ACT III

Dom.Well, Florence, shall I reach thee, pierce thy heartThrough 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 memoryOf 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 asideA single step, for gratitude or shame,—Grace but this Luria,—this wild mass of rageI 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 MoorFrom the accustomed fate of zeal and truth:Thou wilt deny his looked-for recompense,And then—I reach thee. Old and trained, my sireCould bow down on his quiet broken heart,Die awe-struck and submissive, when at lastThe strange blow came for the expected wreath;And Porzio passed in blind bewildermentTo exile, never to return,—they say,Perplexed in his frank simple honest soul,As if some natural law had changed,—how elseCould 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 fameFrom their inexplicable charges free,Was found, save pouring forth the impatient bloodTo show its color whether false or no!My brothers never had a friend like meClose 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 nameThe city wedded to the wickedness.None stood by them as I by Luria stand.So, when the stranger cheated of his dueTurns on thee as his rapid nature bids,Then, Florence, think, a hireling at thy throatFor the first outrage, think who bore thy last,Yet mutely in forlorn obedience died!He comes—his friend—black faces in the campWhere moved those peerless brows and eyes of old.(EnterLuriaandHusain.)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 lingeredYou 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 visageOn 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 restThey round me in the ears with, all day long?All that, I never take for earnest, friend!Well would it suit us,—their triumphal archOr 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 raceAnd those absorbing, concentrating men.They use thee.Lur.And I feel it, Husain! yes,And care not—yes, an alien force like mineIs only called to play its part outsideTheir different nature; where its sole use seemsTo 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 allTo other scenes of action, newer lands."—Thus leaving them confirmed in their beliefThey 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 tongueAnd threatening tail, ne'er do each other harm;While any creature of a better blood,They seem to fight for, while they circle safeAnd never touch it,—pines without a wound,Withers away beside their eyes and breath.See thou, if Puccio come not safely outOf Braccio's grasp, this Braccio sworn his foe,As Braccio safely from Domizia's toilsWho 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 marsTheir perfect use in him; just so the brutesRest 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-wheelFor thunder, festal flame for lightning's flash,The finer traits of cultivated lifeFor treachery and malevolence: I see!(EnterTiburzio.)Lur.Quick, sir, your message! I but wait your messageTo sound the charge. You bring no overtureFor 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 keepsHis 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 valleyFrom Puccio, when I threw in succors there!Why, I was on the heights—through the defileTen minutes after, when the prey was lost!You wore an open skull-cap with a twistOf 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 LuriaWho sent my cohort, that laid down its armsIn error of the battle-signal's sense,Back safely to me at the critical time—One of a hundred deeds. I know you! ThereforeTo none but you could I ...Lur.No truce, Tiburzio!Tib.Luria, you know the peril imminentOn Pisa,—that you have us in the toils,Us her last safeguard, all that interceptsThe rage of her implacablest of foesFrom 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 enduedWith all your present nobleness of soul,No question, what I must communicateWould not detach you from her.Lur.Me, detach?Tib.Time urges. You will ruin presentlyPisa, you never knew, for Florence' sakeYou think you know. I have from time to timeMade prize of certain secret missives sentFrom Braccio here, the Commissary, home:And knowing Florence otherwise, I pieceThe 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 actsWhich 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 wayOf 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 serviceHer own affair; reward—there 's no reward!But you are bound by quite another tie.Nor nature shows, nor reason, why at firstA foreigner, born friend to all alike,Should give himself to any special StateMore than another, stand by Florence' sideRather than Pisa; 't is as fair a cityYou war against, as that you fight for—famedAs well as she in story, graced no lessWith noble heads and patriotic hearts:Nor to a stranger's eye would either cause,Stripped of the cumulative loves and hatesWhich take importance from familiar view,Stand as the right and sole to be upheld.Therefore, should the preponderating giftOf 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 soThat shame should want its extreme bitterness.Lur.Tiburzio, you that fight for Pisa nowAs 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 purposeWhen 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 sayPrompted this last expedient, my faint heartEntailed 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 faithIn Florence, who to me stands for mankind,—If that break up and, disimprisoningFrom the abyss ... Ah friend, it cannot be!You may be very sage, yet—all the worldHaving 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 rejoiceIf I could help, it misses its effect;And after all you will look gallantlyFound dead here with that letter in your breast.Lur.Tiburzio—I would see these people onceAnd test them ere I answer finally!At your arrival let the trumpet sound:If mine return not then the wonted cryIt means that I believe—am Pisa's!Tib.Well![Goes.Lur.My heart will have it he speaks true! My bloodBeats close to this Tiburzio as a friend.If he had stept into my watch-tent, nightAnd the wild desert full of foes around,I should have broke the bread and given the saltSecure, and, when my hour of watch was done,Taken my turn to sleep between his kneesSafe 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 ingratitudeWith 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 faultAmid the scattering tempest's pillared sands,Betrays its step into the pathless drift—The calm instructed eye of man holds fastBy 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.(EnterBraccio, Puccio,andDomizia.)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 yourselfWho 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 lossIn natural friends and advocates at home,Hereditary loves, even rivalshipsWith 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 EastI 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 meansOf 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 nowOr 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 graciousnessThis letter can contain will hardly balanceThe after-feeling that you need no more.This moment ... oh, the East has use with you!Its sword still flashes—is not flung asideWith the past praise, in a dark corner yet!How say you? 'Tis not so with Florentines—Captains of yours: for them, the ended warIs but a first step to the peace begun:He who did well in war, just earns the rightTo begin doing well in peace, you know:And certain my precursors,—would not suchLook 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 youSurmised this letter carried what might turnTo 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 foeSounded defiance ...[Tiburzio'strumpet sounds in the distance.Lur.Ah, you Florentines!So would you do? Wisely for you, no doubt!My simple Moorish instinct bids me clenchThe obligation you relieve me from,Still deeper![ToPuc.]Sound our answer, I should say.And thus:—[Tearing the paper.]—The battle!That solves every doubt.

