Not guilty of ourselves — thy doom and mine —
Thou — coming my way too — Camma — good-night. [Dies.
CAMMA (upheld by weeping Priestesses).
Thy way? poor worm, crawl down thine own black hole
To the lowest Hell. Antonius, is he there?
I meant thee to have follow’d — better thus.
Nay, if my people must be thralls of Rome,
He is gentle, tho’ a Roman.
[Sinks back into the arms of the Priestesses.
ANTONIUS.
Thou art one
With thine own people, and though a Roman I
Forgive thee, Camma.
CAMMA (raisin, herself).
‘CAMMA!’ — why there again
I am most sure that some one call’d. O women,
Ye will have Roman masters. I am glad
I shall not see it. Did not some old Greek
Say death was the chief good? He had my fate for it,
Poison’d. (Sinks back again.) Have I the crown on? I will go
To meet him, crown’d! crown’d victor of my will —
On my last voyage — but the wind has fail’d —
Growing dark too — but light enough to row.
Row to the blessed Isles! the blessed Isles! —
Sinnatus!
Why comes he not to meet me? It is the crown
Offends him — and my hands are too sleepy
To lift it off. [PHŒBE takes the crown off.
Who touch’d me then? I thank you.
[Rises, with outspread arms.
There — league on league of ever-shining shore
Beneath an ever-rising sun — I see him —
‘Camma, Camma!’ Sinnatus, Sinnatus!
[Dies.
THE FALCON
CONTENTS
Dramatis Personæ
THE FALCON
Dramatis Personæ
THE COUNT FEDERIGO DEGLI ALBERIGHI.
FILIPPO, Count’s foster-brother.
THE LADY GIOVANNA.
ELISABETTA, the Count’s nurse.
THE FALCON
SCENE. — An Italian Cottage. Castle and Mountains seen through Window.
ELISABETTA discovered seated on stool in window darning. THE COUNT with Falcon on his hand comes down through the door at back. A withered wreath on the wall.
ELISABETTA.
So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away so long, came back last night with her son to the castle.
COUNT.
Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her?
My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor,
My far-eyed queen of the winds — thou that canst soar
Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe’er
Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him
Eagle-like, lightning-like — strike, make his feathers
Glance in mid heaven.
[Crosses to chair.
I would thou hadst a mate!
Thy breed will die with thee, and mine with me:
I am as lone and loveless as thyself.
[Sits in chair.
Giovanna here! Ay, ruffle thyself — be jealous!
Thou should’st be jealous of her. Tho’ I bred thee
The full-train’d marvel of all falconry,
And love thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna
Be here again — No, no! Buss me, my bird!
The stately widow has no heart for me.
Thou art the last friend left me upon earth —
No, no again to that.
[Rises and turns.
My good old nurse,
I had forgotten thou wast sitting there.
ELISABETTA.
Ay, and forgotten thy foster-brother too.
COUNT.
Bird-babble for my falcon! Let it pass.
What art thou doing there?
ELISABETTA.
Darning your lordship.
We cannot flaunt it in new feathers now:
Nay, if we will buy diamond necklaces
To please our lady, we must darn, my lord.
This old thing here (points to necklace round her neck),
they are but blue beads — my Piero,
God rest his honest soul, he bought ‘em for me,
Ay, but he knew I meant to marry him.
How couldst thou do it, my son? How couldst thou do it?
COUNT.
She saw it at a dance, upon a neck
Less lovely than her own, and long’d for it.
ELISABETTA.
She told thee as much?
COUNT.
No, no — a friend of hers.
ELISABETTA.
Shame on her that she took it at thy hands,
She rich enough to have bought it for herself!
COUNT.
She would have robb’d me then of a great pleasure.
ELISABETTA.
But hath she yet return’d thy love?
COUNT.
Not yet!
ELISABETTA.
She should return thy necklace then.
COUNT.
Ay, if
She knew the giver; but I bound the seller
To silence, and I left it privily
At Florence, in her palace.
ELISABETTA.
And sold thine own
To buy it for her. She not know? She knows
There’s none such other ——
COUNT.
Madman anywhere.
Speak freely, tho’ to call a madman mad
Will hardly help to make him sane again.
Enter FILIPPO.
FILIPPO.
Ah, the women, the women! Ah, Monna Giovanna, you here again! you that have the face of an angel and the heart of a — that’s too positive! You that have a score of lovers and have not a heart for any of them — that’s positive-negative: you that have not the head of a toad, and not a heart like the jewel in it — that’s too negative; you that have a cheek like a peach and a heart like the stone in it — that’s positive again — that’s better!
ELISABETTA.
Sh — sh — Filippo!
FILIPPO (turns half round).
Here has our master been a-glorifying and a-velveting and a-silking himself, and a-peacocking and a-spreading to catch her eye for a dozen year, till he hasn’t an eye left in his own tail to flourish among the peahens, and all along o’ you, Monna Giovanna, all along o’ you!
