Chapter III: Act II

SCENE I. _Ravenna. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and a_ CARDINAL.

CARDINAL. I warn thee, Count.

GUIDO. I'll take the warning, father, On one condition: show me but a way For safe escape.

CARDINAL. I cannot.

GUIDO. There's the point. We Ghibelins are fettered hand and foot. There's not a florin in my treasury; Not a lame soldier, I can lead to war; Not one to man the walls. A present siege, Pushed with the wonted heat of Lanciotto, Would deal Ravenna such a mortal blow As ages could not mend. Give me but time To fill the drained arteries of the land. The Guelfs are masters, we their slaves; and we Were wiser to confess it, ere the lash Teach it too sternly. It is well for you To say you love Francesca. So do I; But neither you nor I have any voice For or against this marriage.

CARDINAL. 'Tis too true.

GUIDO. Say we refuse: Why, then, before a week, We'll hear Lanciotto rapping at our door, With twenty hundred ruffians at his back. What's to say then? My lord, we waste our breath. Let us look fortune in the face, and draw Such comfort from the wanton as we may.

CARDINAL. And yet I fear--

GUIDO. You fear! and so do I. I fear Lanciotto as a soldier, though, More than a son-in-law.

CARDINAL. But have you seen him?

GUIDO. Ay, ay, and felt him, too. I've seen him ride The best battalions of my horse and foot Down like mere stubble: I have seen his sword Hollow a square of pikemen, with the ease You'd scoop a melon out.

CARDINAL. Report declares him
A prodigy of strength and ugliness.

GUIDO. Were he the devil--But why talk of this?--
Here comes Francesca.

CARDINAL. Ah! unhappy child!

GUIDO. Look you, my lord! you'll make the best of it; You will not whimper. Add your voice to mine, Or woe to poor Ravenna!

_Enter_ FRANCESCA _and_ RITTA.

FRANCESCA. Ha! my lord-- And you, my father!--But do I intrude Upon your counsels? How severe you look! Shall I retire?

GUIDO. No, no.

FRANCESCA. You moody men Seem leagued against me. As I passed the hall, I met your solemn Dante, with huge strides Pacing in measure to his stately verse. The sweeping sleeves of his broad scarlet robe Blew out behind, like wide-expanded wings, And seemed to buoy him in his level flight. Thinking to pass, without disturbing him, I stole on tip-toe; but the poet paused, Subsiding into man, and steadily Bent on my face the lustre of his eyes. Then, taking both my trembling hands in his-- You know how his God-troubled forehead awes-- He looked into my eyes, and shook his head, As if he dared not speak of what he saw; Then muttered, sighed, and slowly turned away The weight of his intolerable brow. When I glanced back, I saw him, as before, Sailing adown the hall on out-spread wings. Indeed, my lord, he should not do these things; They strain the weakness of mortality A jot too far. As for poor Ritta, she Fled like a doe, the truant.

RITTA. Yes, forsooth: There's something terrible about the man. Ugh! if he touched me, I should turn to ice. I wonder if Count Lanciotto looks--

GUIDO. Ritta, come here. [_Takes her apart._

RITTA. My lord.

GUIDO. 'Twas my command,
You should say nothing of Count Lanciotto.

RITTA. Nothing, my lord.

GUIDO. You have said nothing, then?

RITTA. Indeed, my lord.

GUIDO. 'Tis well. Some years ago, My daughter had a very silly maid, Who told her sillier stories. So, one day, This maiden whispered something I forbade-- In strictest confidence, for she was sly: What happened, think you?

RITTA. I know not, my lord.

GUIDO. I boiled her in a pot.

RITTA. Good heaven! my lord.

GUIDO. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot
Ready for the next boiling.

[_Walks back to the others._

RITTA. Saints above! I wonder if he ate her! Boil me--me! I'll roast or stew with pleasure; but to boil Implies a want of tenderness,--or rather A downright toughness--in the matter boiled, That's slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me-- Boil me! O! mercy, how ridiculous!

[_Retires, laughing._

_Enter a_ MESSENGER.