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.

(EnterLuriaandHusain.)

Well, and the movement—is it as you hope?'T is Lucca?

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.

Lur.Ah, the Pisan trumpet merely!

Tiburzio's envoy, I must needs receive.

Dom.Whom I withdraw before; though if I lingeredYou 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.

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 visageOn 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.

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!

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 restThey round me in the ears with, all day long?All that, I never take for earnest, friend!Well would it suit us,—their triumphal archOr storied pillar,—thee and me, the Moors!But gratitude in those Italian eyes—That, we shall get?

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.

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 raceAnd those absorbing, concentrating men.They use thee.

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 mineIs only called to play its part outsideTheir different nature; where its sole use seemsTo 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.

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 allTo other scenes of action, newer lands."—Thus leaving them confirmed in their beliefThey would not easily have tired of me.You think this hard to say?

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 tongueAnd threatening tail, ne'er do each other harm;While any creature of a better blood,They seem to fight for, while they circle safeAnd never touch it,—pines without a wound,Withers away beside their eyes and breath.See thou, if Puccio come not safely outOf Braccio's grasp, this Braccio sworn his foe,As Braccio safely from Domizia's toilsWho hates him most! But thou, the friend of all,... Come out of them!

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 marsTheir perfect use in him; just so the brutesRest 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-wheelFor thunder, festal flame for lightning's flash,The finer traits of cultivated lifeFor treachery and malevolence: I see!

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!

(EnterTiburzio.)

Lur.Quick, sir, your message! I but wait your messageTo sound the charge. You bring no overtureFor 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 keepsHis honest soldier's-name to heat me with,Or leaves me all himself to beat, I trust!

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 valleyFrom Puccio, when I threw in succors there!Why, I was on the heights—through the defileTen minutes after, when the prey was lost!You wore an open skull-cap with a twistOf water-reeds—the plume being hewn away;While I drove down my battle from the heights,I saw with my own eyes!

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 LuriaWho sent my cohort, that laid down its armsIn error of the battle-signal's sense,Back safely to me at the critical time—One of a hundred deeds. I know you! ThereforeTo none but you could I ...

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 imminentOn Pisa,—that you have us in the toils,Us her last safeguard, all that interceptsThe rage of her implacablest of foesFrom 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 ...

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.

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 enduedWith all your present nobleness of soul,No question, what I must communicateWould not detach you from her.

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 presentlyPisa, you never knew, for Florence' sakeYou think you know. I have from time to timeMade prize of certain secret missives sentFrom Braccio here, the Commissary, home:And knowing Florence otherwise, I pieceThe 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 actsWhich in the field e'en foes appreciate ...Brief, they are Florentines! You, saving them,Seek but the sure destruction saviors find.

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 wayOf 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.

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 serviceHer own affair; reward—there 's no reward!But you are bound by quite another tie.Nor nature shows, nor reason, why at firstA foreigner, born friend to all alike,Should give himself to any special StateMore than another, stand by Florence' sideRather than Pisa; 't is as fair a cityYou war against, as that you fight for—famedAs well as she in story, graced no lessWith noble heads and patriotic hearts:Nor to a stranger's eye would either cause,Stripped of the cumulative loves and hatesWhich take importance from familiar view,Stand as the right and sole to be upheld.Therefore, should the preponderating giftOf 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 soThat shame should want its extreme bitterness.

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 nowAs I for Florence ... say my chance were yours!You read this letter, and you find ... no, no!Too mad!