ELISABETTA.
Sh — sh — Filippo! Can’t you hear that you are saying behind his back what you see you are saying afore his face?
COUNT.
Let him — he never spares me to my face!
FILIPPO.
No, my lord, I never spare your lordship to your lordship’s face, nor behind your lordship’s back, nor to right, nor to left, nor to round about and back to your lordship’s face again, for I’m honest, your lordship.
COUNT.
Come, come, Filippo, what is there in the larder?
[ELISABETTA crosses to fireplace and puts on wood.
FILIPPO.
Shelves and hooks, shelves and hooks, and when I see the shelves I am like to hang myself on the hooks.
COUNT.
No bread?
FILIPPO.
Half a breakfast for a rat!
COUNT.
Milk?
FILIPPO.
Three laps for a cat!
COUNT.
Cheese?
FILIPPO.
A supper for twelve mites.
COUNT.
Eggs?
FILIPPO.
One, but addled.
COUNT.
No bird?
FILIPPO.
Half a tit and a hern’s bill.
COUNT.
Let be thy jokes and thy jerks, man! Anything or nothing?
FILIPPO.
Well, my lord, if all-but-nothing be anything, and one plate of dried prunes be all-but-nothi
ng, then there is anything in your lordship’s larder at your lordship’s service, if your lordship care to call for it.
COUNT.
Good mother, happy was the prodigal son,
For he return’d to the rich father; I
But add my poverty to thine. And all
Thro’ following of my fancy. Pray thee make
Thy slender meal out of those scraps and shreds
Filippo spoke of. As for him and me,
There sprouts a salad in the garden still.
(To the Falcon?) Why didst thou miss thy quarry yester-even?
To-day, my beauty, thou must dash us down
Our dinner from the skies. Away, Filippo!
[Exit, followed by Filippo.
ELISABETTA.
I knew it would come to this. She has beggared him. I always knew it would come to this! (Goes up to table as if to resume darning, and looks out of window.) Why, as I live, there is Monna Giovanna coming down the hill from the castle. Stops and stares at our cottage. Ay, ay! stare at it: it’s all you have left us. Shame upon you! She beautiful! sleek as a miller’s mouse! Meal enough, meat enough, well fed; but beautiful — bah! Nay, see, why she turns down the path through our little vineyard, and I sneezed three times this morning. Coming to visit my lord, for the first time in her life too! Why, bless the saints! I’ll be bound to confess her love to him at last. I forgive her, I forgive her! I knew it would come to this — I always knew it must come to this! (Going up to door during latter part of speech and opens it.) Come in, Madonna, come in. (Retires to front of table and curtseys as the LADY GIOVANNA enters, then moves chair towards the hearth.) Nay, let me place this chair for your ladyship.
[LADY GIOVANNA moves slowly down stage, then crosses to chair, looking about her, bows as she sees the Madonna over fireplace, then sits in chair.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Can I speak with the Count?
ELISABETTA.
Ay, my lady, but won’t you speak with the old woman first, and tell her all about it and make her happy? for I’ve been on my knees every day for these half-dozen years in hope that the saints would send us this blessed morning; and he always took you so kindly, he always took the world so kindly. When he was a little one, and I put the bitters on my breast to wean him, he made a wry mouth at it, but he took it so kindly, and your ladyship has given him bitters enough in this world, and he never made a wry mouth at you, he always took you so kindly — which is more than I did, my lady, more than I did — and he so handsome — and bless your sweet face, you look as beautiful this morning as the very Madonna her own self — and better late than never — but come when they will — then or now — it’s all for the best, come when they will — they are made by the blessed saints — these marriages.
[Raises her hands.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Marriages? I shall never marry again!
ELISABETTA (rises and turns).
Shame on her then!
LADY GIOVANNA.
Where is the Count?
ELISABETTA.
Just gone
To fly his falcon.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Call him back and say
I come to breakfast with him.
ELISABETTA.
Holy mother!
To breakfast! Oh sweet saints! one plate of prunes!
Well, Madam, I will give your message to him.
[Exit.
LADY GIOVANNA.
His falcon, and I come to ask for his falcon,
The pleasure of his eyes — boast of his hand —
Pride of his heart — the solace of his hours —
His one companion here — nay, I have heard
That, thro’ his late magnificence of living
And this last costly gift to mine own self,
[Shows diamond necklace.
He hath become so beggar’d, that his falcon
Ev’n wins his dinner for him in the field.
That must be talk, not truth, but truth or talk,
How can I ask for his falcon?
[Rises and moves as she speaks.
O my sick boy!
My daily fading Florio, it is thou
Hath set me this hard task, for when I say
What can I do — what can I get for thee?
