 | Paolo & Francesca |  |
9
ACT I
11
Gio.
Peace to this house of Rimini henceforth!
Kinsmen, although the Ghibelline is fallen,
And lies out on the plains of Trentola,
Still have we foes untrampled, wavering friends,
Therefore, on victory to set a seal,
12
Daughter of great Polenta, our ally;
Between us an indissoluble bond.
Deep in affairs my brother I despatched,
My Paolo—who is indeed myself—
For scarcely have we breathed a separate thought—
To bring her on the road to Rimini.
[A noise of falling chains is heard.
I hear them at the gates; the chains have fallen.
The doors at end of gallery are thrown open. Enter out of sunlight Paolo, leading Francesca by the hand, followed by Ladies and Squires. Flowers are thrown over them. Francesca bends low to Giovanni, who raises her up.
Rise up, Francesca, and unveil your face.
[He kisses her on the forehead.
Kinsmen, and you that follow with my bride,
You see me beat with many blows, death-pale
13
You see me, and I languish for a calm.
I ask no great thing of the skies; I ask
Henceforth a quiet breathing, that this child,
Hither all dewy from her convent fetched,
Shall lead me gently down the slant of life.
Here then I sheathe my sword; and fierce must be
That quarrel where again I use the steel.
[A murmur of approbation. He turns to Francesca.
Tell me, Francesca; can you be content
To live the quiet life which I propose?
Where, though you miss the violent joys of youth,
Yet will I cherish you more carefully
Than might a younger lover of your years.
Franc.
My lord, my father gave me to you: I
Am innocent as yet of this great life;
My only care to attend the holy bell,
To sing and to embroider curiously:
And as through glass I view the windy world.
14
Whose days have been so still: and yet I fear
To be found wanting in so great a house:
I lack experience in such governing.
So if at any time I seem to offend you,
Will you impute it to my youth? But I
Shall never fail in duty willingly.
Gio.
I like that coldness in you, my Francesca,
And to my cousin I will make you known.
Widowed and childless, she has ruled till now
This fort of soldiers, a rough hostelry,
Which henceforth is your home; since I remember
She was my friend: has often cooled a rashness,
Which I inherit: lean at first on her.
Luc.
Francesca, as your husband says, we two
Have long been friends; but friendship faints in love,
And since through inexperience you may err,
My place is near you; to advise and guide
Suits with my years.
15
O Lord of Rimini!
With sighs we leave her as we leave a child.
Be tender with her, even as God hath been!
She hath but wondered up at the white clouds;
Hath just spread out her hands to the warm sun;
Hath heard but gentle words and cloister sounds.
[Giovanni bows to her.
Gio.
Friends, you will go with us to church; till then
Walk where you please—yet one word more—be sure
That, though I sheathe the sword, I am not tamed.
What I have snared, in that I set my teeth
And lose with agony; when hath the prey
Writhed from our mastiff-fangs?
Luc.
Giovanni, loose
Francesca's hands—the tears are in her eyes.
Gio.
Well, well, till church-time then. Paolo, stay!
16
These delegates from Pesaro, Francesca,
Expect my swift decision on the tax.
Then will you think me negligent or cold
If to my brother I confide you still,
A moment—and no more?
[Exit Giovanni.
Franc.
O, Paolo,
Who were they that have lived within these walls?
Pao.
Why do you ask?
Franc.
It is not sign nor sound;
Only it seemeth difficult to breathe;
It is as though I battled with this air.
Pao.
You are not sad?
Franc.
What is it to be sad?
Nothing hath grieved me yet but ancient woes,
Sea-perils, or some long-ago farewell,
17
I have wept but on the pages of a book,
And I have longed for sorrow of my own.
Pao.
Come nothing nearer than such far-off tears
Or peril from the pages of a book;
And, therefore, sister, am I glad that you
Are wedded unto one so full of shelter.
Constant is he, and steel-true till the grave.
For me—to-night I must be gone.
Franc.
To-night!
Ah, Paolo, go not away so soon!
You brought me hither—leave me not at once,
Not now—
Pao.
Francesca!
Franc.
I am still a child.
I feel that to my husband I could go
Kiss him good-night, or sing him to his sleep,
And there an end.
Pao.
Sister, I would that I—
18
Can we not play together a brief while?
Stay, then, a little! Soon I shall be used
To my grave place and duty—but not yet.
Stay, then, a little!
Pao.
Here my brother comes.
Enter Giovanni.
Gio.
Stand either side of me—you whom I love.