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 purposeWhen I have crushed their foe, to crush me: well?

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 sayPrompted this last expedient, my faint heartEntailed 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!

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 faithIn Florence, who to me stands for mankind,—If that break up and, disimprisoningFrom the abyss ... Ah friend, it cannot be!You may be very sage, yet—all the worldHaving 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!

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 rejoiceIf I could help, it misses its effect;And after all you will look gallantlyFound dead here with that letter in your breast.

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 onceAnd test them ere I answer finally!At your arrival let the trumpet sound:If mine return not then the wonted cryIt means that I believe—am Pisa's!

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 bloodBeats close to this Tiburzio as a friend.If he had stept into my watch-tent, nightAnd the wild desert full of foes around,I should have broke the bread and given the saltSecure, and, when my hour of watch was done,Taken my turn to sleep between his kneesSafe 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 ingratitudeWith 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 faultAmid the scattering tempest's pillared sands,Betrays its step into the pathless drift—The calm instructed eye of man holds fastBy 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.

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.

(EnterBraccio, Puccio,andDomizia.)

Brac.Noon's at an end: no Lucca? You must fight.

Lur.Do you remember ever, gentle friends,I am no Florentine?

Lur.Do you remember ever, gentle friends,

I am no Florentine?

Dom.It is yourselfWho still are forcing us, importunately,To bear in mind what else we should forget.

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 lossIn natural friends and advocates at home,Hereditary loves, even rivalshipsWith 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 EastI 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 meansOf 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 nowOr keep it for the end's entire delight?

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.

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 graciousnessThis letter can contain will hardly balanceThe after-feeling that you need no more.This moment ... oh, the East has use with you!Its sword still flashes—is not flung asideWith the past praise, in a dark corner yet!How say you? 'Tis not so with Florentines—Captains of yours: for them, the ended warIs but a first step to the peace begun:He who did well in war, just earns the rightTo begin doing well in peace, you know:And certain my precursors,—would not suchLook 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 youSurmised this letter carried what might turnTo harm hereafter, cause him prejudice:What would he do?

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 foeSounded defiance ...

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'strumpet sounds in the distance.

Lur.Ah, you Florentines!So would you do? Wisely for you, no doubt!My simple Moorish instinct bids me clenchThe obligation you relieve me from,Still deeper![ToPuc.]Sound our answer, I should say.And thus:—[Tearing the paper.]—The battle!That solves every doubt.

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![ToPuc.]Sound our answer, I should say.

And thus:—[Tearing the paper.]—The battle!

That solves every doubt.

