
How shall I tell you and sow in you thoughts
Which are not there as yet?
[He moves to go.
Franc.
And you will go?
Will you not say farewell? Will you not kiss
My hand at least? Why do you tremble, then?
Is even the touch of me so full of peril?
Pao.
O! of immortal peril!
41
But how strange!
You dread this little hand? O, wonderful!
Your face is white, and yet you have killed men!
Pao.
Francesca!
Franc.
Do you fear to look in my eyes,
You so ensteeled and clanging in your stride?
And you could crush my life out with your hand.
O, this new peril that I have about me!
Pao.
Child!
Franc.
And this woe that comes from me to men!
And I can stay your going, can I not?
Look up! and with a smile I'll bind you fast.
Pao.
Sister, I suffer! now at last farewell!
[Exit Paolo, tearing himself away.
Franc.
[Running to a mirror.]
Where is the glass? O, face unknown and strange!
Slight face, and yet the cause of woe to men!
Enter Nita.
Nita, did any pass you on the stair?
42
Lord Paolo came by me, all in steel.
Franc.
Nita, he trembled to look up at me!
And when I nearer came all pale he grew.
And when I smiled he suffered, as it seemed;
And then I smiled again: for it was strange.
Is't wicked such sweet cruelty to use?
O! and that bluer blue—that greener green!
Nita.
My Lady, there's no help. And for my sake
Tall men have fought and lost bright blood for me.
[She looks in the glass.
We cannot choose; our faces madden men!
Franc.
And yet, Nita, and yet—can any tell
How sorrow first doth come? Is there a step,
A light step, or a dreamy drip of oars?
Is there a stirring of leaves, or ruffle of wings?
For it seems to me that softly, without hand,
Surely she touches me.
Nita.
O, such as you
Are from their birth uplifted above sorrow.
43
But am I? am I? Has he left the house?
How far, then, hath he gone by now—how far?
Surely 'tis natural to desire him back—
Most natural—is it not most natural?—Say!
And yet—my heart is wild—
Nita.
He is, my Lady,
Your husband's brother.
Franc.
O, I had not thought!
I had not thought! I have sinned, and I am stained!
[She weeps.
Nita.
Lady, you have done nothing.
Enter Giovanni, with Attendants; Lucrezia, with Ladies, to whom she gives directions apart. Giovanni comes down to Francesca.
Gio.
Could you not
Prevail on him to stay?—he will return.
How beautiful you seem, Francesca, now,
As though new-risen with the bloom of dreams!
44
I, like a miser, run my fingers through
Your hair: yet tears are lately in your eyes!
What little grief perplexes you, my child?
Franc.
I cannot tell, but suffer me to seek
The Lady Mother of the convent.
Gio.
Yet
You shall not stir alone. I have a fear.
[To Attendants.
Follow your mistress, and escort her back.
[Exit Francesca, Nita and escort. Lucrezia dismisses Ladies and comes down to Giovanni.
Gio.
[Looking after Francesca.]
The peril, ah! the peril!
Luc.
What is this?
Gio.
Sit, then, and listen. You first sowed in me
The apprehension of Francesca's youth.
Luc.
O, I but said—
45
Listen! That very hour
Blind Angela, that held me at her breast,
Whose very flesh anticipates my fate,
I found all shivering like a creature dumb.
She clutched my arm, and then, as from the touch,
There came a kind of twilight in her dark,
And in that twilight with blind eyes she saw
One stealing in upon my wife to woo her.
Luc.
Ah!
Gio.
In a place of leaves they sat and read.
Nearer he drew, and kissed her on the lips.
Again into her dark the twilight came,
And they two lay together on a bier,
Slain ere they knew, and in each other's arms.
These images have so enthralled my brain
I have lived since then in fever.
Luc.
But this shadow
That wooed Francesca, and then died with her,
Was nothing more discerned?
Gio.
The face was dim.
46
But could she give no hint of form or voice?
Gio.
I cried—“How shall I know him?”—Then her lips,
After a frantic striving, shaped these words—
“Unwillingly he comes a wooing; she
Unwillingly is wooed: yet shall they woo.”
