Act I
Inside LUITOLFO'S house. CHIAPPINO, EULALIA.
Eulalia. What is it keeps Luitolfo? Night 's fast falling, And 't was scarce sunset ... had the ave-bell Sounded before he sought the Provost's house? I think not: all he had to say would take Few minutes, such a very few, to say! How do you think, Chiappino? If our lord The Provost were less friendly to your friend Than everybody here professes him, I should begin to tremble--should not you? Why are you silent when so many times I turn and speak to you?
Chiappino. That 's good!
Eu. You laugh!
Ch. Yes. I had fancied nothing that bears price In the whole world was left to call my own; And, maybe, felt a little pride thereat. Up to a single man's or woman's love, Down to the right in my own flesh and blood, There 's nothing mine, I fancied,--till you spoke: --Counting, you see, as "nothing" the permission To study this peculiar lot of mine In silence: well, go silence with the rest Of the world's good! What can I say, shall serve?
Eu. This,--lest you, even more than needs, embitter Our parting: say your wrongs have cast, for once, A cloud across your spirit!
Ch. How a cloud?
Eu. No man nor woman loves you, did you say?
Ch. My God, were 't not for thee!
Eu. Ay, God remains, Even did men forsake you.
Ch. Oh, not so! Were 't not for God, I mean, what hope of truth-- Speaking truth, hearing truth, would stay with man? I, now--the homeless friendless penniless Proscribed and exiled wretch who speak to you,-- Ought to speak truth, yet could not, for my death, (The thing that tempts me most) help speaking lies About your friendship and Luitolfo's courage And all our townsfolk's equanimity-- Through sheer incompetence to rid myself Of the old miserable lying trick Caught from the liars I have lived with,--God, Did I not turn to thee! It is thy prompting I dare to be ashamed of, and thy counsel Would die along my coward lip, I know. But I do turn to thee. This craven tongue, These features which refuse the soul its way, Reclaim thou! Give me truth--truth, power to speak --And after be sole present to approve The spoken truth! Or, stay, that spoken truth, Who knows but you, too, may approve?
Eu. Ah, well-- Keep silence then, Chiappino!
Ch. You would hear,-- You shall now,--why the thing we please to style My gratitude to you and all your friends For service done me, is just gratitude So much as yours was service: no whit more. I was born here, so was Luitolfo; both At one time, much with the same circumstance Of rank and wealth; and both, up to this night Of parting company, have side by side Still fared, he in the sunshine--I, the shadow. "Why?" asks the world. "Because," replies the world To its complacent self, "these playfellows, Who took at church the holy-water drop Each from the other's finger, and so forth,-- Were of two moods: Luitolfo was the proper Friend-making, everywhere friend-finding soul, Fit for the sunshine, so, it followed him. A happy-tempered bringer of the best Out of the worst; who bears with what 's past cure, And puts so good a face on 't--wisely passive Where action 's fruitless, while he remedies In silence what the foolish rail against; A man to smooth such natures as parade Of opposition must exasperate; No general gauntlet-gatherer for the weak Against the strong, yet over-scrupulous At lucky junctures; one who won't forego The after-battle work of binding wounds, Because, forsooth he 'd have to bring himself To side with wound-inflictors for their leave!" --Why do you gaze, nor help me to repeat What comes so glibly from the common mouth, About Luitolfo and his so-styled friend?
Eu. Because, that friend's sense is obscured ...
Ch. I thought You would be readier with the other half Of the world's story, my half! Yet, 't is true. For all the world does say it. Say your worst! True, I thank God, I ever said "you sin," When a man did sin: if I could not say it, I glared it at him; if I could not glare it, I prayed against him; then my part seemed over. God's may begin yet: so it will, I trust.
Eu. If the world outraged you, did we?
Ch. What 's "me" That you use well or ill? It 's man, in me, All your successes are an outrage to, You all, whom sunshine follows, as you say! Here 's our Faenza birthplace; they send here A provost from Ravenna: how he rules, You can at times be eloquent about. "Then, end his rule!"--" Ah yes, one stroke does that! But patience under wrong works slow and sure. Must violence still bring peace forth? He, beside, Returns so blandly one's obeisance! ah-- Some latent virtue may be lingering yet, Some human sympathy which, once excite, And all the lump were leavened quietly: So, no more talk of striking, for this time!" But I, as one of those he rules, won't bear These pretty takings-up and layings-down Our cause, just as you think occasion suits. Enough of earnest, is there? You'll play, will you? Diversify your tactics, give submission, Obsequiousness and flattery a turn, While we die in our misery patient deaths? We all are outraged then, and I the first: I, for mankind, resent each shrug and smirk, Each beck and bend, each ... all you do and are, I hate!
Eu. We share a common censure, then. 'T is well you have not poor Luitolfo's part Nor mine to point out in the wide offence.
Ch. Oh, shall I let you so escape me, lady? Come, on your own ground, lady,--from yourself, (Leaving the people's wrong, which most is mine) What have I got to be so grateful for? These three last fines, no doubt, one on the other Paid by Luitolfo?
Eu. Shame, Chiappino!
Ch. Shame Fall presently on who deserves it most! --Which is to see. He paid my fines--my friend, Your prosperous smooth lover presently, Then, scarce your wooer,--soon, your husband: well-- I loved you.
Eu. Hold!
Ch. You knew it, years ago. When my voice faltered and my eye grew dim Because you gave me your silk mask to hold-- My voice that greatens when there 's need to curse The people's Provost to their heart's content, --My eye, the Provost, who bears all men's eyes, Banishes now because he cannot bear,-- You knew ... but you do your parts--my part, I: So be it! You flourish, I decay: all 's well.
Eu. I hear this for the first time.
Ch. The fault 's there? Then my days spoke not, and my nights of fire Were voiceless? Then the very heart may burst. Yet all prove naught, because no mincing speech Tells leisurely that thus it is and thus? Eulalia, truce with toying for this once! A banished fool, who troubles you to-night For the last time--why, what 's to fear from me? You knew I loved you!
Eu. Not so, on my faith! You were my now-affianced lover's friend-- Came in, went out with him, could speak as he. All praise your ready parts and pregnant wit; See how your words come from you in a crowd! Luitolfo 's first to place you o'er himself In all that challenges respect and love: Yet you were silent then, who blame me now. I say all this by fascination, sure: I, all but wed to one I love, yet listen! It must be, you are wronged, and that the wrongs Luitolfo pities ...
Ch. --You too pity? Do! But hear first what my wrongs are; so began This talk and so shall end this talk. I say, Was 't not enough that I must strive (I saw) To grow so far familiar with your charms As next contrive some way to win them--which To do, an age seemed far too brief--for, see! We all aspire to heaven; and there lies heaven Above us: go there! Dare we go? no, surely! How dare we go without a reverent pause, A growing less unfit for heaven? Just so, I dared not speak: the greater fool, it seems! Was 't not enough to struggle with such folly, But I must have, beside, the very man Whose slight free loose and incapacious soul Gave his tongue scope to say whate'er he would --Must have him load me with his benefits --For fortune's fiercest stroke?
Eu. Justice to him That 's now entreating, at his risk perhaps, Justice for you! Did he once call those acts Of simple friendship--bounties, benefits?
Ch. No: the straight course had been to call them thus. Then, I had flung them back, and kept myself Unhampered, free as he to win the prize We both sought. But "the gold was dross," he said: "He loved me, and I loved him not: why spurn A trifle out of superfluity? He had forgotten he had done as much." So had not I! Henceforth, try as I could To take him at his word, there stood by you My benefactor; who might speak and laugh And urge his nothings, even banter me Before you--but my tongue was tied. A dream! Let 's wake: your husband ... how you shake at that! Good--my revenge!
Eu. Why should I shake? What forced Or forces me to be Luitolfo's bride?
Ch. There 's my revenge, that nothing forces you. No gratitude, no liking of the eye Nor longing of the heart, but the poor bond Of habit--here so many times he came, So much he spoke,--all these compose the tie That pulls you from me. Well, he paid my fines, Nor missed, a cloak from wardrobe, dish from table; He spoke a good word to the Provost here, Held me up when my fortunes fell away, --It had not looked so well to let me drop,-- Men take pains to preserve a tree-stump, even, Whose boughs they played beneath--much more a friend. But one grows tired of seeing, after the first, Pains spent upon impracticable stuff Like me. I could not change: you know the rest: I 've spoke my mind too fully out, by chance, This morning to our Provost; so, ere night I leave the city on pain of death. And now On my account there 's gallant intercession Goes forward--that 's so graceful!--and anon He 'll noisily come back: "the intercession Was made and fails; all 's over for us both; 'T is vain contending; I would better go." And I do go--and straight to you he turns Light of a load; and ease of that permits His visage to repair the natural bland Œconomy, sore broken late to suit My discontent. Thus, all are pleased--you, with him, He with himself, and all of you with me --"Who," say the citizens, "had done far better In letting people sleep upon their woes, If not possessed with talent to relieve them When once awake;--but then I had," they 'll say, "Doubtless some unknown compensating pride In what I did; and as I seem content With ruining myself, why, so should they be." And so they are, and so be with his prize The devil, when he gets them speedily! Why does not your Luitolfo come? I long To don this cloak and take the Lugo path. It seems you never loved me, then?
Eu. Chiappino!
Ch. Never?
Eu. Never.
Ch. That 's sad. Say what I might, There was no help from being sure this while You loved me. Love like mine must have return, I thought: no river starts but to some sea. And had you loved me, I could soon devise Some specious reason why you stifled love, Some fancied self-denial on your part, Which made you choose Luitolfo; so, excepting From the wide condemnation of all here, One woman. Well, the other dream may break! If I knew any heart, as mine loved you, Loved me, though in the vilest breast 't were lodged, I should, I think, be forced to love again: Else there 's no right nor reason in the world.
Eu. "If you knew," say you,--but I did not know. That 's where you 're blind, Chiappino!--a disease Which if I may remove, I 'll not repent The listening to. You cannot, will not, see How, place you but in every circumstance Of us, you are just now indignant at, You 'd be as we.
Ch. I should be?... that; again! I, to my friend, my country and my love, Be as Luitolfo and these Faentines?
Eu. As we.
Ch. Now, I 'll say something to remember. I trust in nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility.--Spring shall plant, And Autumn garner to the end of time: I trust in God--the right shall be the right And other than the wrong, while he endures: I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward, nature's good And God's: so, seeing these men and myself, Having a right to speak, thus do I speak. I 'll not curse--God bears with them, well may I-- But I--protest against their claiming me. I simply say, if that 's allowable, I would not (broadly) do as they have done. --God curse this townful of born slaves, bred slaves, Branded into the blood and bone, slaves! Curse Whoever loves, above his liberty, House, land or life! and ... [A knocking without. --bless my hero-friend, Luitolfo!
Eu. How he knocks!
Ch. The peril, lady! "Chiappino, I have run a risk--a risk! For when I prayed the Provost (he 's my friend) To grant you a week's respite of the sentence That confiscates your goods, exiles yourself, He shrugged his shoulder--I say, shrugged it! Yes, And fright of that drove all else from my head. Here 's a good purse of scudi: off with you, Lest of that shrug come what God only knows! The scudi--friend, they 're trash--no thanks, I beg! Take the north gate,--for San Vitale's suburb, Whose double taxes you appealed against, In discomposure at your ill-success Is apt to stone you: there, there--only go! Beside, Eulalia here looks sleepily. Shake ... oh, you hurt me, so you squeeze my wrist!" --Is it not thus you 'll speak, adventurous friend?
[As he opens the door, LUITOLFO rushes in, his garments disordered.
Eu. Luitolfo! Blood?
Luitolfo. There 's more--and more of it! Eulalia--take the garment! No--you, friend! You take it and the blood from me--you dare!
Eu. Oh, who has hurt you? where's the wound?
Ch. "Who," say you? The man with many a touch of virtue yet! The Provost's friend has proved too frank of speech, And this comes of it. Miserable hound! This comes of temporizing, as I said! Here 's fruit of your smooth speeches and soft looks! Now see my way! As God lives, I go straight To the palace and do justice, once for all!
Luit. What says he?
Ch. I'll do justice on him.
Luit. Him?
Ch. The Provost.
Luit. I 've just killed him.
Eu. Oh, my God!
Luit. My friend, they 're on my trace; they 'll have me--now! They 're round him, busy with him: soon they 'll find He 's past their help, and then they 'll be on me! Chiappino, save Eulalia! I forget ... Were you not bound for ...
Ch. Lugo?
Luit. Ah--yes--yes! That was the point I prayed of him to change. Well, go--be happy! Is Eulalia safe? They 're on me!