I'd have you two as dear now to each other
As both of you to me. We are, Francesca,
A something more than brothers—fiercest friends;
Concordia was our mother named, and ours
Is but one heart, one honour, and one death.
Any that came between us I would kill.
Franc.
Sir, I will love him: is he not my brother?
[Nita advances, with ATTENDANT Ladies.
Nita.
My lady, it draws late.
19
Go with her, child.
[Exeunt Francesca, Nita and Ladies.
Gio.
[To Paolo.]
You have set a new seal on an ancient love,
Bringing this bride.
Pao.
And having brought her, here
My office ends. I'll say farewell to-night.
Gio.
This very night!
Pao.
I'll go with you to church;
But from the after-feast I ask excuse.
Gio.
I do not understand.
Pao.
Brother, believe
I do not hasten thus without deep cause.
Gio.
Is there such haste indeed?
Pao.
Such haste indeed!
Gio.
[Taking his hand.]
Come, Paolo, we two have never held
A mystery between us—tell me out!
Harsh am I, but to you was ever gentle.
What is the special reason of your going?
20
The troop for Florence which I mustered here
Should spur at daybreak.
Gio.
There is no such haste.
What are you holding from me?
Pao.
Ah, enough!
Gio.
What sudden face hath made this hall so dark?
Come, then, 'tis natural—walk to and fro
And tell me—ah! some lady you beheld
There at Ravenna in Francesca's train!
Was it not so?
Pao.
Urge me no more to words.
Gio.
What woman draws you thus away from me?
Pao.
No woman, brother, draws me from this house.
Gio.
You like not then my marriage!—but indeed,
No marriage can dissolve the bond between us.
21
Once more, what is the reason of your going?
Pao.
Brother, 'tis nothing that hath chanced but rather
That which may chance if here I am detained.
Gio.
Darker and yet more dark. Now speak it out.
Pao.
I cannot.
Gio.
Paolo, this is an ill
Beginning of my marriage, and I loathe
That you should put me off. We three, I thought—
We three together—tempt me not to rage!
And as your elder I command your stay,
Your presence both at church and at the feast.
You would affront Francesca publicly?
Pao.
Giovanni, 'tis enough, I stay. Forgive me.
Gio.
Brother, this is our first and last dispute.
Now leave me to these papers. [Paolo is going.]
Paolo,
22
Give me your hand again!
Pao.
There is my hand.
[Exit Paolo. Giovanni unfolds papers and reads.
Gio.
“In Pesaro sedition! Andrea Sarti
Is urgent”—
Enter Lucrezia. She touches him on the arm.
Luc.
Pardon me—you sit alone.
While there is time, I have stolen in on you
To speak my dearest wishes for this marriage,
And in a manner, too, old friend, farewell.
Gio.
Farewell?
Luc.
And in a manner 'tis farewell.
Gio.
This marriage is political.
Luc.
No more?
Gio.
And yet since I have seen Francesca, I
Have fallen into a trance. It seems, indeed,
That I am bringing into this dark air
23
Luc.
Watch, then, this pureness: fend it fearfully.
Gio.
I took her dreaming from her convent trees.
Luc.
And for that reason tremble at her more
Old friend, remember that we two are passed
Into the grey of life: but O, beware
This child scarce yet awake upon the world
Dread her first ecstasy, if one should come
That should appear to her half-opened eyes
Wonderful as a prince from fairyland
Or venturing through forests toward her face—
No—do not stride about the room—your limp
Is evident the more—come, sit by me
As you were wont to sit. Youth goes toward youth.
Gio.
What peril can be here? In Rimini?
Luc.
I have but said and say, “Youth goes toward youth,”
24
Your savage courage and deliberate force,
Even your mounded back and sullen gait.
Gio.
Lucrezia! this is that old bitterness.
Luc.
Bitterness—am I bitter? Strange, O strange!
How else? My husband dead and childless left,
My thwarted woman—thoughts have inward turned,
And that vain milk like acid in me eats.
Have I not in my thought trained little feet
To venture, and taught little lips to move
Until they shaped the wonder of a word?
I am long practised. O those children, mine!
Mine, doubly mine: and yet I cannot touch them,
I cannot see them, hear them—Does great God
Expect I shall clasp air and kiss the wind
For ever? And the budding cometh on,
The burgeoning, the cruel flowering:
25
That muffled call of babes how like to birds;
And I amid these sights and sounds must starve—
I, with so much to give, perish of thrift!
Omitted by His casual dew!
Gio.
Well, well,
You are spared much: children can wring the heart.