MESSENGER. Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta.
[_Presents them, and exit._

GUIDO. [_Aside._] Hear him, ye gods!--"from great Prince Malatesta!" Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido. Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down. [_Reads._] _"Fearing our treachery,"_--by heaven, that's blunt, And Malatesta-like!--_"he will not send His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"_-- But what?--a groom, a porter? or will he Have his prey sent him in an iron cage? By Jove, he shall not have her! O! no, no; _"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo, To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."_ That's well, if he had left his reasons out. And, in a postscript--by the saints, 'tis droll!-- _"'Twould not be worth your lordship's while to shut Paolo in a prison; for, my lord, I'll only pay his ransom in plain steel: Besides, he's not worth having."_ Is there one, Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths, Who'd write such garbage to a gentleman? Take that, and read it. [_Gives letter to_ CARDINAL.

CARDINAL. I have done the most.
She seems suspicious.

GUIDO. Ritta's work.

CARDINAL. Farewell!

FRANCESCA. Father, you seem distempered.

GUIDO. No, my child, I am but vexed. Your husband's on the road, Close to Ravenna. What's the time of day?

FRANCESCA. Past noon, my lord.

GUIDO. We must be stirring, then.

FRANCESCA. I do not like this marriage.

GUIDO. But I do.

FRANCESCA. But I do not. Poh! to be given away, Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man Whose face I never saw!

RITTA. That's it, my lady.

GUIDO. Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot
Boils to your liking.

RITTA. [_Aside._] O! that pot again! My lord, my heart betrays me; but you know How true 'tis to my lady. [_Exit._

FRANCESCA. What ails Ritta?

GUIDO. The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. Francesca, 'tis too late to beat retreat: Old Malatesta has me--you, too, child-- Safe in his clutch. If you are not content, I must unclose Ravenna, and allow His son to take you. Poh, poh! have a soul Equal with your estate. A prince's child Cannot choose husbands. Her desires must aim, Not at herself, but at the public good. Both as your prince and father, I command; As subject and good daughter, you'll obey.

FRANCESCA. I knew that it must be my destiny, Some day, to give my hand without my heart; But--

GUIDO. But, and I will but you back again! When Guido da Polenta says to you, Daughter, you must be married,--what were best?

FRANCESCA. 'Twere best Francesca, of the self-same name,
Made herself bridal garments. [_Laughing._

GUIDO. Right!

FRANCESCA. My lord, Is Lanciotto handsome--ugly--fair-- Black--sallow--crabbed--kind--or what is he?

GUIDO. You'll know ere long. I could not alter him,
To please your taste.

FRANCESCA. You always put me off;
You never have a whisper in his praise.

GUIDO. The world reports it.--Count my soldiers' scars,
And you may sum Lanciotto's glories up.

FRANCESCA. I shall be dutiful, to please you, father. If aught befall me through my blind submission, Though I may suffer, you must bear the sin. Beware, my lord, for your own peace of mind! My part has been obedience; and now I play it over to complete my task; And it shall be with smiles upon my lips,-- Heaven only knows with what a sinking heart! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The Same. Before the Gates of the City. The walls hung with banners, flowers, etc., and crowded with citizens. At the side of the scene is a canopied dais, with chairs of state upon it. Music, bells, shouts, and other sounds of rejoicing, are occasionally heard. Enter_ GUIDO, _the_ CARDINAL, NOBLEMEN, KNIGHTS, GUARDS, _etc., with banners, arms, etc._

GUIDO. My lord, I'll have it so. You talk in vain. Paolo is a marvel in his way: I've seen him often. If Francesca take A fancy to his beauty, all the better; For she may think that he and Lanciotto Are like as blossoms of one parent branch. In truth, they are, so far as features go-- Heaven help the rest! Get her to Rimini, By any means, and I shall be content. The fraud cannot last long; but long enough To win her favour to the family.

CARDINAL. Tis a dull trick. Thou hast not dealt with her Wisely nor kindly, and I dread the end. If, when this marriage was enjoined on thee, Thou hadst informed Francesca of the truth, And said, Now daughter, choose between Thy peace and all Ravenna's; who that knows The constant nature of her noble heart Could doubt the issue? There'd have been some tears, Some frightful fancies of her husband's looks; And then she'd calmly walk up to her fate, And bear it bravely. Afterwards, perchance, Lanciotto might prove better than her fears,-- No one denies him many an excellence,-- And all go happily. But, as thou wouldst plot, She'll be prepared to see a paragon, And find a satyr. It is dangerous. Treachery with enemies is bad enough, With friends 'tis fatal.