Ch. 'T is through me they reach you, then! Friend, seem the man you are! Lock arms--that 's right! Now tell me what you 've done; explain how you, That still professed forbearance, still preached peace, Could bring yourself ...
Luit. What was peace for, Chiappino? I tried peace: did that promise, when peace failed, Strife should not follow? All my peaceful days Were just the prelude to a day like this. I cried "You call me 'friend': save my true friend! Save him, or lose me!"
Ch. But you never said You meant to tell the Provost thus and thus.
Luit. Why should I say it? What else did I mean?
Ch. Well? He persisted?
Luit. --"Would so order it You should not trouble him too soon again." I saw a meaning in his eye and lip; I poured my heart's store of indignant words Out on him: then--I know not! He retorted. And I ... some staff lay there to hand--I think He bade his servants thrust me out--I struck ... Ah, they come! Fly you, save yourselves, you two! The dead back-weight of the beheading axe! The glowing trip-hook, thumbscrews and the gadge!
Eu. They do come! Torches in the Place! Farewell, Chiappino! You can work no good to us-- Much to yourself; believe not, all the world Must needs be cursed henceforth!
Ch. And you?
Eu. I stay.
Ch. Ha, ha! Now, listen! I am master here! This was my coarse disguise; this paper shows My path of flight and place of refuge--see-- Lugo, Argenta, past San Nicolo, Ferrara, then to Venice and all 's safe! Put on the cloak! His people have to fetch A compass round about. There 's time enough Ere they can reach us, so you straightway make For Lugo ... nay, he hears not! On with it-- The cloak, Luitolfo, do you hear me? See-- He obeys he knows not how. Then, if I must-- Answer me! Do you know the Lugo gate?
Eu. The northwest gate, over the bridge?
Luit. I know.
Ch. Well, there--you are not frightened? all my route Is traced in that: at Venice you escape Their power. Eulalia, I am master here!
[Shouts from without. He pushes out LUITOLFO, who complies mechanically.
In time! Nay, help me with him--so! He 's gone.
Eu. What have you done? On you, perchance, all know The Provost's hater, will men's vengeance fall As our accomplice.
Ch. Mere accomplice? See! [Putting on LUITOLFO'S vest. Now, lady, am I true to my profession, Or one of these?
Eu. You take Luitolfo's place?
Ch. Die for him.
Eu. Well done!
[Shouts increase.
Ch. How the people tarry! I can't be silent; I must speak: or sing-- How natural to sing now!
Eu. Hush and pray! We are to die; but even I perceive 'T is not a very hard thing so to die. My cousin of the pale-blue tearful eyes, Poor Cesca, suffers more from one day's life With the stern husband; Tisbe's heart goes forth Each evening after that wild son of hers, To track his thoughtless footstep through the streets: How easy for them both to die like this! I am not sure that I could live as they.
Ch. Here they come, crowds! they pass the gate? Yes!--No!-- One torch is in the courtyard. Here flock all.
Eu. At least Luitolfo has escaped. What cries!
Ch. If they would drag one to the marketplace, One might speak there!
Eu. List, list!
Ch. They mount the steps.
(Enter the Populace.)
Ch. I killed the Provost!
The Populace. [Speaking together.] 'T was Chiappino, friends! Our savior! The best man at last as first! He who first made us feel what chains we wore, He also strikes the blow that shatters them, He at last saves us--our best citizen! --Oh, have you only courage to speak now? My eldest son was christened a year since "Cino" to keep Chiappino's name in mind-- Cino, for shortness merely, you observe! The city 's in our hands. The guards are fled. Do you, the cause of all, come down--come up-- Come out to counsel us, our chief, our king, Whate'er rewards you! Choose your own reward! The peril over, its reward begins! Come and harangue us in the market-place!
Eu. Chiappino?
Ch. Yes--I understand your eyes! You think I should have promptlier disowned This deed with its strange unforeseen success, In favor of Luitolfo. But the peril, So far from ended, hardly seems begun. To-morrow, rather, when a calm succeeds, We easily shall make him full amends: And meantime--if we save them as they pray, And justify the deed by its effects?
Eu. You would, for worlds, you had denied at once.
Ch. I know my own intention, be assured! All 's well. Precede us, fellow-citizens!
Act II
The Market-place. LUITOLFO in disguise mingling with the Populace assembled opposite the Provost's Palace.
1st Bystander. [To LUIT.] You, a friend of Luitolfo's? Then, your friend is vanished,--in all probability killed on the night that his patron the tyrannical Provost was loyally suppressed here, exactly a month ago, by our illustrious fellow-citizen, thrice-noble savior, and new Provost that is like to be, this very morning,--Chiappino!
Luit. He the new Provost?
2d By. Up those steps will he go, and beneath yonder pillar stand, while Ogniben, the Pope's Legate from Ravenna, reads the new dignitary's title to the people, according to established custom: for which reason, there is the assemblage you inquire about.
Luit. Chiappino--the late Provost's successor? Impossible! But tell me of that presently. What I would know first of all is, wherefore Luitolfo must so necessarily have been killed on that memorable night?
3d By. You were Luitolfo's friend? So was I. Never, if you will credit me, did there exist so poor-spirited a milk-sop. He, with all the opportunities in the world, furnished by daily converse with our oppressor, would not stir a finger to help us: and, when Chiappino rose in solitary majesty and ... how does one go on saying?... dealt the godlike blow,--this Luitolfo, not unreasonably fearing the indignation of an aroused and liberated people, fled precipitately. He may have got trodden to death in the press at the southeast gate, when the Provost's guards fled through it to Ravenna, with their wounded master,--if he did not rather hang himself under some hedge.
Luit. Or why not simply have lain perdue in some quiet corner,--such as San Cassiano, where his estate was,--receiving daily intelligence from some sure friend, meanwhile, as to the turn matters were taking here--how, for instance, the Provost was not dead, after all, only wounded--or, as to-day's news would seem to prove, how Chiappino was not Brutus the Elder, after all, only the new Provost--and thus Luitolfo be enabled to watch a favorable opportunity for returning? Might it not have been so?
3d By. Why, he may have taken that care of himself, certainly, for he came of a cautious stock. I 'll tell you how his uncle, just such another gingerly treader on tiptoes with finger on lip,--how he met his death in the great plague-year: dico vobis! Hearing that the seventeenth house in a certain street was infected, he calculates to pass it in safety by taking plentiful breath, say, when he shall arrive at the eleventh house; then scouring by, holding that breath, till he be got so far on the other side as number twenty-three, and thus elude the danger.--And so did he begin; but, as he arrived at thirteen, we will say,--thinking to improve on his precaution by putting up a little prayer to Saint Nepomucene of Prague, this exhausted so much of his lungs' reserve, that at sixteen it was clean spent,--consequently at the fatal seventeen he inhaled with a vigor and persistence enough to suck you any latent venom out of the heart of a stone--Ha, ha!
Luit. [Aside.] (If I had not lent that man the money he wanted last spring, I should fear this bitterness was attributable to me.) Luitolfo is dead then, one may conclude?
3d By. Why, he had a house here, and a woman to whom he was affianced; and as they both pass naturally to the new Provost, his friend and heir ...
Luit. Ah, I suspected you of imposing on me with your pleasantry! I know Chiappino better.
1st By. (Our friend has the bile! After all, I do not dislike finding somebody vary a little this general gape of admiration at Chiappino's glorious qualities.) Pray, how much may you know of what has taken place in Faenza since that memorable night?
Luit. It is most to the purpose, that I know Chiappino to have been by profession a hater of that very office of Provost, you now charge him with proposing to accept.
1st By. Sir, I 'll tell you. That night was indeed memorable. Up we rose, a mass of us, men, women, children; out fled the guards with the body of the tyrant; we were to defy the world: but, next gray morning, "What will Rome say?" began everybody. You know we are governed by Ravenna, which is governed by Rome. And quietly into the town, by the Ravenna road, comes on muleback a portly personage, Ogniben by name, with the quality of Pontifical Legate; trots briskly through the streets humming a "Cur fremuere gentes," and makes directly for the Provost's Palace--there it faces you. "One Messer Chiappino is your leader? I have known three-and-twenty leaders of revolts!" (laughing gently to himself)--"Give me the help of your arm from my mule to yonder steps under the pillar--So! And now, my revolters and good friends, what do you want? The guards burst into Ravenna last night bearing your wounded Provost; and, having had a little talk with him, I take on myself to come and try appease the disorderliness, before Rome, hearing of it, resort to another method: 't is I come, and not another, from a certain love I confess to, of composing differences. So, do you understand, you are about to experience this unheard-of tyranny from me, that there shall be no heading nor hanging, nor confiscation nor exile: I insist on your simply pleasing yourselves. And now, pray, what does please you? To live without any government at all? Or having decided for one, to see its minister murdered by the first of your body that chooses to find himself wronged, or disposed for reverting to first principles and a justice anterior to all institutions,--and so will you carry matters, that the rest of the world must at length unite and put down such a den of wild beasts? As for vengeance on what has just taken place,--once for all, the wounded man assures me he cannot conjecture who struck him; and this so earnestly, that one may be sure he knows perfectly well what intimate acquaintance could find admission to speak with him late last evening. I come not for vengeance therefore, but from pure curiosity to hear what you will do next." And thus he ran on, on, easily and volubly, till he seemed to arrive quite naturally at the praise of law, order, and paternal government by somebody from rather a distance. All our citizens were in the snare, and about to be friends with so congenial an adviser; but that Chiappino suddenly stood forth, spoke out indignantly, and set things right again.
Luit. Do you see? I recognize him there!
3d By. Ay, but, mark you, at the end of Chiappino's longest period in praise of a pure republic,--"And by whom do I desire such a government should be administered, perhaps, but by one like yourself?" returns the Legate: thereupon speaking for a quarter of an hour together, on the natural and only legitimate government by the best and wisest. And it should seem there was soon discovered to be no such vast discrepancy at bottom between this and Chiappino's theory, place but each in its proper light. "Oh, are you there?" quoth Chiappino: "Ay, in that, I agree," returns Chiappino: and so on.
Luit. But did Chiappino cede at once to this?
1st By. Why, not altogether at once. For instance, he said that the difference between him and all his fellows was, that they seemed all wishing to be kings in one or another way,--"whereas what right," asked he, "has any man to wish to be superior to another?"--whereat, "Ah, sir," answers the Legate, "this is the death of me, so often as I expect something is really going to be revealed to us by you clearer-seers, deeper-thinkers--this--that your right-hand (to speak by a figure) should be found taking up the weapon it displayed so ostentatiously, not to destroy any dragon in our path, as was prophesied, but simply to cut off its own fellow left-hand: yourself set about attacking yourself. For see now! Here are you who, I make sure, glory exceedingly in knowing the noble nature of the soul, its divine impulses, and so forth; and with such a knowledge you stand, as it were, armed to encounter the natural doubts and fears as to that same inherent nobility, which are apt to waylay us, the weaker ones, in the road of life. And when we look eagerly to see them fall before you, lo, round you wheel, only the left-hand gets the blow; one proof of the soul's nobility destroys simply another proof, quite as good, of the same, for you are found delivering an opinion like this! Why, what is this perpetual yearning to exceed, to subdue, to be better than, and a king over, one's fellows,--all that you so disclaim,--but the very tendency yourself are most proud of, and under another form, would oppose to it,--only in a lower stage of manifestation? You don't want to be vulgarly superior to your fellows after their poor fashion-- to have me hold solemnly up your gown's tail, or hand you an express of the last importance from the Pope, with all these bystanders noticing how unconcerned you look the while: but neither does our gaping friend, the burgess yonder, want the other kind of kingship, that consists in understanding better than his fellows this and similar points of human nature, nor to roll under his tongue this sweeter morsel still, --the feeling that, through immense philosophy, he does not feel, he rather thinks, above you and me!" And so chatting, they glided off arm-in-arm.
Luit. And the result is ...
1st By. Why that, a month having gone by, the indomitable Chiappino, marrying as he will Luitolfo's love--at all events succeeding to Luitolfo's wealth--becomes the first inhabitant of Faenza, and a proper aspirant to the Provostship; which we assemble here to see conferred on him this morning. The Legate's Guard to clear the way! He will follow presently.
Luit. [Withdrawing a little.] I understand the drift of Eulalia's communications less than ever. Yet she surely said, in so many words, that Chiappino was in urgent danger: wherefore, disregarding her injunction to continue in my retreat and await the result of--what she called, some experiment yet in process--I hastened here without her leave or knowledge: how could I else? But if this they say be true--if it were for such a purpose, she and Chiappino kept me away ... Oh, no, no! I must confront him and her before I believe this of them. And at the word, see!
(Enter CHIAPPINO and EULALIA.)
Eu. We part here, then? The change in your principles would seem to be complete.