Luc.
Spared! to be spared what I was born to have!
I am a woman, and this very flesh
Demands its natural pangs, its rightful throes,
And I implore with vehemence these pains.
I know that children wound us, and surprise
Even to utter death, till we at last
Turn from a face to flowers: but this my heart
Was ready for these pangs, and had foreseen.
O! but I grudge the mother her last look
Upon the coffined form—that pang is rich—
26
And all these maiméd wants and thwarted thoughts,
Eternal yearning, answered by the wind,
Have dried in me belief and love and fear.
I am become a danger and a menace,
A wandering fire, a disappointed force,
A peril—do you hear, Giovanni?—O!
It is such souls as mine that go to swell
The childless cavern cry of the barren sea,
Or make that human ending to night-wind.
Why have I bared myself to you?—I know not,
Unless, indeed, this marriage—yes, this marriage—
Near now, is't not?—So near made me cry out.
Ah! she will bring a sound of pattering feet!
But now this message—and those papers. I
Must haste to see the banquet-table spread—
Your bride is yet so young.
[Exit Lucrezia.
Gio.
[Reads.]
“Antonio
27
To lay another load”—Youth goes toward youth!—
“On murmuring Pesaro”—in Rimini!—
“Foresee revolt.” Here in the house all's safe.
Enter Servant, leading in blind Angela.
Ser.
My Lord, blind Angela entreats that she
Once more may touch you ere you go to church.
Gio.
Give me your hand, old nurse. [He kneels.]
Will you not bless me?
You will not? And your tears fall down on me?
Ang.
My son, for are you not my very son?
I gave you milk: from me you sucked in life,
And still my breast is thrilling from your lips.
Gio.
Well, well, then!
Ang.
So that now my very flesh
Must quail at the approach of woe to you.
Gio.
The drops stand on your forehead! What is this?
28
I never trembled for you till this hour.
Gio.
What is it that you fear?
[He kisses her hand.]
Ang.
Now your lips touch
And I begin to feel more surely, child.
Ah! but a juice too pure hath now been poured
In a dark ancient wine: and the cup seethes.
Gio.
Speak clearer to me.
Ang.
Closer lay your head.
Ne'er in the battle have I feared for you.
What is the strange, soft thing which you have brought
Into our life?
Gio.
Francesca, do you mean?
Why do you clutch my arm? What is't you see?
Ang.
A kind of twilight struggles through my dark.
Be near me! Soon it seems that I shall know.
Gio.
Upon what scene are those blind eyes so fixed?
29
A place of leaves: and ah! how still it is!
She sits alone amid great roses.
Gio.
She?
Ang.
Who is he that steals in upon your bride?
Gio.
Angela!
Ang.
And no sound in all the world!
Gio.
What doth he there?
Ang.
He reads out of a book.
There comes a murmuring as of far-off things.
Nearer he drew and kissed her on the lips.
Gio.
His face, mother, his face?
Ang.
'Tis dark again.
Gio.
His face? that I may know him when we meet.
Ang.
His face was dim: a twilight struggles back.
I see two lying dead upon a bier—
Slain suddenly, and in each other's arms.
Gio.
Are they those two that in the roses kissed?
Ang.
Those two!
30
Then quickly tell me of him!
Ang.
Ah!
Again 'tis dark. The twilight, as it seemed,
With difficulty came, and might not stay.
My son, art thou still here?
Gio.
Why do your lips
Move fast and yet no words find out their way?
What are they vainly shaping?
Ang.
Who hath now
Ta'en hold on me?
Gio.
Speak, speak, then!
Ang.
He shall be
Not far to seek: yet perilous to find.
Unwillingly he comes a wooing: she
Unwillingly is wooed: yet shall they woo.
His kiss was on her lips ere she was born.
Gio.
Who used thy mouth then, and so strangely spoke?
O, this is folly! Yet it weighs me down
[Trumpets are heard.
31
What is that sound?
Gio.
My marriage trumpets!
Ang.
Here
Still let me sit, and hear the folk pass by.
Enter from one side Kinsmen and Retainers, Paolo at their head. Giovanni joins him, putting his arm round his neck.
Gio.
Paolo, shall we walk together still?
[Exit marriage procession of Kinsmen, &c., led by Giovanni and Paolo. Meanwhile enter from the other side Francesca, Lucrezia, and attendant Ladies. Francesca, in passing, pauses and offers trinket to Angela, who shudders, letting it fall. Exeunt all but Angela, who remains staring before her.
Curtain.
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