GUIDO. Has your lordship done?

CARDINAL. Never, Count Guido, with so good a text. Do not stand looking sideways at the truth; Craft has become thy nature. Go to her.

GUIDO. I have not heart.

CARDINAL. I have. [_Going._

GUIDO. Hold, Cardinal! My plan is better. Get her off my hands, And I care not.

CARDINAL. What will she say of thee,
In Rimini, when she detects the cheat?

GUIDO. I'll stop my ears up.

CARDINAL. Guido, thou art weak,
And lack the common fortitude of man.

GUIDO. And you abuse the license of your garb, To lesson me. My lord, I do not dare To move a finger in these marriage-rites. Francesca is a sacrifice, I know,-- A limb delivered to the surgeon's knife, To save our general health. A truce to this. Paolo has the business in his hands: Let him arrange it as he will; for I Will give Count Malatesta no pretext To recommence the war.

CARDINAL. Farewell, my lord. I'll neither help nor countenance a fraud. You crafty men take comfort to yourselves, Saying, deceit dies with discovery. 'Tis false; each wicked action spawns a brood, And lives in its succession. You, who shake Man's moral nature into storm, should know That the last wave which passes from your sight Rolls in and breaks upon eternity! [_Exit._

GUIDO. Why, that's a very grand and solemn thought: I'll mention it to Dante. Gentlemen, What see they from the wall?

NOBLEMAN. The train, my lord.

GUIDO. Inform my daughter.

NOBLEMAN. She is here, my lord.

_Enter_ FRANCESCA, RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, _etc._

FRANCESCA. See, father, what a merry face I have, And how my ladies glisten! I will try To do my utmost, in my love for you And the good people of Ravenna. Now, As the first shock is over, I expect To feel quite happy. I will wed the Count, Be he whate'er he may. I do not speak In giddy recklessness. I've weighed it all,-- 'Twixt hope and fear, knowledge and ignorance,-- And reasoned out my duty to your wish. I have no yearnings towards another love: So, if I show my husband a desire To fill the place with which he honours me, According to its duties, even he-- Were he less noble than Count Lanciotto-- Must smile upon my efforts, and reward Good will with willing grace. One pang remains. Parting from home and kindred is a thing None but the heartless, or the miserable, Can do without a tear. This home of mine Has filled my heart with two-fold happiness, Taking and giving love abundantly. Farewell, Ravenna! If I bless thee not, Tis that thou seem'st too blessed; and 'twere strange In me to offer what thou'st always given.

GUIDO. [_Aside._] This is too much! If she would rail a while
At me and fortune, it could be endured. [_Shouts, music, etc., within._

FRANCESCA. Ha! there's the van just breaking through the wood! Music! that's well; a welcome forerunner. Now, Ritta--here--come talk to me. Alas! How my heart trembles! What a world to me Lies 'neath the glitter of yon cavalcade! Is that the Count?

RITTA. Upon the dapple-gray?

FRANCESCA. Yes, yes.

RITTA. No; that's his--

GUIDO. [_Apart to her._] Ritta!

RITTA. Ay; that's--that's--

GUIDO. Ritta, the pot! [_Apart to her._

RITTA. O! but this lying chokes! [_Aside._]
Ay, that's Count Somebody, from Rimini.

FRANCESCA. I knew it was. Is that not glorious?

RITTA. My lady, what?

FRANCESCA. To see a cavalier
Sit on his steed with such familiar grace.

RITTA. To see a man astraddle on a horse!
It don't seem much to me.

FRANCESCA. Fie! stupid girl! But mark the minstrels thronging round the Count! Ah! that is more than gallant horsemanship. The soul that feeds itself on poesy, Is of a quality more fine and rare Than Heaven allows the ruder multitude. I tell you, Ritta, when you see a man Beloved by poets, made the theme of song, And chaunted down to ages, as a gift Fit for the rich embalmment of their verse, There's more about him than the patron's gold. If that's the gentleman my father chose, He must have picked him out from all the world. The Count alights. Why, what a noble grace Runs through his slightest action! Are you sad? You, too, my father? Have I given you cause? I am content. If Lanciotto's mind Bear any impress of his fair outside, We shall not quarrel ere our marriage-day. Can I say more? My blushes speak for me: Interpret them as modesty's excuse For the short-comings of a maiden's speech.