Ch. Now, why refuse to see that in my present course I change no principles, only re-adapt them and more adroitly? I had despaired of what you may call the material instrumentality of life; of ever being able to rightly operate on mankind through such a deranged machinery as the existing modes of government: but now, if I suddenly discover how to inform these perverted institutions with fresh purpose, bring the functionary limbs once more into immediate communication with, and subjection to, the soul I am about to bestow on them--do you see? Why should one desire to invent, as long as it remains possible to renew and transform? When all further hope of the old organization shall be extinct, then, I grant you, it may be time to try and create another.
Eu. And there being discoverable some hope yet in the hitherto much-abused old system of absolute government by a Provost here, you mean to take your time about endeavoring to realize those visions of a perfect State we once heard of?
Ch. Say, I would fain realize my conception of a palace, for instance, and that there is, abstractedly, but a single way of erecting one perfectly. Here, in the market-place is my allotted building-ground; here I stand without a stone to lay, or a laborer to help me,--stand, too, during a short day of life, close on which the night comes. On the other hand, circumstances suddenly offer me (turn and see it!) the old Provost's house to experiment upon--ruinous, if you please, wrongly constructed at the beginning, and ready to tumble now. But materials abound, a crowd of workmen offer their services; here exists yet a Hall of Audience of originally noble proportions, there a Guest-chamber of symmetrical design enough: and I may restore, enlarge, abolish or unite these to heart's content. Ought I not make the best of such an opportunity, rather than continue to gaze disconsolately with folded arms on the flat pavement here, while the sun goes slowly down, never to rise again? Since you cannot understand this nor me, it is better we should part as you desire.
Eu. So, the love breaks away too!
Ch. No, rather my soul's capacity for love widens--needs more than one object to content it,--and, being better instructed, will not persist in seeing all the component parts of love in what is only a single part,--nor in finding that so many and so various loves are all united in the love of a woman,--manifold uses in one instrument, as the savage has his sword, staff, sceptre and idol, all in one club-stick. Love is a very compound thing. The intellectual part of my love I shall give to men, the mighty dead or the illustrious living; and determine to call a mere sensual instinct by as few fine names as possible. What do I lose?
Eu. Nay, I only think, what do I lose? and, one more word--which shall complete my instruction--does friendship go too? What of Luitolfo, the author of your present prosperity?
Ch. How the author?
Eu. That blow now called yours ...
Ch. Struck without principle or purpose, as by a blind natural operation: yet to which all my thought and life directly and advisedly tended. I would have struck it, and could not: he would have done his utmost to avoid striking it, yet did so. I dispute his right to that deed of mine--a final action with him, from the first effect of which he fled away,--a mere first step with me, on which I base a whole mighty superstructure of good to follow. Could he get good from it?
Eu. So we profess, so we perform!
(Enter OGNIBEN. EULALIA stands apart.)
Ogniben. I have seen three-and-twenty leaders of revolts. By your leave, sir! Perform? What does the lady say of performing?
Ch. Only the trite saying, that we must not trust profession, only performance.
Ogni. She 'll not say that, sir, when she knows you longer; you 'll instruct her better. Ever judge of men by their professions! For though the bright moment of promising is but a moment and cannot be prolonged, yet, if sincere in its moment's extravagant goodness, why, trust it and know the man by it, I say--not by his performance; which is half the world's work, interfere as the world needs must, with its accidents and circumstances: the profession was purely the man's own. I judge people by what they might be,--not are, nor will be.
Ch. But have there not been found, too, performing natures, not merely promising?
Ogni. Plenty. Little Bindo of our town, for instance, promised his friend, great ugly Masaccio, once, "I will repay you!"--for a favor done him. So, when his father came to die, and Bindo succeeded to the inheritance, he sends straightway for Masaccio and shares all with him--gives him half the land, half the money, half the kegs of wine in the cellar. "Good," say you: and it is good. But had little Bindo found himself possessor of all this wealth some five years before--on the happy night when Masaccio procured him that interview in the garden with his pretty cousin Lisa --instead of being the beggar he then was,--I am bound to believe that in the warm moment of promise he would have given away all the wine-kegs and all the money and all the land, and only reserved to himself some hut on a hilltop hard by, whence he might spend his life in looking and seeing his friend enjoy himself: he meant fully that much, but the world interfered. --To our business! Did I understand you just now within-doors? You are not going to marry your old friend's love, after all?
Ch. I must have a woman that can sympathize with, and appreciate me, I told you.
Ogni. Oh, I remember! You, the greater nature, needs must have a lesser one (--avowedly lesser--contest with you on that score would never do)--such a nature must comprehend you, as the phrase is, accompany and testify of your greatness from point to point onward. Why, that were being not merely as great as yourself, but greater considerably! Meantime, might not the more bounded nature as reasonably count on your appreciation of it, rather?--on your keeping close by it, so far as you both go together, and then going on by yourself as far as you please? Thus God serves us.
Ch. And yet a woman that could understand the whole of me, to whom I could reveal alike the strength and the weakness--
Ogni. Ah, my friend, wish for nothing so foolish! Worship your love, give her the best of you to see; be to her like the western lands (they bring us such strange news of) to the Spanish Court; send her only your lumps of gold, fans of feathers, your spirit-like birds, and fruits and gems! So shall you, what is unseen of you, be supposed altogether a paradise by her,--as these western lands by Spain: though I warrant there is filth, red baboons, ugly reptiles and squalor enough, which they bring Spain as few samples of as possible. Do you want your mistress to respect your body generally? Offer her your mouth to kiss: don't strip off your boot and put your foot to her lips! You understand my humor by this time? I help men to carry out their own principles: if they please to say two and two make five, I assent, so they will but go on and say, four and four make ten.
Ch. But these are my private affairs; what I desire you to occupy yourself about, is my public appearance presently: for when the people hear that I am appointed Provost, though you and I may thoroughly discern--and easily, too--the right principle at bottom of such a movement, and how my republicanism remains thoroughly unaltered, only takes a form of expression hitherto commonly judged (and heretofore by myself) incompatible with its existence,--when thus I reconcile myself to an old form of government instead of proposing a new one--
Ogni. Why, you must deal with people broadly. Begin at a distance from this matter and say,--New truths, old truths! sirs, there is nothing new possible to be revealed to us in the moral world; we know all we shall ever know: and it is for simply reminding us, by their various respective expedients, how we do know this and the other matter, that men get called prophets, poets and the like. A philosopher's life is spent in discovering that, of the half-dozen truths he knew when a child, such an one is a lie, as the world states it in set terms; and then, after a weary lapse of years, and plenty of hard thinking, it becomes a truth again after all, as he happens to newly consider it and view it in a different relation with the others: and so he re-states it, to the confusion of somebody else in good time. As for adding to the original stock of truths,--impossible! Thus, you see the expression of them is the grand business:--you have got a truth in your head about the right way of governing people, and you took a mode of expressing it which now you confess to be imperfect. But what then? There is truth in falsehood, falsehood in truth. No man ever told one great truth, that I know, without the help of a good dozen of lies at least, generally unconscious ones. And as when a child comes in breathlessly and relates a strange story, you try to conjecture from the very falsities in it what the reality was,--do not conclude that he saw nothing in the sky, because he assuredly did not see a flying horse there as he says,--so, through the contradictory expression, do you see, men should look painfully for, and trust to arrive eventually at, what you call the true principle at bottom. Ah, what an answer is there! to what will it not prove applicable?--"Contradictions? Of course there were," say you!
Ch. Still, the world at large may call it inconsistency, and what shall I urge in reply?
Ogni. Why, look you, when they tax you with tergiversation or duplicity, you may answer--you begin to perceive that, when all 's done and said, both great parties in the State, the advocators of change in the present system of things, and the opponents of it, patriot and anti-patriot, are found working together for the common good; and that in the midst of their efforts for and against its progress, the world somehow or other still advances: to which result they contribute in equal proportions, those who spend their life in pushing it onward, as those who give theirs to the business of pulling it back. Now, if you found the world stand still between the opposite forces, and were glad, I should conceive you: but it steadily advances, you rejoice to see! By the side of such a rejoicer, the man who only winks as he keeps cunning and quiet, and says, "Let yonder hot-headed fellow fight out my battle! I, for one, shall win in the end by the blows he gives, and which I ought to be giving,"--even he seems graceful in his avowal, when one considers that he might say, "I shall win quite as much by the blows our antagonist gives him, blows from which he saves me--I thank the antagonist equally!" Moreover, you may enlarge on the loss of the edge of party-animosity with age and experience ...
Ch. And naturally time must wear off such asperities: the bitterest adversaries get to discover certain points of similarity between each other, common sympathies--do they not?
Ogni. Ay, had the young David but sat first to dine on his cheeses with the Philistine, he had soon discovered an abundance of such common sympathies. He of Gath, it is recorded, was born of a father and mother, had brothers and sisters like another man,--they, no more than the sons of Jesse, were used to eat each other. But, for the sake of one broad antipathy that had existed from the beginning, David slung the stone, cut off the giant's head, made a spoil of it, and after ate his cheeses alone, with the better appetite, for all I can learn. My friend, as you, with a quickened eyesight, go on discovering much good on the worse side, remember that the same process should proportionably magnify and demonstrate to you the much more good on the better side! And when I profess no sympathy for the Goliaths of our time, and you object that a large nature should sympathize with every form of intelligence, and see the good in it, however limited,--I answer, "So I do; but preserve the proportions of my sympathy, however finelier or widelier I may extend its action." I desire to be able, with a quickened eyesight, to descry beauty in corruption where others see foulness only; but I hope I shall also continue to see a redoubled beauty in the higher forms of matter, where already everybody sees no foulness at all. I must retain, too, my old power of selection, and choice of appropriation, to apply to such new gifts; else they only dazzle instead of enlightening me. God has his archangels and consorts with them: though he made too, and intimately sees what is good in, the worm. Observe, I speak only as you profess to think and so ought to speak: I do justice to your own principles, that is all.
Ch. But you very well know that the two parties do, on occasion, assume each other's characteristics. What more disgusting, for instance, than to see how promptly the newly emancipated slave will adopt, in his own favor, the very measures of precaution, which pressed soreliest on himself as institutions of the tyranny he has just escaped from? Do the classes, hitherto without opinion, get leave to express it? there follows a confederacy immediately, from which--exercise your individual right and dissent, and woe be to you!
Ogni. And a journey over the sea to you! That is the generous way. Cry--"Emancipated slaves, the first excess, and off I go!" The first time a poor devil, who has been bastinadoed steadily his whole life long, finds himself let alone and able to legislate, so, begins pettishly, while he rubs his soles, "Woe be to whoever brings anything in the shape of a stick this way!"--you, rather than give up the very innocent pleasure of carrying one to switch flies with,--you go away, to everybody's sorrow. Yet you were quite reconciled to staying at home while the governors used to pass, every now and then, some such edict as, "Let no man indulge in owning a stick which is not thick enough to chastise our slaves, if need require!" Well, there are pre-ordained hierarchies among us, and a profane vulgar subjected to a different law altogether; yet I am rather sorry you should see it so clearly: for, do you know what is to--all but save you at the Day of Judgment, all you men of genius? It is this: that, while you generally began by pulling down God, and went on to the end of your life in one effort at setting up your own genius in his place,--still, the last, bitterest concession wrung with the utmost unwillingness from the experience of the very loftiest of you, was invariably--would one think it?--that the rest of mankind, down to the lowest of the mass, stood not, nor ever could stand, just on a level and equality with yourselves. That will be a point in the favor of all such, I hope and believe.
Ch. Why, men of genius are usually charged, I think, with doing just the reverse; and at once acknowledging the natural inequality of mankind, by themselves participating in the universal craving after, and deference to, the civil distinctions which represent it. You wonder they pay such undue respect to titles and badges of superior rank.
Ogni. Not I (always on your own ground and showing, be it noted!) Who doubts that, with a weapon to brandish, a man is the more formidable? Titles and badges are exercised as such a weapon, to which you and I look up wistfully. We could pin lions with it moreover, while in its present owner's hands it hardly prods rats. Nay, better than a mere weapon of easy mastery and obvious use, it is a mysterious divining-rod that may serve us in undreamed-of ways. Beauty, strength, intellect--men often have none of these, and yet conceive pretty accurately what kind of advantages they would bestow on the possessor. We know at least what it is we make up our mind to forego, and so can apply the fittest substitute in our power. Wanting beauty, we cultivate good-humor; missing wit, we get riches: but the mystic unimaginable operation of that gold collar and string of Latin names which suddenly turned poor stupid little peevish Cecco of our town into natural lord of the best of us--a Duke, he is now--there indeed is a virtue to be reverenced!