Luc.
Unwillingly! This, as it seems, would point—
Gio.
[Starting to his feet.]
Ah! does the scent come to you? Set me on!
Luc.
[Slowly.]
To one who had dear reason not to woo—
To one who owed you much—some ancient friend!
Gio.
Fainter again! I know of no such man.
Hark back.
Luc.
Said she no more, then?
Gio.
“He shall be
Not far to seek, yet perilous to find!”
47
What, does the scent come stronger now? You start,
And your eyes glitter—
Luc.
[Going slowly to him and laying her hand on his shoulder.]
Let us hunt this trail!
And yet you will mislike whither it leads.
Gio.
Nothing can hold me now.
Luc.
“Not far to seek”
Points back to Rimini, this little town,
To one, perhaps, mad for Francesca's face,
That lurks about us.
Gio.
Wary now, yet swift!
Luc.
Here at our gates, or nearer still.
Gio.
Say, say!
Luc.
Perhaps, perhaps, within this very house.
Gio.
O barren restless woman, at what sight
Do you give cry at last?
Luc.
[Looking into his eyes.]
Are you still eager?
48
I shut my eyes and I run into it.
Luc.
[Starting back.]
That crouch as of a beast about to spring!
I dare not, will not, speak till you are calm.
Gio.
I am calm [bending his sword across his knee]
. This steel is true that I can bend it
Into a hoop!
Luc.
O, then, if it should be
One that had risen, eaten and drunk with you,
Whose hand was daily in your own!
Gio.
Is it?—
Luc.
Giovanni! who shall set a shore to love?
When hath it ever swerved from death, or when
Hath it not burned away all barriers,
Even dearest ties of mother and of son,
Even of brothers?—
Gio.
[Seizing her arm.]
Is it Paolo?
Luc.
You stop the blood in my arm; release your hold.
49
[Slowly releasing her arm.]
Ah, gradual nature! let this thought come slow!
Accustom me by merciful degrees
To this idea, which henceforth is my home:
I am strong—yet cannot in one moment think it.
Luc.
[Softly.]
You speak as in a trance.
Gio.
Bring me not back!
Like one that walks in sleep, if suddenly
I wake, I die. [With a cry.]
Paolo! Paolo!
Luc.
Giovanni!
Gio.
Paolo! ah, no, not there!
Not there, where only I was prone to love!
Beautiful wast thou in the battle, boy!
We came from the same womb, and we have slept
Together in the moonbeams! I have grown
So close to him, my very flesh doth tear!
Why, why, Lucrezia, I have lifted him
Over rough places—he was but a child,
50
My little Paolo!
[He swoons off.
Luc.
Help, help! Ah, no!
I must not call—the foam is on his lips,
The veins outstand—and yet I have a joy,
A bitter joy! I'll lay his head down here.
[She raises his face, and looks into it.
Thou wast so rich—now thou art poor as I!
His eyes unclose! Master thyself!
Gio.
[Slowly opening his eyes.]
At last!
As to a soul new-come the murk of hell
Grows more accustomed, gradually light,
So I begin to see amid this gloom.
Let me explore the place and walk in it!
[He rises slowly to his feet.
We must live on, Lucrezia—we must still
Pace slowly on, and set our teeth until
Relief is sent.
Luc.
Can you stand now, Giovanni?
Gio.
You are my friend, my solitary friend!
51
Am I not lone as you are, without ties?
Childless and husbandless, yet bitter-true!
Gio.
Be with me still—if Paolo it is!
Henceforward let no woman bear two sons.
Yet, wherefore should he go?
Luc.
He feared, perhaps.
Gio.
He too, then, feared—and went.
Luc.
Now he is gone,
There's breathing time at least.
Gio.
Can I not bind
Her beauty fast o'er which I 'gin to yearn?
Are there not drugs to charm the hearts of women?
Luc.
Put her to sleep, and so ensure her faith—
Yet, then, she'll dream.
Gio.
If Paolo it is!
Luc.
Lean upon me, Giovanni; you are weak.
[Exeunt both, slowly.
| Paolo & Francesca | |