RITTA. Alas! dear lady! [_Aside._

GUIDO. [_Aside._] 'Sdeath! my plot has failed, By overworking its design. Come, come; Get to your places. See, the Count draws nigh.

GUIDO _and_ FRANCESCA _seat themselves upon the dais, surrounded by_ RITTA, LADIES, ATTENDANTS, GUARDS, _etc. Music, shouts, ringing of bells, etc. Enter_ MEN-AT-ARMS, _with banners, etc.;_ PAGES _bearing costly presents on cushions; then_ PAOLO, _surrounded by_ NOBLEMEN, KNIGHTS, MINSTRELS, _etc., and followed by other_ MEN-AT-ARMS. _They range themselves opposite the dais._

GUIDO. Ravenna welcomes you, my lord, and I Add my best greeting to the general voice. This peaceful show of arms from Rimini Is a new pleasure, stranger to our sense Than if the East blew zephyrs, or the balm Of Summer loaded rough December's gales, And turned his snows to roses.

PAOLO. Noble sir, We looked for welcome from your courtesy, Not from your love; but this unhoped for sight Of smiling faces, and the gentle tone In which you greet us, leave us naught to win Within your hearts. I need not ask, my lord, Where bides the precious object of my search; For I was sent to find the fairest maid Ravenna boasts, among her many fair. I might extend my travel many a league, And yet return, to take her from your side. I blush to bear so rich a treasure home, As pledge and hostage of a sluggish peace; For beauty such as hers was meant by Heaven To spur our race to gallant enterprise, And draw contending deities around The dubious battles of a second Troy.

GUIDO. Sir Count, you please to lavish on my child The high-strained courtesy of chivalry; Yet she has homely virtues that, I hope, May take a deeper hold in Rimini, After the fleeting beauty of her face Is spoiled by time, or faded to the eye By its familiar usage.

PAOLO. As a man Who ever sees Heaven's purpose in its works, I must suppose so rare a tabernacle Was framed for rarest virtues. Pardon me My public admiration. If my praise Clash with propriety, and bare my words To cooler judgment, 'tis not that I wish To win a flatterer's grudged recompense, And gain by falsehood what I'd win through love. When I have brushed my travel from my garb, I'll pay my court in more befitting style.

_Music. Exit with his train._

GUIDO. [_Advancing._] Now, by the saints, Lanciotto's deputy Stands in this business with a proper grace, Stretching his lord's instructions till they crack. A zealous envoy! Not a word said he Of Lanciotto--not a single word: But stood there, staring in Francesca's face With his devouring eyes.--By Jupiter, I but half like it!

FRANCESCA. [_Advancing._] Father?

GUIDO. Well, my child.

FRANCESCA. How do you like--

GUIDO. The coxcomb! I've done well!

FRANCESCA. No, no; Count Lanciotto?

GUIDO. Well enough. But hang this fellow--hang your deputies! I'll never woo by proxy.

FRANCESCA. Deputies!
And woo by proxy!

GUIDO. Come to me anon.
I'll strip this cuckoo of his gallantry!
[_Exit with_ GUARDS, _etc._

FRANCESCA. Ritta, my father has strange ways of late.

RITTA. I wonder not.

FRANCESCA. You wonder not?

RITTA. No, lady: He is so used to playing double games, That even you must come in for your share. Plague on his boiling! I will out with it. [_Aside._] Lady, the gentleman who passed the gates--

FRANCESCA. Count Lanciotto? As I hope for grace, A gallant gentleman! How well he spoke! With what sincere and earnest courtesy The rounded phrases glided from his lips! He spoke in compliments that seemed like truth. Methinks I'd listen through a summer's day, To hear him woo.--And he must woo to me-- I'll have our privilege--he must woo a space, Ere I'll be won, I promise.

RITTA. But, my lady,
He'll woo you for another.

FRANCESCA. He?--ha! ha! [_Laughing._]
I should not think it from the prologue, Ritta.

RITTA. Nor I.

FRANCESCA. Nor any one.

RITTA. 'Tis not the Count--
'Tis not Count Lanciotto.

FRANCESCA. Gracious saints! Have you gone crazy? Ritta, speak again, Before I chide you.