Ch. Ay, by the vulgar: not by Messere Stiatta the poet, who pays more assiduous court to him than anybody.
Ogni. What else should Stiatta pay court to? He has talent, not honor and riches: men naturally covet what they have not.
Ch. No; or Cecco would covet talent, which he has not, whereas he covets more riches, of which he has plenty, already.
Ogni. Because a purse added to a purse makes the holder twice as rich: but just such another talent as Stiatta's, added to what he now possesses, what would that profit him? Give the talent a purse indeed, to do something with! But lo, how we keep the good people waiting! I only desired to do justice to the noble sentiments which animate you, and which you are too modest to duly enforce. Come, to our main business: shall we ascend the steps? I am going to propose you for Provost to the people; they know your antecedents, and will accept you with a joyful unanimity: whereon I confirm their choice. Rouse up! Are you nerving yourself to an effort? Beware the disaster of Messere Stiatta we were talking of! who, determining to keep an equal mind and constant face on whatever might be the fortune of his last new poem with our townsmen, heard too plainly "hiss, hiss, hiss," increase every moment. Till at last the man fell senseless: not perceiving that the portentous sounds had all the while been issuing from between his own nobly clenched teeth, and nostrils narrowed by resolve.
Ch. Do you begin to throw off the mask?--to jest with me, having got me effectually into your trap?
Ogni. Where is the trap, my friend? You hear what I engage to do, for my part: you, for yours, have only to fulfil your promise made just now within doors, of professing unlimited obedience to Rome's authority in my person. And I shall authorize no more than the simple re-establishment of the Provostship and the conferment of its privileges upon yourself: the only novel stipulation being a birth of the peculiar circumstances of the time.
Ch. And that stipulation?
Ogni. Just the obvious one--that in the event of the discovery of the actual assailant of the late Provost ...
Ch. Ha!
Ogni. Why, he shall suffer the proper penalty, of course; what did you expect?
Ch. Who heard of this?
Ogni. Rather, who needed to hear of this?
Ch. Can it be, the popular rumor never reached you ...
Ogni. Many more such rumors reach me, friend, than I choose to receive: those which wait longest have best chance. Has the present one sufficiently waited? Now is its time for entry with effect. See the good people crowding about yonder palace-steps--which we may not have to ascend, after all! My good friends! (nay, two or three of you will answer every purpose)--who was it fell upon and proved nearly the death of your late Provost? His successor desires to hear, that his day of inauguration may be graced by the act of prompt, bare justice we all anticipate. Who dealt the blow that night, does anybody know?
Luit. [Coming forward.] I!
All. Luitolfo!
Luit. I avow the deed, justify and approve it, and stand forth now, to relieve my friend of an unearned responsibility. Having taken thought, I am grown stronger: I shall shrink from nothing that awaits me. Nay, Chiappino--we are friends still: I dare say there is some proof of your superior nature in this starting aside, strange as it seemed at first. So, they tell me, my horse is of the right stock, because a shadow in the path frightens him into a frenzy, makes him dash my brains out. I understand only the dull mule's way of standing stockishly, plodding soberly, suffering on occasion a blow or two with due patience.
Eu. I was determined to justify my choice, Chiappino; to let Luitolfo's nature vindicate itself. Henceforth we are undivided, whatever be our fortune.
Ogni. Now, in these last ten minutes of silence, what have I been doing, deem you? Putting the finishing stroke to a homily of mine, I have long taken thought to perfect, on the text, "Let whoso thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall." To your house, Luitolfo! Still silent, my patriotic friend? Well, that is a good sign however. And you will go aside for a time? That is better still. I understand: it would be easy for you to die of remorse here on the spot and shock us all, but you mean to live and grow worthy of coming back to us one day. There, I will tell everybody; and you only do right to believe you must get better as you get older. All men do so: they are worst in childhood, improve in manhood, and get ready in old age for another world. Youth, with its beauty and grace, would seem bestowed on us for some such reason as to make us partly endurable till we have time for really becoming so of ourselves, without their aid; when they leave us. The sweetest child we all smile on for his pleasant want of the whole world to break up, or suck in his mouth, seeing no other good in it--would be rudely handled by that world's inhabitants, if he retained those angelic infantine desires when he had grown six feet high, black and bearded. But, little by little, he sees fit to forego claim after claim on the world, puts up with a less and less share of its good as his proper portion; and when the octogenarian asks barely a sup of gruel and a fire of dry sticks, and thanks you as for his full allowance and right in the common good of life,--hoping nobody may murder him,--he who began by asking and expecting the whole of us to bow down in worship to him,--why, I say he is advanced, far onward, very far, nearly out of sight like our friend Chiappino yonder. And now--(ay, good-by to you! He turns round the northwest gate: going to Lugo again? Good-by!)--And now give thanks to God, the keys of the Provost's palace to me, and yourselves to profitable meditation at home! I have known Four-and-twenty leaders of revolts.
LURIA
A TRAGEDY
I DEDICATE THIS LAST ATTEMPT FOR THE PRESENT AT DRAMATIC POETRY TO A GREAT DRAMATIC POET; "WISHING WHAT I WRITE MAY BE READ BY HIS LIGHT:" IF A PHRASE ORIGINALLY ADDRESSED, BY NOT THE LEAST WORTHY OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES, TO SHAKESPEARE, MAY BE APPLIED HERE, BY ONE WHOSE SOLE PRIVILEGE IS IN A GRATEFUL ADMIRATION, To WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
LONDON, 1846.
PERSONS
LURIA, a Moor, Commander of the Florentine Forces. HUSAIN, a Moor, his friend. PUCCIO, the old Florentine Commander, now LURIA'S Chief Officer. BRACCIO, Commissary of the Republic of Florence. JACOPO (LAPO), his Secretary. TIBURZIO, Commander of the Pisans. DOMIZIA, a noble Florentine Lady.
TIME, 14--.
SCENE. LURIA'S Camp between Florence and Pisa.
Act I
MORNING
BRACCIO, as dictating to his Secretary; PUCCIO standing by.
Braccio. [To PUCCIO.] Then, you join battle in an hour?
Puccio. Not I; Luria, the captain.
Brac. [To the Sec.] "In an hour, the battle." [To PUC.] Sir, let your eye run o'er this loose digest, And see if very much of your report Have slipped away through my civilian phrase. Does this instruct the Signory aright How army stands with army?
Puc. [Taking the paper.] All seems here: --That Luria, seizing with our city's force The several points of vantage, hill and plain, Shuts Pisa safe from help on every side, And, baffling the Lucchese arrived too late, Must, in the battle he delivers now, Beat her best troops and first of chiefs.
Brac. So sure? Tiburzio 's a consummate captain too!
Puc. Luria holds Pisa's fortune in his hand.
Brac. [To the Sec.] "The Signory hold Pisa in their hand." Your own proved soldiership 's our warrant, sir: So, while my secretary ends his task, Have out two horsemen, by the open roads, To post with it to Florence!
Puc. [Returning the paper.] All seems here; Unless ... Ser Braccio, 't is my last report! Since Pisa's outbreak, and my overthrow, And Luria's hastening at the city's call To save her, as he only could, no doubt; Till now that she is saved or sure to be,-- Whatever you tell Florence, I tell you: Each day's note you, her Commissary, make Of Luria's movements, I myself supply. No youngster am I longer, to my cost; Therefore while Florence gloried in her choice And vaunted Luria, whom but Luria, still, As if zeal, courage, prudence, conduct, faith, Had never met in any man before, I saw no pressing need to swell the cry. But now, this last report and I have done: So, ere to-night comes with its roar of praise, 'T were not amiss if some one old i' the trade Subscribed with, "True, for once rash counsel 's best. This Moor of the bad faith and doubtful race, This boy to whose untried sagacity, Raw valor, Florence trusts without reserve The charge to save her,--justifies her choice; In no point has this stranger failed his friends. Now praise!" I say this, and it is not here.
Brac. [To the Sec.] Write, "Puccio, superseded in the charge, By Luria, bears full witness to his worth, Aid no reward our Signory can give Their champion but he 'll back it cheerfully." Aught more? Five minutes hence, both messengers! [Puccio goes.
Brac. [_After a pause, and while he slowly tears the paper into shreds._] I think ... (pray God, I hold in fit contempt This warfare 's noble art and ordering, And,--once the brace of prizers fairly matched, Poleaxe with poleaxe, knife with knife as good,-- Spit properly at what men term their skill!--) Yet here I think our fighter has the odds. With Pisa's strength diminished thus and thus, Such points of vantage in our hands and such, Lucca still off the stage, too,--all 's assured: Luria must win this battle. Write the Court, That Luria's trial end and sentence pass!
Secretary. Patron,--
Brac. Ay, Lapo?
Sec. If you trip, I fall; 'T is in self-interest I speak--
Brac. Nay, nay, You overshoot the mark, my Lapo! Nay! When did I say pure love 's impossible? I make you daily write those red cheeks thin, Load your young brow with what concerns it least, And, when we visit Florence, let you pace The Piazza by my side as if we talked, Where all your old acquaintances may see: You 'd die for me, I should not be surprised. Now then!
Sec. Sir, look about and love yourself! Step after step, the Signory and you Tread gay till this tremendous point 's to pass; Which pass not, pass not, ere you ask yourself,-- Bears the brain steadily such draughts of fire, Or too delicious may not prove the pride Of this long secret trial you dared plan, Dare execute, you solitary here, With the gray-headed toothless fools at home, Who think themselves your lords, such slaves are they? If they pronounce this sentence as you bid, Declare the treason, claim its penalty,-- And sudden out of all the blaze of life, On the best minute of his brightest day, From that adoring army at his back, Through Florence' joyous crowds before his face, Into the dark you beckon Luria ...
Brac. Then-- Why, Lapo, when the fighting-people vaunt, We of the other craft and mystery, May we not smile demure, the danger past?
Sec. Sir, no, no, no,--the danger, and your spirit At watch and ward? Where 's danger on your part, With that thin flitting instantaneous steel 'Gainst the blind bull-front of a brute-force world? If Luria, that 's to perish sure as fate, Should have been really guiltless after all?
Brac. Ah, you have thought that?
Sec. Here I sit, your scribe, And in and out goes Luria, days and nights; This Puccio comes; the Moor his other friend, Husain; they talk--that 's all feigned easily; He speaks (I would not listen if I could), Reads, orders, counsels:--but he rests sometimes,-- I see him stand and eat, sleep stretched an hour On the lynx-skins yonder; hold his bared black arms Into the sun from the tent-opening; laugh When his horse drops the forage from his teeth And neighs to hear him hum his Moorish songs. That man believes in Florence, as the saint Tied to the wheel believes in God.
Brac. How strange! You too have thought that!
Sec. Do but you think too, And all is saved! I only have to write, "The man seemed false awhile, proves true at last; Bury it"--so I write the Signory-- "Bury this trial in your breast forever, Blot it from things or done or dreamed about! So Luria shall receive his meed to-day With no suspicion what reverse was near,-- As if no meteoric finger hushed The doom-word just on the destroyer's lip, Motioned him off, and let life's sun fall straight."
Brac. [Looks to the wall of the tent.] Did he draw that?
Sec. With charcoal, when the watch Made the report at midnight; Lady Domizia Spoke of the unfinished Duomo, you remember; That is his fancy how a Moorish front Might join to, and complete, the body,--a sketch,-- And again where the cloak hangs, yonder in the shadow.
Brac. He loves that woman.
Sec. She is sent the spy Of Florence,--spies on you as you on him: Florence, if only for Domizia's sake, Is surely safe. What shall I write?