He answers, ‘Get the Count to give me his falcon,
And that will make me well.’ Yet if I ask,
He loves me, and he knows I know he loves me!
Will he not pray me to return his love —
To marry him? — (pause) — I can never marry him.
His grandsire struck my grandsire in a brawl
At Florence, and my grandsire stabb’d him there.
The feud between our houses is the bar
I cannot cross; I dare not brave my brother,
Break with my kin. My brother hates him, scorns
The noblest-natured man alive, and I —
Who have that reverence for him that I scarce
Dare beg him to receive his diamonds back —
How can I, dare I, ask him for his falcon?
[Puts diamonds in her casket.
Re-enter COUNT and FILIPPO. COUNT turns to FILIPPO.
COUNT.
Do what I said; I cannot do it myself.
FILIPPO.
Why then, my lord, we are pauper’d out and out.
COUNT.
Do what I said!
[Advances and bows low.
Welcome to this poor cottage, my dear lady.
LADY GIOVANNA.
And welcome turns a cottage to a palace.
COUNT.
‘Tis long since we have met!
LADY GIOVANNA.
To make amends
I come this day to break my fast with you.
COUNT.
I am much honour’d — yes —
[Turns to FILIPPO.
Do what I told thee. Must I do it myself?
FILIPPO.
I will, I will. (Sighs.) Poor fellow!
[Exit.
COUNT.
Lady, you bring your light into my cottage
Who never deign’d to shine into my palace.
My palace wanting you was but a cottage;
My cottage, while you grace it, is a palace.
LADY GIOVANNA.
In cottage or in palace, being still
Beyond your fortunes, you are still the king
Of courtesy and liberality.
COUNT.
I trust I still maintain my courtesy;
My liberality perforce is dead
Thro’ lack of means of giving.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Yet I come
To ask a gift.
[Moves toward him a little.
COUNT.
It will be hard, I fear,
To find one shock upon the field when all
The harvest has been carried.
LADY GIOVANNA.
But my boy —
(Aside.) No, no! not yet — I cannot!
COUNT.
Ay, how is he,
That bright inheritor of your eyes — your boy?
LADY GIOVANNA.
Alas, my Lord Federigo, he hath fallen
Into a sickness, and it troubles me.
COUNT.
Sick! is it so? why, when he came last year
To see me hawking, he was well enough:
And then I taught him all our hawking-phrases.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Oh yes, and once you let him fly your falcon.
COUNT.
How charm’d he was! what wonder? — A gallant boy,
A noble bird, each perfect of the breed.
LADY GIOVANNA (sinks in chair).
What do you rate her at?
COUNT.
My bird? a hundred
Gold pieces once were offer’d by the Duke.
I had no heart to part with her for money.
LADY GIOVANNA.
No,
not for money.
[COUNT turns away and sighs.
Wherefore do you sigh?
COUNT.
I have lost a friend of late.
LADY GIOVANNA.
I could sigh with you
For fear of losing more than friend, a son;
And if he leave me — all the rest of life —
That wither’d wreath were of more worth to me.
[Looking at wreath on wall.
COUNT.
That wither’d wreath is of more worth to me
Than all the blossom, all the leaf of this
New-wakening year.
[Goes and takes down wreath.
LADY GIOVANNA.
And yet I never saw
The land so rich in blossom as this year.
COUNT (holding wreath toward her).
Was not the year when this was gather’d richer?
LADY GIOVANNA.
How long ago was that?
COUNT.
Alas, ten summers!
A lady that was beautiful as day
Sat by me at a rustic festival
With other beauties on a mountain meadow,
And she was the most beautiful of all;
Then but fifteen, and still as beautiful.
The mountain flowers grew thickly round about.
I made a wreath with some of these; I ask’d
A ribbon from her hair to bind it with;
I whisper’d, Let me crown you Queen of Beauty,
And softly placed the chaplet on her head.
A colour, which has colour’d all my life,
Flush’d in her face; then I was call’d away;
And presently all rose, and so departed.
Ah! she had thrown my chaplet on the grass,
And there I found it.
[Lets his hands fall, holding wreath despondingly.
LADY GIOVANNA (after pause).
How long since do you say?
COUNT.
That was the very year before you married.
LADY GIOVANNA.
When I was married you were at the wars.
COUNT.
Had she not thrown my chaplet on the grass,
It may be I had never seen the wars.
[Replaces wreath whence he had taken it.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Ah, but, my lord, there ran a rumour then
That you were kill’d in battle. I can tell you
True tears that year were shed for you in Florence.
COUNT.
It might have been as well for me. Unhappily
I was but wounded by the enemy there
And then imprison’d.
LADY GIOVANNA.
Happily, however,
I see you quite recover’d of your wound.
COUNT.
No, no, not quite, Madonna, not yet, not yet.
Re-enter FILIPPO.
FILIPPO.
My lord, a word with you.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 170