RITTA. 'Tis the solemn truth. That gentleman is Count Paolo, lady, Brother to Lanciotto, and no more Like him than--than--

FRANCESCA. Than what?

RITTA. Count Guido's pot, For boiling waiting-maids, is like the bath Of Venus on the arras.

FRANCESCA. Are you mad,--
Quite mad, poor Ritta?

RITTA. Yes; perhaps I am. Perhaps Lanciotto is a proper man-- Perhaps I lie--perhaps I speak the truth-- Perhaps I gabble like a fool. O! heavens, That dreadful pot!

FRANCESCA. Dear Ritta!--

RITTA. By the mass, They shall not cozen you, my gentle mistress! If my lord Guido boiled me, do you think I should be served up to the garrison, By way of pottage? Surely they would not waste me.

FRANCESCA. You are an idle talker. Pranks like these
Fit your companions. You forget yourself.

RITTA. Not you, though, lady. Boldly I repeat, That he who looked so fair, and talked so sweet, Who rode from Rimini upon a horse Of dapple-gray, and walked through yonder gate, Is not Count Lanciotto.

FRANCESCA. This you mean?

RITTA. I do, indeed!

FRANCESCA. Then I am more abused-- More tricked, more trifled with, more played upon-- By him, my father, and by all of you, Than anything, suspected of a heart, Was ever yet!

RITTA. In Count Paolo, lady,
Perchance there was no meditated fraud.

FRANCESCA. How, dare you plead for him?

RITTA. I but suppose:
Though in your father--O! I dare not say.

FRANCESCA. I dare. It was ill usage, gross abuse, Treason to duty, meanness, craft--dishonour! What if I'd thrown my heart before the feet Of this sham husband! cast my love away Upon a counterfeit! I was prepared To force affection upon any man Called Lanciotto. Anything of silk, Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name, Might have received me for the asking. Yes, I was inclined to venture more than half In this base business--shame upon my thoughts!-- All for my father's peace and poor Ravenna's. And this Paolo, with his cavalcade, His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs, His showy person, and his fulsome talk, Almost made me contented with my lot. O! what a fool--in faith, I merit it-- Trapped by mere glitter! What an easy fool! Ha! ha! I'm glad it went no further, girl; [_Laughing._] I'm glad I kept my heart safe, after all. There was my cunning. I have paid them back, I warrant you! I'll marry Lanciotto; I'll seem to shuffle by this treachery. No! I'll seek my father, put him face to face With his own falsehood; and I'll stand between, Awful as justice, meting out to him Heaven's dreadful canons 'gainst his conscious guilt. I'll marry Lanciotto. On my faith, I would not live another wicked day Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear That I should take to lying, with the rest. Ha! ha! it makes me merry, when I think How safe I kept this little heart of mine! [_Laughing._ [_Exit, with_ ATTENDANTS, _etc._

RITTA. So, 'tis all ended--all except my boiling, And that will make a holiday for some. Perhaps I'm selfish. Fagot, axe, and gallows, They have their uses, after all. They give The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh; And that's a point gained. I have seen a man-- Poor Dora's uncle--shake himself with glee, At the bare thought of the ridiculous style In which some villain died. "Dancing," quoth he, "To the poor music of a single string! Biting," quoth he, "after his head was off! What use of that?" Or, "Shivering," quoth he, "As from an ague, with his beard afire!" And then he'd roar until his ugly mouth Split at the corners. But to see me boil-- that will be the queerest thing of all! I wonder if they'll put me in a bag, Like a great suet-ball? I'll go, and tell Count Guido, on the instant. How he'll laugh To think his pot has got an occupant! I wonder if he really takes delight In such amusements? Nay, I have kept faith; I only said the man was not Lanciotto; No word of Lanciotto's ugliness. I may escape the pot, for all. Pardee! I wonder if they'll put me in a bag! [_Exit, laughing._

SCENE III.

_The Same. A Room in_ GUIDO'S _Palace. Enter_ GUIDO _and_ RITTA.

RITTA. There now, my lord, that is the whole of it: I love my mistress more than I fear you. If I could save her finger from the axe, I'd give my head to do it. So, my lord, I am prepared to stew.

GUIDO. Boil, Ritta, boil.

RITTA. No; I prefer to stew.

GUIDO. And I to boil.