Brac. I see-- A Moorish front, nor of such ill design! Lapo, there 's one thing plain and positive; Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost. What? If to lead our troops, stand forth out chiefs, And hold our fate, and see us at their beck, Yet render up the charge when peace return, Have ever proved too much for Florentines, Even for the best and bravest of ourselves-- If in the struggle when the soldier's sword Should sink its point before the statist's pen, And the calm head replace the violent hand, Virtue on virtue still have fallen away Before ambition with unvarying fate, Till Florence' self at last in bitterness Be forced to own such falls the natural end, And, sparing further to expose her sons To a vain strife and profitless disgrace, Declare, "The foreigner, one not my child, Shall henceforth lead my troops, reach height by height The glory, then descend into the shame; So shall rebellion be less guilt in him, And punishment the easier task for me:" --If on the best of us such brand she set, Can I suppose an utter alien here, This Luria, our inevitable foe, Confessed a mercenary and a Moor, Born free from many ties that bind the rest Of common faith in Heaven or hope on earth, No past with us, no future,--such a spirit Shall hold the path from which our stanchest broke, Stand firm where every famed precursor fell? My Lapo, I will frankly say, these proofs So duly noted of the man's intent, Are for the doting fools at home, not me. The charges here, they may be true or false: --What is set down? Errors and oversights, A dallying interchange of courtesies With Pisa's General,--all that, hour by hour, Puccio's pale discontent has furnished us, Of petulant speeches, inconsiderate acts, Now overhazard, overcaution now; Even that he loves this lady who believes She outwits Florence, and whom Florence posted By my procurement here, to spy on me, Lest I one minute lose her from my sight-- She who remembering her whole House's fall, That nest of traitors strangled in the birth, Now labors to make Luria (poor device As plain) the instrument of her revenge! --That she is ever at his ear to prompt Inordinate conceptions of his worth, Exorbitant belief in worth's reward, And after, when sure disappointment follows, Proportionable rage at such a wrong-- Why, all these reasons, while I urge them most, Weigh with me less than least; as nothing weigh. Upon that broad man's-heart of his, I go: On what I know must be, yet while I live Shall never be, because I live and know. Brute-force shall not rule Florence! Intellect May rule her, bad or good as chance supplies: But intellect it shall be, pure if bad, And intellect's tradition so kept up! Till the good come--'t was intellect that ruled, Not brute-force bringing from the battlefield The attributes of wisdom, foresight's graces We lent it there to lure its grossness on; All which it took for earnest and kept safe To show against us in our market-place, Just as the plumes and tags and swordsman's-gear (Fetched from the camp where, at their foolish best, When all was done they frightened nobody) Perk in our faces in the street, forsooth, With our own warrant and allowance. No! The whole procedure's overcharged,--its end In too strict keeping with the bad first step. To conquer Pisa was sheer inspiration? Well then, to perish for a single fault, Let that be simple justice! There, my Lapo! A Moorish front ill suits our Duomo's body: Blot it out--and bid Luria's sentence come!
(LURIA, who, with DOMIZIA, has entered unobserved at the close of the last phrase, now advances.)
Luria. And Luria, Luria, what of Luria now?
Brac. Ah, you so close, sir? Lady Domizia too? I said it needs must be a busy moment For one like you; that you were now i' the thick Of your duties, doubtless, while we idlers sat ...
Lur. No--in that paper,--it was in that paper What you were saving!
Brac. Oh--my day's despatch! I censure you to Florence: will you see?
Lur. See your despatch, your last, for the first time? Well, if I should, now? For in truth, Domizia, He would be forced to set about another, In his sly cool way, the true Florentine, To mention that important circumstance. So, while he wrote I should gain time, such time! Do not send this!
Brac. And wherefore?
Lur. These Lucchese Are not arrived--they never will arrive! And I must fight to-day, arrived or not, And I shall beat Tiburzio, that is sure: And then will be arriving his Lucchese, But slowly, oh so slowly, just in time To look upon my battle from the hills, Like a late moon, of use to nobody! And I must break my battle up, send forth, Surround on this side, hold in check on that. Then comes to-morrow, we negotiate, You make me send for fresh instructions home, --Incompleteness, incompleteness!
Brac. Ah, we scribes! Why, I had registered that very point, The non-appearance of our foes' ally, As a most happy fortune; both at once Were formidable: singly faced, each falls.
Lur. So, no great battle for my Florentines! No crowning deed, decisive and complete, For all of them, the simple as the wise, Old, young, alike, that do not understand Our wearisome pedantic art of war, By which we prove retreat may be success, Delay--best speed,--half loss, at times,--whole gain: They want results: as if it were their fault! And you, with warmest wish to be my friend, Will not be able now to simply say "Your servant has performed his task--enough! You ordered, he has executed: good! Now walk the streets in holiday attire, Congratulate your friends, till noon strikes fierce, Then form bright groups beneath the Duomo's shade!" No, you will have to argue and explain, Persuade them, all is not so ill in the end, Tease, tire them out! Arrive, arrive, Lucchese!
Domizia. Well, you will triumph for the past enough, Whatever be the present chance; no service Falls to the ground with Florence: she awaits Her savior, will receive him fittingly.
Lur. Ah, Braccio, you know Florence! Will she, think you, Receive one ... what means "fittingly receive"? --Receive compatriots, doubtless--I am none: And yet Domizia promises so much!
Brac. Kind women still give men a woman's prize. I know not o'er which gate most boughs will arch. Nor if the Square will wave red flags or blue. I should have judged, the fullest of rewards Our state gave Luria, when she made him chief Of her whole force, in her best captain's place.
Lur. That, my reward? Florence on my account Relieved Ser Puccio?--mark you, my reward! And Puccio's having all the fight's true joy-- Goes here and there, gets close, may fight, himself, While I must order, stand aloof, o'ersee. That was my calling, there was my true place! I should have felt, in some one over me, Florence impersonate, my visible head, As I am over Puccio,--taking life Directly from her eye! They give me you: But do you cross me, set me half to work? I enjoy nothing--though I will, for once! Decide, shall we join battle? may I wait?
Brac. Let us compound the matter; wait till noon: Then, no arrival,--
Lur. Ah, noon comes too fast! I wonder, do you guess why I delay Involuntarily the final blow As long as possible? Peace follows it! Florence at peace, and the calm studious heads Come out again, the penetrating eyes; As if a spell broke, all 's resumed, each art You boast, more vivid that it slept awhile. 'Gainst the glad heaven, o'er the white palace-front The interrupted scaffold climbs anew; The walls are peopled by the painter's brush; The statue to its niche ascends to dwell. The present noise and trouble have retired And left the eternal past to rule once more; You speak its speech and read its records plain, Greece lives with you, each Roman breathes your friend: But Luria--where will then be Luria's place?
Dom. Highest in honor, for that past's own sake, Of which his actions, sealing up the sum By saving all that went before from wreck, Will range as part, with which be worshipped too.
Lur. Then I may walk and watch you in your streets, Lead the smooth life my rough life helps no more, So different, so new, so beautiful-- Nor fear that you will tire to see parade The club that slew the lion, now that crooks And shepherd-pipes come into use again? For very lone and silent seems my East In its drear vastness: still it spreads, and still No Braccios, no Domizias anywhere-- Not ever more! Well, well, to-day is ours!
Dom. [To BRAC.] Should he not have been one of us?
Lur. Oh, no! Not one of you, and so escape the thrill Of coming into you, of changing thus,-- Feeling a soul grow on me that restricts The boundless unrest of the savage heart! The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there and buries its tumultuous strength; Horror, and silence, and a pause awhile: Lo, inland glides the gulf-stream, miles away, In rapture of assent, subdued and still, 'Neath those strange banks, those unimagined skies. Well, 't is not sure the quiet lasts forever! Your placid heads still find rough hands new work; Some minute's chance--there comes the need of mine: And, all resolved on, I too hear at last. Oh, you must find some use for me, Ser Braccio! You hold my strength; 't were best dispose of it: What you created, see that you find food for-- I shall be dangerous else!
Brac. How dangerous, sir?
Lur. There are so many ways, Domizia warns me, And one with half the power that I possess, --Grows very formidable! Do you doubt? Why, first, who holds the army ...
Dom. While we talk, Morn wears; we keep you from your proper place, The field.
Lur. Nay, to the field I move no more; My part is done, and Puccio's may begin: I cannot trench upon his province longer With any face.--You think yourselves so safe? Why, see--in concert with Tiburzio, now-- One could ...
Dom. A trumpet!
Lur. My Lucchese at last! Arrived, as sure as Florence stands! Your leave! [Springs out.
Dom. How plainly is true greatness charactered By such unconscious sport as Luria's here, Strength sharing least the secret of itself! Be it with head that schemes or hand that acts, Such save the world which none but they could save, Yet think whate'er they did, that world could do.
Brac. Yes: and how worthy note, that these same great ones In hand or head, with such unconsciousness And all its due entailed humility, Should never shrink, so far as I perceive, From taking up whatever tool there be Effects the whole world's safety or mishap, Into their mild hands as a thing of course! The statist finds it natural to lead The mob who might as easily lead him-- The captain marshals troops born skilled in war-- Statist and captain verily believe! While we poor scribes ... you catch me thinking now, That I shall in this very letter write What none of you are able! To it, Lapo! [DOMIZIA goes.
This last worst all-affected childish fit Of Luria's, this be-praised unconsciousness, Convinces me; the past was no child's play: It was a man beat Pisa,--not a child. All 's mere dissimulation--to remove The fear, he best knows we should entertain. The utmost danger was at hand. Is 't written? Now make a duplicate, lest this should fail, And speak your fullest on the other side.
Sec. I noticed he was busily repairing My half-effacement of his Duomo sketch, And, while he spoke of Florence, turned to it, As the Mage Negro king to Christ the babe. I judge his childishness the mere relapse To boyhood of a man who has worked lately, And presently will work, so, meantime, plays: Whence, more than ever I believe in him.
Brac. [After a pause.] The sword! At best, the soldier, as he says, In Florence--the black face, the barbarous name, For Italy to boast her show of the age, Her man of men!--To Florence with each letter!
Act II
NOON
Dom. Well, Florence, shall I reach thee, pierce thy heart Through all its safeguards? Hate is said to help-- Quicken the eye, invigorate the arm; And this my hate, made up of many hates, Might stand in scorn of visible instrument, And will thee dead: yet do I trust it not. Nor man's devices nor Heaven's memory Of wickedness forgot on earth so soon, But thy own nature,--hell and thee I trust, To keep thee constant in that wickedness, Where my revenge may meet thee. Turn aside A single step, for gratitude or shame,-- Grace but this Luria,--this wild mass of rage I have prepared to launch against thee now,-- With other payment than thy noblest found,-- Give his desert for once its due reward,-- And past thee would my sure destruction roll. But thou, who mad'st our House thy sacrifice, It cannot be thou wilt except this Moor From the accustomed fate of zeal and truth: Thou wilt deny his looked-for recompense, And then--I reach thee. Old and trained, my sire Could bow down on his quiet broken heart, Die awe-struck and submissive, when at last The strange blow came for the expected wreath; And Porzio passed in blind bewilderment To exile, never to return,--they say, Perplexed in his frank simple honest soul, As if some natural law had changed,--how else Could Florence, on plain fact pronouncing thus, Judge Porzio's actions worthy such reward? But Berto, with the ever-passionate pulse, --Oh that long night, its dreadful hour on hour, In which no way of getting his fair fame From their inexplicable charges free, Was found, save pouring forth the impatient blood To show its color whether false or no! My brothers never had a friend like me Close in their need to watch the time, then speak, --Burst with a wakening laughter on their dream, Cry, "Florence was all falseness, so, false here!" And show them what a simple task remained-- To leave dreams, rise, and punish in God's name The city wedded to the wickedness. None stood by them as I by Luria stand. So, when the stranger cheated of his due Turns on thee as his rapid nature bids, Then, Florence, think, a hireling at thy throat For the first outrage, think who bore thy last, Yet mutely in forlorn obedience died! He comes--his friend--black faces in the camp Where moved those peerless brows and eyes of old.
(Enter LURIA and HUSAIN.)
Well, and the movement--is it as you hope? 'T is Lucca?
Lur. Ah, the Pisan trumpet merely! Tiburzio's envoy, I must needs receive.
Dom. Whom I withdraw before; though if I lingered You could not wonder, for my time fleets fast. The overtaking night brings such reward! And where will then be room for me? Yet, praised, Remember who was first to promise praise, And envy those who also can perform! [Goes.
Lur. This trumpet from the Pisans?--
Husain. In the camp; A very noble presence--Braccio's visage On Puccio's body--calm and fixed and good; A man I seem as I had seen before: Most like, it was some statue had the face.
Lur. Admit him! This will prove the last delay.
Hus. Ay, friend, go on, and die thou going on! Thou heard'st what the grave woman said but now: To-night rewards thee. That is well to hear; But stop not therefore: hear it, and go on!
Lur. Oh, their reward and triumph and the rest They round me in the ears with, all day long? All that, I never take for earnest, friend! Well would it suit us,--their triumphal arch Or storied pillar,--thee and me, the Moors! But gratitude in those Italian eyes-- That, we shall get?
Hus. It is too cold an air. Our sun rose out of yonder mound of mist: Where is he now? So, I trust none of them.
Lur. Truly?
Hus. I doubt and fear. There stands a wall 'Twixt our expansive and explosive race And those absorbing, concentrating men. They use thee.
Lur. And I feel it, Husain! yes, And care not--yes, an alien force like mine Is only called to play its part outside Their different nature; where its sole use seems To fight with and keep off an adverse force, As alien,--which repelled, mine too withdraws: Inside, they know not what to do with me. Thus I have told them laughingly and oft, But longsince am prepared to learn the worst.
Hus. What is the worst?