RITTA. Tis very hard, my lord, I cannot choose My way of cooking. I shall laugh, I vow, In the grim headsman's face, when I remember That I am dying for my lady's love. I leave no one to shed a tear for me; Father nor mother, kith nor kin, have I, To say, "Poor Ritta!" o'er my lifeless clay. They all have gone before me, and 'twere well If I could hurry after them.

GUIDO. Poor child. [_Aside._]
But, baggage, said you aught of Lanciotto?

RITTA. No, not a word; and he's so ugly, too!

GUIDO. Is he so ugly?

RITTA. Ugly! he is worse
Than Pilate on the hangings.

GUIDO. Hold your tongue Here, and at Rimini, about the Count, And you shall prosper.

RITTA. Am I not to boil?

GUIDO. No, child. But be discreet at Rimini. Old Malatesta is a dreadful man-- Far worse than I--he bakes his people, Ritta; Lards them, like geese, and bakes them in an oven.

RITTA. Fire is my fate, I see that.

GUIDO. Have a care It do not follow you beyond this world. Where is your mistress?

RITTA. In her room, my lord. After I told her of the Count Paolo, She flew to have an interview with you; But on the way--I know not why it was-- She darted to her chamber, and there stays Weeping in silence. It would do you good-- More than a hundred sermons--just to see A single tear, indeed it would, my lord.

GUIDO. Ha! you are saucy. I have honoured you Past prudence, malpert! Get you to your room! [_Exit_ RITTA.] More of my blood runs in yon damsel's veins Than the world knows. Her mother to a shade; The same high spirit, and strange martyr-wish To sacrifice herself, body and soul, For some loved end. All that she did for me; And yet I loved her not. O! memory! The darkest future has a ray of hope, But thou art blacker than the sepulchre! Thy horrid shapes lie round, like scattered bones, Hopeless forever! I am sick at heart. The past crowds on the present: as I sowed, So am I reaping. Shadows from myself Fall on the picture, as I trace anew These rising spectres of my early life, And add their gloom to what was dark before. O! memory, memory! How my temples throb! [_Sits._

_Enter_ FRANCESCA, _hastily._

FRANCESCA. My lord, this outrage-- [_He looks up._] Father, are you ill? You seem unhappy. Have I troubled you? You heard how passionate and bad I was, When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask A child's forgiveness. 'Twas undutiful To doubt your wisdom. It is over now. I only thought you might have trusted me With any counsel.

GUIDO. [_Aside._] Would I had!

FRANCESCA. Ah! well, I understand it all, and you were right. Only the danger of it. Think, my lord, If I had loved this man at the first sight: We all have heard of such things. Think, again, If I had loved him--as I then supposed You wished me to--'twould have been very sad. But no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure, Nor will I loose it till you give the word. I'm wiser than you thought me, you perceive. But when we saw him, face to face, together, Surely you might have told me then.

GUIDO. Francesca, My eyes are old--I did not clearly see--Faith, it escaped my thoughts. Some other things Came in my head. I was as ignorant Of Count Paolo's coming as yourself. The brothers are so like.

FRANCESCA. Indeed?

GUIDO. Yes, yes. One is the other's counterpart, in fact; And even now it may not be--O! shame! I lie by habit. [_Aside._

FRANCESCA. Then there is a hope? He may be Lanciotto, after all? O! joy--

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SERVANT. The Count Paolo. [_Exit._

FRANCESCA. Misery!
That name was not Lanciotto!

GUIDO. Farewell, child. I'll leave you with the Count: he'll make it plain. It seems 'twas Count Paolo. [_Going._

FRANCESCA. Father!

GUIDO. Well.

FRANCESCA. You knew it from the first! [_Exit_ GUIDO.] Let me begone: I could not look him in the face again With the old faith. Besides, 'twould anger him To have a living witness of his fraud Ever before him; and I could not trust-- Strive as I might--my happiness to him, As once I did. I could not lay my hand Upon his shoulder, and look up to him, Saying, Dear father, pilot me along Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. Saints, no! The gold that gave my life away Might, even then, be rattling in his purse, Warm from the buyer's hand. Look on me, Heaven! Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes, Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy, With guardianship of a weak orphan girl, Has fallen from grace, has paltered with his trust; I have no mother to receive thy charge,-- O! take it on thyself; and when I err, Through mortal blindness, Heaven, be thou my guide! Worse cannot fall me. Though my husband lack A parent's tenderness, he yet may have Faith, truth, and honour--the immortal bonds That knit together honest hearts as one. Let me away to Rimini. Alas! It wrings my heart to have outlived the day That I can leave my home with no regret! [_Weeps._

_Enter_ PAOLO.

PAOLO. Pray, pardon me. [_Going._

FRANCESCA. You are quite welcome, Count A foolish tear, a weakness, nothing more: But present weeping clears our future sight. They tell me you are love's commissioner, A kind of broker in the trade of hearts: Is it your usual business? or may I Flatter myself, by claiming this essay As your first effort?

PAOLO. Lady, I believed My post, at starting, one of weight and trust; When I beheld you, I concluded it A charge of honour and high dignity. I did not think to hear you underrate Your own importance, by dishonouring me.

FRANCESCA. You are severe, my lord.

PAOLO. No, not severe; Say candid, rather. I am somewhat hurt By my reception. If I feel the wound, 'Tis not because I suffer from the jest, But that your lips should deal it.

FRANCESCA. Compliments Appear to be the staple of your speech. You ravish one with courtesy, you pour Fine words upon one, till the listening head Is bowed with sweetness. Sir, your talk is drugged; There's secret poppy in your sugared phrase: I'll taste before I take it.

PAOLO. Gentle lady--

FRANCESCA. I am not gentle, or I missed my aim. I am no hawk to fly at every lure. You courtly gentlemen draw one broad rule-- All girls are fools. It may be so, in truth, Yet so I'll not be treated.

PAOLO. Have you been? If I implied such slander by my words, They wrong my purpose. If I compliment, 'Tis not from habit, but because I thought Your face deserved my homage as its due. When I have clearer insight, and you spread Your inner nature o'er your lineaments, Even that face may darken in the shades Of my opinion. For mere loveliness Needs inward light to keep it always bright. All things look badly to unfriendly eyes. I spoke my first impression; cooler thought May work strange changes.

FRANCESCA. Ah, Sir Count, at length
There's matter in your words.

PAOLO. Unpleasant stuff, To judge by your dark brows. I have essayed Kindness and coldness, yet you are not pleased.

FRANCESCA. How can I be?

PAOLO. How, lady?

FRANCESCA. Ay, sir, how? Your brother--my good lord that is to be-- Stings me with his neglect; and in the place He should have filled, he sends a go-between, A common carrier of others' love; How can the sender, or the person sent, Please overmuch? Now, were I such as you, I'd be too proud to travel round the land With other people's feelings in my heart; Even to fill the void which you confess By such employment.

PAOLO. Lady, 'tis your wish To nettle me, to break my breeding down, And see what natural passions I have hidden Behind the outworks of my etiquette. I neither own nor feel the want of heart With which you charge me. You are more than cruel; You rouse my nerves until they ache with life, And then pour fire upon them. For myself I would not speak, unless you had compelled. My task is odious to me. Since I came, Heaven bear me witness how my traitor heart Has fought against my duty; and how oft I wished myself in Lanciotto's place. Or him in mine.

FRANCESCA. You riddle.

PAOLO. Do I? Well,
Let it remain unguessed.

FRANCESCA. You wished yourself At Rimini, or Lanciotto here? You may have reasons.

PAOLO. Well interpreted!
The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands!

FRANCESCA. It has become your turn to sneer.

PAOLO. But I Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you Jest in the wanton ease of happiness. Stop! there is peril in our talk.

FRANCESCA. As how?

PAOLO. 'Tis dangerous to talk about one's self;
It panders selfishness. My duty waits.

FRANCESCA. My future lord's affairs? I quite forgot
Count Lanciotto.

PAOLO. I, too, shame upon me. [_Aside._

FRANCESCA. Does he resemble you?

PAOLO. Pray drop me, lady.

FRANCESCA. Nay, answer me.

PAOLO. Somewhat--in feature.

FRANCESCA. Ha!
Is he so fair?

PAOLO. No, darker. He was tanned In long campaigns, and battles hotly fought, While I lounged idly with the troubadours, Under the shadow of his watchful sword.

FRANCESCA. In person?

PAOLO. He is shorter, I believe,
But broader, stronger, more compactly knit.