Lur. I will forestall them, Husain, Will speak the destiny they dare not speak-- Banish myself before they find the heart. I will be first to say, "The work rewards! I know, for all your praise, my use is over, So may it prove!--meanwhile 't is best I go, Go carry safe my memories of you all To other scenes of action, newer lands."-- Thus leaving them confirmed in their belief They would not easily have tired of me. You think this hard to say?
Hus. Say or not say, So thou but go, so they but let thee go! This hating people, that hate each the other, And in one blandness to us Moors unite-- Locked each to each like slippery snakes, I say, Which still in all their tangles, hissing tongue And threatening tail, ne'er do each other harm; While any creature of a better blood, They seem to fight for, while they circle safe And never touch it,--pines without a wound, Withers away beside their eyes and breath. See thou, if Puccio come not safely out Of Braccio's grasp, this Braccio sworn his foe, As Braccio safely from Domizia's toils Who hates him most! But thou, the friend of all, ... Come out of them!
Lur. The Pisan trumpet now!
Hus. Breathe free--it is an enemy, no friend! [Goes.
Lur. He keeps his instincts, no new culture mars Their perfect use in him; just so the brutes Rest not, are anxious without visible cause, When change is in the elements at work, Which man's trained senses fail to apprehend. But here,--he takes the distant chariot-wheel For thunder, festal flame for lightning's flash, The finer traits of cultivated life For treachery and malevolence: I see!
(Enter TIBURZIO.)
Lur. Quick, sir, your message! I but wait your message To sound the charge. You bring no overture For truce?--I would not, for your General's sake, You spoke of truce: a time to fight is come, And, whatsoe'er the fight's event, he keeps His honest soldier's-name to heat me with, Or leaves me all himself to beat, I trust!
Tiburzio. I am Tiburzio.
Lur. You? 'T is--yes ... Tiburzio! You were the last to keep the ford i' the valley From Puccio, when I threw in succors there! Why, I was on the heights--through the defile Ten minutes after, when the prey was lost! You wore an open skull-cap with a twist Of water-reeds--the plume being hewn away; While I drove down my battle from the heights, I saw with my own eyes!
Tib. And you are Luria Who sent my cohort, that laid down its arms In error of the battle-signal's sense, Back safely to me at the critical time-- One of a hundred deeds. I know you! Therefore To none but you could I ...
Lur. No truce, Tiburzio!
Tib. Luria, you know the peril imminent On Pisa,--that you have us in the toils, Us her last safeguard, all that intercepts The rage of her implacablest of foes From Pisa: if we fall to-day, she falls. Though Lucca will arrive, yet, 't is too late. You have so plainly here the best of it, That you must feel, brave soldier as you are, How dangerous we grow in this extreme, How truly formidable by despair. Still, probabilities should have their weight: The extreme chance is ours, but, that chance failing, You win this battle. Wherefore say I this? To be well apprehended when I add, This danger absolutely comes from you. Were you, who threaten thus, a Florentine ...
Lur. Sir, I am nearer Florence than her sons. I can, and have perhaps obliged the State, Nor paid a mere son's duty.
Tib. Even so. Were you the son of Florence, yet endued With all your present nobleness of soul, No question, what I must communicate Would not detach you from her.
Lur. Me, detach?
Tib. Time urges. You will ruin presently Pisa, you never knew, for Florence' sake You think you know. I have from time to time Made prize of certain secret missives sent From Braccio here, the Commissary, home: And knowing Florence otherwise, I piece The entire chain out, from these its scattered links. Your trial occupies the Signory; They sit in judgment on your conduct now. When men at home inquire into the acts Which in the field e'en foes appreciate ... Brief, they are Florentines! You, saving them, Seek but the sure destruction saviors find.
Lur. Tiburzio!
Tib. All the wonder is of course. I am not here to teach you, nor direct, Only to loyally apprise--scarce that. This is the latest letter, sealed and safe, As it left here an hour ago. One way Of two thought free to Florence, I command. The duplicate is on its road; but this,-- Read it, and then I shall have more to say.
Lur. Florence!
Tib. Now, were yourself a Florentine, This letter, let it hold the worst it can, Would be no reason you should fall away. The mother city is the mother still, And recognition of the children's service Her own affair; reward--there 's no reward! But you are bound by quite another tie. Nor nature shows, nor reason, why at first A foreigner, born friend to all alike, Should give himself to any special State More than another, stand by Florence' side Rather than Pisa; 't is as fair a city You war against, as that you fight for--famed As well as she in story, graced no less With noble heads and patriotic hearts: Nor to a stranger's eye would either cause, Stripped of the cumulative loves and hates Which take importance from familiar view, Stand as the right and sole to be upheld. Therefore, should the preponderating gift Of love and trust, Florence was first to throw, Which made you hers, not Pisa's, void the scale,-- Old ties dissolving, things resume their place, And all begins again. Break seal and read! At least let Pisa offer for you now! And I, as a good Pisan, shall rejoice, Though for myself I lose, in gaining you, This last fight and its opportunity; The chance it brings of saying Pisa yet, Or in the turn of battle dying so That shame should want its extreme bitterness.
Lur. Tiburzio, you that fight for Pisa now As I for Florence ... say my chance were yours! You read this letter, and you find ... no, no! Too mad!
Tib. I read the letter, find they purpose When I have crushed their foe, to crush me: well?
Lur. You, being their captain, what is it you do?
Tib. Why, as it is, all cities are alike; As Florence pays you, Pisa will pay me. I shall be as belied, whate'er the event, As you, or more: my weak head, they will say Prompted this last expedient, my faint heart Entailed on them indelible disgrace, Both which defects ask proper punishment. Another tenure of obedience, mine! You are no son of Pisa's: break and read!
Lur. And act on what I read? What act were fit? If the firm-fixed foundation of my faith In Florence, who to me stands for mankind, --If that break up and, disimprisoning From the abyss ... Ah friend, it cannot be! You may be very sage, yet--all the world Having to fail, or your sagacity, You do not wish to find yourself alone! What would the world be worth? Whose love be sure? The world remains: you are deceived!
Tib. Your hand! I lead the vanguard.--If you fall, beside, The better: I am left to speak! For me, This was my duty, nor would I rejoice If I could help, it misses its effect; And after all you will look gallantly Found dead here with that letter in your breast.
Lur. Tiburzio--I would see these people once And test them ere I answer finally! At your arrival let the trumpet sound: If mine return not then the wonted cry It means that I believe--am Pisa's!
Tib. Well! [Goes.
Lur. My heart will have it he speaks true! My blood Beats close to this Tiburzio as a friend. If he had stept into my watch-tent, night And the wild desert full of foes around, I should have broke the bread and given the salt Secure, and, when my hour of watch was done, Taken my turn to sleep between his knees Safe in the untroubled brow and honest cheek. Oh world, where all things pass and naught abides, Oh life, the long mutation--is it so? Is it with life as with the body's change? --Where, e'en though better follow, good must pass, Nor manhood's strength can mate with boyhood's grace, Nor age's wisdom, in its turn, find strength, But silently the first gift dies away, And though the new stays, never both at once. Life's time of savage instinct o'er with me, It fades and dies away, past trusting more, As if to punish the ingratitude With which I turned to grow in these new lights, And learned to look with European eyes. Yet it is better, this cold certain way, Where Braccio's brow tells nothing, Puccio's mouth, Domizia's eyes reject the searcher: yes! For on their calm sagacity I lean, Their sense of right, deliberate choice of good, Sure, as they know my deeds, they deal with me. Yes, that is better--that is best of all! Such faith stays when mere wild belief would go. Yes--when the desert creature's heart, at fault Amid the scattering tempest's pillared sands, Betrays its step into the pathless drift-- The calm instructed eye of man holds fast By the sole bearing of the visible star, Sure that when slow the whirling wreck subside, The boundaries, lost now, shall be found again,-- The palm-trees and the pyramid over all. Yes: I trust Florence: Pisa is deceived.
(Enter BRACCIO, PUCCIO, and DOMIZIA.)
Brac. Noon's at an end: no Lucca? You must fight.
Lur. Do you remember ever, gentle friends, I am no Florentine?
Dom. It is yourself Who still are forcing us, importunately, To bear in mind what else we should forget.
Lur. For loss!--for what I lose in being none! No shrewd man, such as you yourselves respect, But would remind you of the stranger's loss In natural friends and advocates at home, Hereditary loves, even rivalships With precedent for honor and reward. Still, there's a gain, too! If you take it so, The stranger's lot has special gain as well. Do you forget there was my own far East I might have given away myself to, once, As now to Florence, and for such a gift, Stood there like a descended deity? There, worship waits us: what is it waits here?
[Shows the letter.
See! Chance has put into my hand the means Of knowing what I earn, before I work. Should I fight better, should I fight the worse, With payment palpably before me? See! Here lies my whole reward! Best learn it now Or keep it for the end's entire delight?
Brac. If you serve Florence as the vulgar serve, For swordsman's-pay alone,--break seal and read! In that case, you will find your full desert.
Lur. Give me my one last happy moment, friends! You need me now, and all the graciousness This letter can contain will hardly balance The after-feeling that you need no more. This moment ... oh, the East has use with you! Its sword still flashes--is not flung aside With the past praise, in a dark corner yet! How say you? 'Tis not so with Florentines-- Captains of yours: for them, the ended war Is but a first step to the peace begun: He who did well in war, just earns the right To begin doing well in peace, you know: And certain my precursors,--would not such Look to themselves in such a chance as mine, Secure the ground they trod upon, perhaps? For I have heard, by fits, or seemed to hear, Of strange mishap, mistake, ingratitude, Treachery even. Say that one of you Surmised this letter carried what might turn To harm hereafter, cause him prejudice: What would he do?
Dom. [Hastily.] Thank God and take revenge! Hurl her own force against the city straight! And, even at the moment when the foe Sounded defiance ...
[TIBURZIO'S trumpet sounds in the distance.
Lur. Ah, you Florentines! So would you do? Wisely for you, no doubt! My simple Moorish instinct bids me clench The obligation you relieve me from, Still deeper! [To PUC.] Sound our answer, I should say. And thus:--[Tearing the paper.]--The battle! That solves every doubt.
Act III
AFTERNOON
PUCCIO, as making a report to JACOPO.
Puc. And here, your captain must report the rest; For, as I say, the main engagement over And Luria's special part in it performed, How could a subaltern like me expect Leisure or leave to occupy the field And glean what dropped from his wide harvesting? I thought, when Lucca at the battle's end Came up, just as the Pisan centre broke, That Luria would detach me and prevent The flying Pisans seeking what they found, Friends in the rear, a point to rally by. But no, more honorable proved my post! I had the august captive to escort Safe to our camp; some other could pursue, Fight, and be famous; gentler chance was mine-- Tiburzio's wounded spirit must be soothed! He's in the tent there.
Jacopo. Is the substance down? I write--"The vanguard beaten and both wings In full retreat, Tiburzio prisoner"-- And now,--" That they fell back and formed again On Lucca's coming." Why then, after all, 'Tis half a victory, no conclusive one?
Puc. Two operations where a sole had served.
Jac. And Luria's fault was--?
Puc. Oh, for fault--not much! He led the attack, a thought impetuously, --There's commonly more prudence; now, he seemed To hurry measures, otherwise well judged. By over-concentrating strength at first Against the enemy's van, both wings escaped: That's reparable, yet it is a fault.
(Enter BRACCIO.)
Jac. As good as a full victory to Florence, With the advantage of a fault beside-- What is it, Puccio?--that by pressing forward With too impetuous ...
Brac. The report anon! Thanks, sir--you have elsewhere a charge, I know.
[PUCCIO goes.
There's nothing done but I would do again; Yet, Lapo, it may be the past proves nothing, And Luria has kept faithful to the close.
Jac. I was for waiting.
Brac. Yes: so was not I. He could not choose but tear that letter--true! Still, certain of his tones, I mind, and looks:-- You saw, too, with a fresher soul than I. So, Porzio seemed an injured man, they say! Well, I have gone upon the broad, sure ground.
(Enter LURIA, PUCCIO, and DOMIZIA.)
Lur. [To PUC.] Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio! All's at his pleasure.
Dom. [To LUR.] Were I not forewarned You would reject, as you do constantly, Praise,--I might tell you how you have deserved Of Florence by this last and crowning feat: But words offend.