FRANCESCA. What of his mind?

PAOLO. Ah, now you strike the key! A mind just fitted to his history, An equal balance 'twixt desert and fame. No future chronicler shall say of him, His fame outran his merit; or his merit Halted behind some adverse circumstance, And never won the glory it deserved. My love might weary you, if I rehearsed The simple beauty of his character; His grandeur and his gentleness of heart, His warlike fire and peaceful love, his faith, His courtesy, his truth. I'll not deny Some human weakness, to attract our love, Harbours in him, as in the rest of us. Sometimes against our city's enemies He thunders in the distance, and devotes Their homes to ruin. When the brand has fallen, He ever follows with a healing rain, And in his pity shoulders by revenge. A thorough soldier, lady. He grasps crowns, While I pick at the laurel.

FRANCESCA. Stay, my lord! I asked your brother's value, with no wish To hear you underrate yourself. Your worth May rise in passing through another's lips. Lanciotto is perfection, then?

PAOLO. To me: Others may think my brother over-nice Upon the point of honour; over-keen To take offence where no offence is meant; A thought too prodigal of human life, Holding it naught when weighed against a wrong; Suspicious of the motives of his friends; Distrustful of his own high excellence; And with a certain gloom of temperament, When thus disturbed, that makes him terrible And rash in action. I have heard of this; I never felt it. I distress you, lady? Perhaps I throw these points too much in shade, By catching at an enemy's report. But, then, Lanciotto said, "You'll speak of me, Not as I ought to be, but as I am." He loathes deceit.

FRANCESCA. That's noble! Have you done? I have observed a strange reserve, at times, An over-carefulness in choosing words, Both in my father and his nearest friends, When speaking of your brother; as if they Picked their way slowly over rocky ground, Fearing to stumble. Ritta, too, my maid, When her tongue rattles on in full career, Stops at your brother's name, and with a sigh Settles herself to dismal silence. Count, These things have troubled me. From you I look For perfect frankness. Is there naught withheld?

PAOLO. [_Aside._] O base temptation! What if I betray His crippled person--imitate his limp-- Laugh at his hip, his back, his sullen moods Of childish superstition?--tread his heart Under my feet, to climb into his place?--Use his own warrant 'gainst himself; and say, Because I loved her, and misjudged your jest, Therefore I stole her? Why, a common thief Would hang for just such thinking! Ha! ha! ha! [_Laughing._] I reckon on her love, as if I held The counsels of her bosom. No, I swear, Francesca would despise so mean a deed. Have I no honour either? Are my thoughts All bound by her opinions?

FRANCESCA. This is strange! Is Lanciotto's name a spell to all? I ask a simple question, and straight you Start to one side, and mutter to yourself, And laugh, and groan, and play the lunatic, In such a style that you astound me more Than all the others. It appears to me I have been singled as a common dupe By every one. What mystery is this Surrounds Count Lanciotto? If there be A single creature in the universe Who has a right to know him as he is, I am that one.

PAOLO. I grant it. You shall see, And shape your judgment by your own remark. All that my honour calls for I have said.

FRANCESCA. I am content. Unless I greatly err, Heaven made your breast the seat of honest thoughts. You know, my lord, that, once at Rimini, There can be no retreat for me. By you, Here at Ravenna, in your brother's name, I shall be solemnly betrothed. And now I thus extend my maiden hand to you; If you are conscious of no secret guilt, Take it.

PAOLO. I do. [_Takes her hand._

FRANCESCA. You tremble!

PAOLO. With the hand,
Not with the obligation.

FRANCESCA. Farewell, Count! 'Twere cruel to tax your stock of compliments, That waste their sweets upon a trammelled heart; Go fly your fancies at some freer game. [_Exit._

PAOLO. O, Heaven, if I have faltered and am weak, Tis from my nature! Fancies, more accursed Than haunt a murderer's bedside, throng my brain-- Temptations, such as mortal never bore Since Satan whispered in the ear of Eve, Sing in my ear--and all, all are accursed! At heart I have betrayed my brother's trust, Francesca's openly. Turn where I will, As if enclosed within a mirrored hall, I see a traitor. Now to stand erect, Firm on my base of manly constancy; Or, if I stagger, let me never quit The homely path of duty, for the ways That bloom and glitter with seductive sin! [_Exit._