Lur. Nay, you may praise me now. I want instruction every hour, I find, On points where once I saw least need of it; And praise, I have been used to slight perhaps, Seems scarce so easily dispensed with now. After a battle, half one's strength is gone; The glorious passion in us once appeased, Our reason's calm cold dreadful voice begins. All justice, power and beauty scarce appear Monopolized by Florence, as of late, To me, the stranger: you, no doubt, may know Why Pisa needs must bear her rival's yoke, And peradventure I grow nearer you, For I, too, want to know and be assured. When a cause ceases to reward itself, Its friend seeks fresh sustainments; praise in one, And here stand you--you, lady, praise me well. But yours--(your pardon)--is unlearnèd praise. To the motive, the endeavor, the heart's self. Your quick sense looks: you crown and call aright The soul o' the purpose, ere 'tis shaped as act, Takes flesh i' the world, and clothes itself a king. But when the act comes, stands for what 'tis worth, --Here's Puccio, the skilled soldier, he's my judge! Was all well, Puccio?
Puc. All was ... must be well: If we beat Lucca presently, as doubtless ... --No, there's no doubt, we must--all was well done.
Lur. In truth? Still you are of the trade, my Puccio! You have the fellow-craftsman's sympathy. There's none cares, like a fellow of the craft, For the all unestimated sum of pains That go to a success the world can see: They praise then, but the best they never know --While you know! So, if envy mix with it, Hate even, still the bottom-praise of all, Whatever be the dregs, that drop's pure gold! --For nothing's like it; nothing else records Those daily, nightly drippings in the dark Of the heart's blood, the world lets drop away Forever--so, pure gold that praise must be! And I have yours, my soldier! yet the best Is still to come. There's one looks on apart Whom all refers to, failure or success; What's done might be our best, our utmost work, And yet inadequate to serve his need. Here's Braccio now, for Florence--here's our service-- Well done for us, seems it well done for him? His chosen engine, tasked to its full strength Answers the end? Should he have chosen higher? Do we help Florence, now our best is wrought?
Brac. This battle, with the foregone services, Saves Florence.
Lur. Why then, all is very well! Here am I in the middle of my friends, Who know me and who love me, one and all. And yet ... 'tis like ... this instant while I speak Is like the turning-moment of a dream When ... Ah, you are not foreigners like me! Well then, one always dreams of friends at home; And always comes, I say, the turning-point When something changes in the friendly eyes That love and look on you ... so slight, so slight ... And yet it tells you they are dead and gone, Or changed and enemies, for all their words, And all is mockery and a maddening show. You now, so kind here, all you Florentines, What is it in your eyes ... those lips, those brows ... Nobody spoke it, yet I know it well! Come now--this battle saves you, all's at end, Your use of me is o'er, for good, for ill,-- Come now, what's done against me, while I speak, In Florence? Come! I feel it in my blood, My eyes, my hair, a voice is in my ears That spite of all this smiling and soft speech You are betraying me! What is it you do? Have it your way, and think my use is over-- Think you are saved and may throw off the mask-- Have it my way, and think more work remains Which I could do,--so, show you fear me not! Or prudent be, or daring, as you choose, But tell me--tell what I refused to know At noon, lest heart should fail me! Well? That letter? My fate is sealed at Florence! What is it?
Brac. Sir, I shall not deny what you divine. It is no novelty for innocence To be suspected, but a privilege: The after certain compensation comes. Charges, I say not whether false or true, Have been preferred against you some time since, Which Florence was bound, plainly, to receive, And which are therefore undergoing now The due investigation. That is all. I doubt not but your innocence will prove Apparent and illustrious, as to me, To them this evening, when the trial ends.
Lur. My trial?
Dom. Florence, Florence to the end, My whole heart thanks thee!
Puc. [To BRAC.] What is "trial," sir? It was not for a trial,--surely, no-- I furnished you those notes from time to time? I held myself aggrieved--I am a man-- And I might speak,--ay, and speak mere truth, too, And yet not mean at bottom of my heart What should assist a--trial, do you say? You should have told me!
Dom. Nay, go on, go on! His sentence! Do they sentence him? What is it? The block--wheel?
Brac. Sentence there is none as yet, Nor shall I give my own opinion now Of what it should be, or is like to be. When it is passed, applaud or disapprove! Up to that point, what is there to impugn?
Lur. They are right, then, to try me?
Brac. I assert, Maintain and justify the absolute right Of Florence to do all she can have done In this procedure,--standing on her guard, Receiving even services like yours With utmost fit suspicious wariness. In other matters, keep the mummery up! Take all the experiences of all the world, Each knowledge that broke through a heart to life, Each reasoning which, to reach, burnt out a brain, --In other cases, know these, warrant these, And then dispense with these--'tis very well! Let friend trust friend, and love demand love's like, And gratitude be claimed for benefits,-- There's grace in that,--and when the fresh heart breaks, The new brain proves a ruin, what of them? Where is the matter of one moth the more Singed in the candle, at a summer's end? But Florence is no simple John or James To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit That he's the one excepted man by fate. And, when fate shows him he's mistaken there, Die with all good men's praise, and yield his place To Paul and George intent to try their chance! Florence exists because these pass away. She's a contrivance to supply a type Of man, which men's deficiencies refuse; She binds so many, that she grows out of them-- Stands steady o'er their numbers, though they change And pass away--there's always what upholds, Always enough to fashion the great show. As see, yon hanging city, in the sun, Of shapely cloud substantially the same! A thousand vapors rise and sink again, Are interfused, and live their life and die,-- Yet ever hangs the steady show i' the air, Under the sun's straight influence: that is well, That is worth heaven should hold, and God should bless! And so is Florence,--the unseen sun above, Which draws and holds suspended all of us, Binds transient vapors into a single cloud Differing from each and better than they all. And shall she dare to stake this permanence On any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak, And its temptations many: let her prove Each servant to the very uttermost Before she grant him her reward, I say!
Dom. And as for hearts she chances to mistake, Wronged hearts, not destined to receive reward, Though they deserve it, did she only know, --What should she do for these?
Brac. What does she not? Say, that she gives them but herself to serve! Here's Luria--what had profited his strength, When half an hour of sober fancying Had shown him step by step the uselessness Of strength exerted for strength's proper sake? But the truth is, she did create that strength, Draw to the end the corresponding means. The world is wide--are we the only men? Oh, for the time, the social purpose' sake, Use words agreed on, bandy epithets, Call any man the sole great wise and good! But shall we therefore, standing by ourselves, Insult our souls and God with the same speech? There, swarm the ignoble thousands under him: What marks us from the hundreds and the tens? Florence took up, turned all one way the soul Of Luria with its fires, and here he glows! She takes me out of all the world as him, Fixing my coldness till like ice it checks The fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best?
Lur. Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the way To gain your good word and sincere esteem? Am I the baited animal that must turn And fight his baiters to deserve their praise? Obedience is mistake then? Be it so! Do you indeed remember I stand here The captain of the conquering army,--mine-- With all your tokens, praise and promise, ready To show for what their names meant when you gave, Not what you style them now you take away? If I call in my troops to arbitrate, And dash the first enthusiastic thrill Of victory with this you menace now-- Commend to the instinctive popular sense, My story first, your comment afterward,-- Will they take, think you, part with you or me? If I say--I, the laborer they saw work, Ending my work, ask pay, and find my lords Have all this while provided silently Against the day of pay and proving faith, By what you call my sentence that's to come-- Will friends advise I wait complacently? If I meet Florence half-way at their head, What will you do, my mild antagonist?
Brac. I will rise up like fire, proud and triumphant That Florence knew you thoroughly and by me, And so was saved. "See, Italy," I'll say, "The crown of our precautions! Here's a man Was far advanced, just touched on the belief Less subtle cities had accorded long; But we were wiser: at the end comes this!" And from that minute, where is Luria? Lost! The very stones of Florence cry against The all-exacting, naught-enduring fool, Who thus resents her first probation, flouts As if he, only, shone and cast no shade, He, only, walked the earth with privilege Against suspicion, free where angels fear: He, for the first inquisitive mother's-word, Must turn, and stand on his defence, forsooth! Reward? You will not be worth punishment!
Lur. And Florence knew me thus! Thus I have lived,-- And thus you, with the clear fine intellect, Braccio, the cold acute instructed mind, Out of the stir, so calm and unconfused, Reported me--how could you otherwise! Ay?--and what dropped from you, just now, moreover? Your information, Puccio?--Did your skill, Your understanding sympathy approve Such a report of me? Was this the end? Or is even this the end? Can I stop here? You, lady, with the woman's stand apart, The heart to see with, past man's brain and eyes, ... I cannot fathom why you should destroy The unoffending one, you call your friend-- Still, lessoned by the good examples here Of friendship, 'tis but natural I ask-- Had you a further aim, in aught you urged, Than your friend's profit--in all those instances Of perfidy, all Florence wrought of wrong-- All I remember now for the first time?
Dom. I am a daughter of the Traversari, Sister of Porzio and of Berto both, So, have foreseen all that has come to pass. I knew the Florence that could doubt their faith, Must needs mistrust a stranger's--dealing them Punishment, would deny him his reward. And I believed, the shame they bore and died, He would not bear, but live and fight against-- Seeing he was of other stuff than they.
Lur. Hear them! All these against one foreigner! And all this while, where is, in the whole world, To his good faith a single witness?
Tib. [Who has entered unseen during the preceding dialogue.] Here! Thus I bear witness, not in word but deed. I live for Pisa; she's not lost to-day By many chances--much prevents from that! Her army has been beaten, I am here, But Lucca comes at last, one happy chance! I rather would see Pisa three times lost Than saved by any traitor, even by you; The example of a traitor's happy fortune Would bring more evil in the end than good;-- Pisa rejects the traitor, craves yourself! I, in her name, resign forthwith to you My charge,--the highest office, sword and shield! You shall not, by my counsel, turn on Florence Your army, give her calumny that ground-- Nor bring one soldier: be you all we gain! And all she'll lose,--a head to deck some bridge, And save the cost o' the crown should deck the head. Leave her to perish in her perfidy, Plague-stricken and stripped naked to all eyes, A proverb and a by-word in all mouths! Go you to Pisa! Florence is my place-- Leave me to tell her of the rectitude, I, from the first, told Pisa, knowing it. To Pisa!
Dom. Ah my Braccio, are you caught?
Brac. Puccio, good soldier and good citizen, Whom I have ever kept beneath my eye, Ready as fit, to serve in this event Florence, who clear foretold it from the first-- Through me, she gives you the command and charge She takes, through me, from him who held it late! A painful trial, very sore, was yours: All that could draw out, marshal in array The selfish passions 'gainst the public good-- Slights, scorns, neglects, were heaped on you to hear: And ever you did bear and bow the head! It had been sorry trial, to precede Your feet, hold up the promise of reward For luring gleam; your footsteps kept the track Through dark and doubt: take all the light at once! Trial is over, consummation shines; Well have you served, as well henceforth command!
Puc. No, no ... I dare not! I am grateful, glad; But Luria--you shall understand he's wronged: And he's my captain--this is not the way We soldiers climb to fortune: think again! The sentence is not even passed, beside! I dare not: where's the soldier could?
Lur. Now, Florence-- Is it to be? You will know all the strength O' the savage--to your neck the proof must go? You will prove the brute nature? Ah, I see! The savage plainly is impassible-- He keeps his calm way through insulting words, Sarcastic looks, sharp gestures--one of which Would stop you, fatal to your finer sense, But if he stolidly advance, march mute Without a mark upon his callous hide, Through the mere brushwood you grow angry with, And leave the tatters of your flesh upon, --You have to learn that when the true bar comes, The murk mid-forest, the grand obstacle, Which when you reach, you give the labor up, Nor dash on, but lie down composed before, --He goes against it, like the brute he is: It falls before him, or he dies in his course. I kept my course through past ingratitude: I saw--it does seem, now, as if I saw, Could not but see, those insults as they fell, --Ay, let them glance from off me, very like, Laughing, perhaps, to think the quality You grew so bold on, while you so despised The Moor's dull mute inapprehensive mood, Was saving you: I bore and kept my course. Now real wrong fronts me: see if I succumb! Florence withstands me? I will punish her.
At night my sentence will arrive, you say. Till then I cannot, if I would, rebel --Unauthorized to lay my office down, Retaining my full power to will and do: After--it is to see. Tiburzio, thanks! Go; you are free: join Lucca! I suspend All further operations till to-night. Thank you, and for the silence most of all! [To BRAC.] Let my complacent bland accuser go Carry his self-approving head and heart Safe through the army which would trample him Dead in a moment at my word or sign! Go, sir, to Florence; tell friends what I say-- That while I wait my sentence, theirs waits them! [To DOM.] You, lady,--you have black Italian eyes! I would be generous if I might: oh, yes-- For I remember how so oft you seemed Inclined at heart to break the barrier down Which Florence finds God built between us both. Alas, for generosity! this hour Asks retribution: bear it as you may, I must--the Moor--the savage,--pardon you! Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth!
Act IV
EVENING
Enter PUCCIO and JACOPO.
Puc. What Luria will do? Ah, 'tis yours, fair sir, Your and your subtle-witted master's part, To tell me that; I tell you what he can.
Jac. Friend, you mistake my station: I observe The game, watch how my betters play, no more.
Puc. But mankind are not pieces--there's your fault! You cannot push them, and, the first move made, Lean back and study what the next shall be, In confidence that, when 'tis fixed upon, You find just where you left them, blacks and whites: Men go on moving when your hand's away. You build, I notice, firm on Luria's faith This whole time,--firmlier than I choose to build, Who never doubted it--of old, that is-- With Luria in his ordinary mind. But now, oppression makes the wise man mad: How do I know he will not turn and stand And hold his own against you, as he may? Suppose he but withdraw to Pisa--well,-- Then, even if all happen to your wish, Which is a chance ...
Jac. Nay--'twas an oversight, Not waiting till the proper warrant came: You could not take what was not ours to give. But when at night the sentence really comes, Our city authorizes past dispute Luria's removal and transfers the charge, You will perceive your duty and accept?
Puc. Accept what? muster-rolls of soldiers' names? An army upon paper? I want men, The hearts as well as hands--and where's a heart But beats with Luria, in the multitude I come from walking through by Luria's side? You gave them Luria, set him thus to grow, Head-like, upon their trunk; one heart feeds both, They feel him there, live twice, and well know why. --For they do know, if you are ignorant, Who kept his own place and respected theirs, Managed their sweat, yet never spared his blood. All was your act: another might have served-- There's peradventure no such dearth of heads-- But you chose Luria: so, they grew one flesh, And now, for nothing they can understand, Luria removed, off is to roll the head; The body's mine--much I shall do with it!
Jac. That's at the worst.
Puc. No--at the best, it is! Best, do you hear? I saw them by his side. Only we two with Luria in the camp Are left that keep the secret? You think that? Hear what I know: from rear to van, no heart But felt the quiet patient hero there Was wronged, nor in the moveless ranks an eye But glancing told its fellow the whole story Of that convicted silent knot of spies Who passed through them to Florence; they might pass-- No breast but gladlier beat when free of such! Our troops will catch up Luria, close him round, Bear him to Florence as their natural lord, Partake his fortune, live or die with him.
Jac. And by mistake catch up along with him Puccio, no doubt, compelled in self despite To still continue second in command!
Puc. No, sir, no second nor so fortunate! Your tricks succeed with me too well for that! I am as you have made me, live and die To serve your end--a mere trained fighting-hack, With words, you laugh at while they leave your mouth, For my life's rule and ordinance of God! I have to do my duty, keep my faith, And earn my praise, and guard against my blame, As I was trained. I shall accept your charge, And fight against one better than myself, Spite of my heart's conviction of his worth-- That, you may count on!--just as hitherto I have gone on, persuaded I was wronged, Slighted, insulted, terms we learn by rote,-- All because Luria superseded me-- Because the better nature, fresh-inspired, Mounted above me to its proper place! What mattered all the kindly graciousness, The cordial brother's-bearing? This was clear-- I, once the captain, now was subaltern, And so must keep complaining like a fool! Go, take the curse of a lost soul, I say! You neither play your puppets to the end, Nor treat the real man,--for his realness' sake Thrust rudely in their place,--with such regard As might console them for their altered rank. Me, the mere steady soldier, you depose For Luria, and here's all your pet deserves! Of what account, then, is your laughing-stock? One word for all: whatever Luria does, --If backed by his indignant troops he turn, Revenge himself, and Florence go to ground,-- Or, for a signal everlasting shame, He pardon you, simply seek better friends, Side with the Pisans and Lucchese for change --And if I, pledged to ingrates past belief, Dare fight against a man such fools call false, Who, inasmuch as he was true, fights me,-- Whichever way he win, he wins for worth, For every soldier, for all true and good! Sir, chronicling the rest, omit not this!
(As they go, enter LURIA and HUSAIN.)
Hus. Saw'st thou?--For they are gone! The world lies bare Before thee, to be tasted, felt and seen Like what it is, now Florence goes away! Thou livest now, with men art man again! Those Florentines were all to thee of old; But Braccio, but Domizia, gone is each,
There lie beneath thee thine own multitudes! Saw'st thou?
Lur. I saw.
Hus. Then, hold thy course, my king! The years return. Let thy heart have its way: Ah, they would play with thee as with all else, Turn thee to use, and fashion thee anew, Find out God's fault in thee as in the rest? Oh watch, oh listen only to these fiends Once at their occupation! Ere we know, The free great heaven is shut, their stifling pall Drops till it frets the very tingling hair, So weighs it on our head,--and, for the earth, Our common earth is tethered up and down, Over and across--"here shalt thou move," they cry!
Lur. Ay, Husain?
Hus. So have they spoiled all beside! So stands a man girt round with Florentines, Priests, graybeards, Braccios, women, boys and spies, All in one tale, all singing the same song, How thou must house, and live at bed and board, Take pledge and give it, go their every way, Breathe to their measure, make thy blood beat time With theirs--- or, all is nothing--thou art lost-- A savage, how shouldst thou perceive as they? Feel glad to stand 'neath God's close naked hand! Look up to it! Why, down they pull thy neck, Lest it crush thee, who feel'st it and wouldst kiss, Without their priests that needs must glove it first, Lest peradventure flesh offend thy lip. Love woman! Why, a very beast thou art! Thou must ...
Lur. Peace, Husain!
Hus. Ay, but, spoiling all, For all, else true things, substituting false, That they should dare spoil, of all instincts, thine! Should dare to take thee with thine instincts up, Thy battle-ardors, like a ball of fire, And class them and allow them place and play So far, no farther--unabashed the while! Thou with the soul that never can take rest-- Thou born to do, undo, and do again, And never to be still,--wouldst thou make war? Oh, that is commendable, just and right! "Come over," say they, "have the honor due In living out thy nature! Fight thy best: It is to be for Florence, not thyself! For thee, it were a horror and a plague; For us, when war is made for Florence, see, How all is changed: the fire that fed on earth Now towers to heaven!"--
Lur. And what sealed up so long My Husain's mouth?
Hus. Oh friend, oh lord--for me, What am I?--I was silent at thy side, Who am a part of thee. It is thy hand, Thy foot that glows when in the heart fresh blood Boils up, thou heart of me! Now, live again, Again love as thou likest, hate as free! Turn to no Braccios nor Domizias now, To ask, before thy very limbs dare move, If Florence' welfare be concerned thereby!
Lur. So clear what Florence must expect of me?
Hus. Both armies against Florence! Take revenge! Wide, deep--to live upon, in feeling now,-- And, after live, in memory, year by year-- And, with the dear conviction, die at last! She lies now at thy pleasure: pleasure have! Their vaunted intellect that gilds our sense, And blends with life, to show it better by, --How think'st thou?--I have turned that light on them! They called our thirst of war a transient thing; "The battle-element must pass away From life," they said, "and leave a tranquil world." --Master, I took their light and turned it full On that dull turgid vein they said would burst And pass away; and as I looked on life, Still everywhere I tracked this, though it hid And shifted, lay so silent as it thought, Changed shape and hue yet ever was the same. Why, 't was all fighting, all their nobler life! All work was fighting, every harm--defeat, And every joy obtained--a victory! Be not their dupe! --Their dupe? That hour is past! Here stand'st thou in the glory and the calm: All is determined. Silence for me now! [HUSAIN goes.
Lur. Have I heard all?
Dom. [Advancing from the background.] No, Luria, I remain! Not from the motives these have urged on thee, Ignoble, insufficient, incomplete, And pregnant each with sure seeds of decay, As failing of sustainment from thyself, --Neither from low revenge, nor selfishness, Nor savage lust of power, nor one, nor all, Shalt thou abolish Florence! I proclaim The angel in thee, and reject the sprites Which ineffectual crowd about his strength, And mingle with his work and claim a share! Inconsciously to the augustest end Thou hast arisen: second not in rank So much as time, to him who first ordained That Florence, thou art to destroy, should be. Yet him a star, too, guided, who broke first The pride of lonely power, the life apart, And made the eminences, each to each, Lean o'er the level world and let it lie Safe from the thunder henceforth 'neath their tops; So the few famous men of old combined, And let the multitude rise underneath, And reach them and unite--so Florence grew: Braccio speaks true, it was well worth the price. But when the sheltered many grew in pride And grudged the station of the elected ones, Who, greater than their kind, are truly great Only in voluntary servitude-- Time was for thee to rise, and thou art here. Such plague possessed this Florence: who can tell The mighty girth and greatness at the heart Of those so perfect pillars of the grove She pulled down in her envy? Who as I, The light weak parasite born but to twine Round each of them and, measuring them, live? My light love keeps the matchless circle safe, My slender life proves what has passed away. I lived when they departed; lived to cling To thee, the mighty stranger; thou wouldst rise And burst the thraldom, and avenge, I knew. I have done nothing; all was thy strong bole. But a bird's weight can break the infant tree Which after holds an aery in its arms, And 't was my care that naught should warp thy spire From rising to the height; the roof is reached O' the forest, break through, see extend the sky! Go on to Florence, Luria! 'T is man's cause! Fail thou, and thine own fall were least to dread: Thou keepest Florence in her evil way, Encouragest her sin so much the more-- And while the ignoble past is justified, Thou all the surelier warp'st the future growth, The chiefs to come, the Lurias yet unborn, That, greater than thyself, are reached o'er thee Who giv'st the vantage-ground their foes require, As o'er my prostrate House thyself wast reached! Man calls thee, God requites thee! All is said, The mission of my House fulfilled at last: And the mere woman, speaking for herself, Reserves speech--it is now no woman's time. [DOMIZIA goes.
Lur. Thus at the last must figure Luria, then! Doing the various work of all his friends, And answering every purpose save his own. No doubt, 't is well for them to wish; but him-- After the exploit what were left? Perchance A little pride upon the swarthy brow, At having brought successfully to bear 'Gainst Florence' self her own especial arms,-- Her craftiness, impelled by fiercer strength From Moorish blood than feeds the northern wit. But after!--once the easy vengeance willed, Beautiful Florence at a word laid low --(Not in her domes and towers and palaces, Not even in a dream, that outrage!)--low, As shamed in her own eyes henceforth forever, Low, for the rival cities round to laugh, Conquered and pardoned by a hireling Moor! --For him, who did the irreparable wrong, What would be left, his life's illusion fled,-- What hope or trust in the forlorn wide world? How strange that Florence should mistake me so! Whence grew this? What withdrew her faith from me? Some cause! These fretful-blooded children talk Against their mother,--they are wronged, they say-- Notable wrongs her smile makes up again! So, taking fire at each supposed offence, They may speak rashly, suffer for their speech: But what could it have been in word or deed Thus injured me? Some one word spoken more Out of my heart, and all had changed perhaps. My fault, it must have been,--for, what gain they? Why risk the danger? See, what I could do! And my fault, wherefore visit upon them, My Florentines? The notable revenge I meditated! To stay passively. Attend their summons, be as they dispose! Why, if my very soldiers keep the rank, And if my chieftains acquiesce, what then? I ruin Florence, teach her friends mistrust, Confirm her enemies in harsh belief, And when she finds one day, as find she must, The strange mistake, and how my heart was hers, Shall it console me, that my Florentines Walk with a sadder step, in graver guise, Who took me with such frankness, praised me so, At the glad outset? Had they loved me less, They had less feared what seemed a change in me. And after all, who did the harm? Not they! How could they interpose with those old fools I' the council? Suffer for those old fools' sake-- They, who made pictures of me, sang the songs About my battles? Ah, we Moors get blind Out of our proper world, where we can see! The sun that guides is closer to us! There-- There, my own orb! He sinks from out the sky! Why, there! a whole day has he blessed the land, My land, our Florence all about the hills, The fields and gardens, vineyards, olive-grounds, All have been blest--and yet we Florentines, With souls intent upon our battle here, Found that he rose too soon, or set too late, Gave us no vantage, or gave Pisa much-- Therefore we wronged him! Does he turn in ire To burn the earth that cannot understand? Or drop out quietly, and leave the sky, His task once ended? Night wipes blame away. Another morning from my East shall spring And find all eyes at leisure, all disposed To watch and understand its work, no doubt. So, praise the new sun, the successor praise, Praise the new Luria and forget the old! [Taking a phial from his breast. --Strange! This is all I brought from my own land To help me: Europe would supply the rest, All needs beside, all other helps save one! I thought of adverse fortune, battle lost, The natural upbraiding of the loser, And then this quiet remedy to seek At end of the disastrous day. [He drinks. 'T is sought! This was my happy triumph-morning: Florence Is saved: I drink this, and ere night,--die! Strange!