AFTERNOON

Puccio,as making a report toJacopo.Puc.And here, your captain must report the rest;For, as I say, the main engagement overAnd Luria's special part in it performed,How could a subaltern like me expectLeisure or leave to occupy the fieldAnd glean what dropped from his wide harvesting?I thought, when Lucca at the battle's endCame up, just as the Pisan centre broke,That Luria would detach me and preventThe 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 escortSafe 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 wingsIn full retreat, Tiburzio prisoner"—And now,—" That they fell back and formed againOn 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 seemedTo hurry measures, otherwise well judged.By over-concentrating strength at firstAgainst the enemy's van, both wings escaped:That's reparable, yet it is a fault.(EnterBraccio.)Jac.As good as a full victory to Florence,With the advantage of a fault beside—What is it, Puccio?—that by pressing forwardWith too impetuous ...Brac.The report anon!Thanks, sir—you have elsewhere a charge, I know.[Pucciogoes.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.(EnterLuria, Puccio,andDomizia.)Lur.[ToPuc.]Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio!All's at his pleasure.Dom.[ToLur.]Were I not forewarnedYou would reject, as you do constantly,Praise,—I might tell you how you have deservedOf 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 appearMonopolized by Florence, as of late,To me, the stranger: you, no doubt, may knowWhy 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 arightThe 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 painsThat 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 recordsThose daily, nightly drippings in the darkOf the heart's blood, the world lets drop awayForever—so, pure gold that praise must be!And I have yours, my soldier! yet the bestIs still to come. There's one looks on apartWhom 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 strengthAnswers 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 speakIs like the turning-moment of a dreamWhen ... Ah, you are not foreigners like me!Well then, one always dreams of friends at home;And always comes, I say, the turning-pointWhen something changes in the friendly eyesThat 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 earsThat spite of all this smiling and soft speechYou 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 remainsWhich 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 knowAt 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 innocenceTo 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 nowThe due investigation. That is all.I doubt not but your innocence will proveApparent 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.[ToBrac.]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 heartWhat 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 nowOf 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 rightOf Florence to do all she can have doneIn this procedure,—standing on her guard,Receiving even services like yoursWith 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 moreSinged in the candle, at a summer's end?But Florence is no simple John or JamesTo have his toy, his fancy, his conceitThat 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 placeTo Paul and George intent to try their chance!Florence exists because these pass away.She's a contrivance to supply a typeOf man, which men's deficiencies refuse;She binds so many, that she grows out of them—Stands steady o'er their numbers, though they changeAnd 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 cloudDiffering from each and better than they all.And shall she dare to stake this permanenceOn any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak,And its temptations many: let her proveEach servant to the very uttermostBefore 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 fancyingHad shown him step by step the uselessnessOf 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 soulOf 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 checksThe fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best?Lur.Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the wayTo gain your good word and sincere esteem?Am I the baited animal that must turnAnd fight his baiters to deserve their praise?Obedience is mistake then? Be it so!Do you indeed remember I stand hereThe captain of the conquering army,—mine—With all your tokens, praise and promise, readyTo 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 thrillOf 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 lordsHave all this while provided silentlyAgainst 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 triumphantThat Florence knew you thoroughly and by me,And so was saved. "See, Italy," I'll say,"The crown of our precautions! Here's a manWas far advanced, just touched on the beliefLess 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 againstThe all-exacting, naught-enduring fool,Who thus resents her first probation, floutsAs if he, only, shone and cast no shade,He, only, walked the earth with privilegeAgainst 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 approveSuch 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 destroyThe unoffending one, you call your friend—Still, lessoned by the good examples hereOf friendship, 'tis but natural I ask—Had you a further aim, in aught you urged,Than your friend's profit—in all those instancesOf 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 themPunishment, 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-dayBy 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 lostThan saved by any traitor, even by you;The example of a traitor's happy fortuneWould bring more evil in the end than good;—Pisa rejects the traitor, craves yourself!I, in her name, resign forthwith to youMy charge,—the highest office, sword and shield!You shall not, by my counsel, turn on FlorenceYour 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 eventFlorence, who clear foretold it from the first—Through me, she gives you the command and chargeShe takes, through me, from him who held it late!A painful trial, very sore, was yours:All that could draw out, marshal in arrayThe 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 precedeYour feet, hold up the promise of rewardFor luring gleam; your footsteps kept the trackThrough 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 wayWe 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 strengthO' 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 whichWould stop you, fatal to your finer sense,But if he stolidly advance, march muteWithout 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 qualityYou grew so bold on, while you so despisedThe 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 suspendAll further operations till to-night.Thank you, and for the silence most of all![ToBrac.]Let my complacent bland accuser goCarry his self-approving head and heartSafe through the army which would trample himDead 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![ToDom.]You, lady,—you have black Italian eyes!I would be generous if I might: oh, yes—For I remember how so oft you seemedInclined at heart to break the barrier downWhich Florence finds God built between us both.Alas, for generosity! this hourAsks retribution: bear it as you may,I must—the Moor—the savage,—pardon you!Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth!

Puccio,as making a report toJacopo.

Puc.And here, your captain must report the rest;For, as I say, the main engagement overAnd Luria's special part in it performed,How could a subaltern like me expectLeisure or leave to occupy the fieldAnd glean what dropped from his wide harvesting?I thought, when Lucca at the battle's endCame up, just as the Pisan centre broke,That Luria would detach me and preventThe 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 escortSafe 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.

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 wingsIn full retreat, Tiburzio prisoner"—And now,—" That they fell back and formed againOn Lucca's coming." Why then, after all,'Tis half a victory, no conclusive one?

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 seemedTo hurry measures, otherwise well judged.By over-concentrating strength at firstAgainst the enemy's van, both wings escaped:That's reparable, yet it is a fault.

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.

(EnterBraccio.)

Jac.As good as a full victory to Florence,With the advantage of a fault beside—What is it, Puccio?—that by pressing forwardWith too impetuous ...

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.[Pucciogoes.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.

Brac.The report anon!

Thanks, sir—you have elsewhere a charge, I know.

[Pucciogoes.

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.

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.

(EnterLuria, Puccio,andDomizia.)

Lur.[ToPuc.]Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio!All's at his pleasure.

Lur.[ToPuc.]Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio!

All's at his pleasure.

Dom.[ToLur.]Were I not forewarnedYou would reject, as you do constantly,Praise,—I might tell you how you have deservedOf Florence by this last and crowning feat:But words offend.

Dom.[ToLur.]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 appearMonopolized by Florence, as of late,To me, the stranger: you, no doubt, may knowWhy 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 arightThe 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?

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.

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 painsThat 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 recordsThose daily, nightly drippings in the darkOf the heart's blood, the world lets drop awayForever—so, pure gold that praise must be!And I have yours, my soldier! yet the bestIs still to come. There's one looks on apartWhom 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 strengthAnswers the end? Should he have chosen higher?Do we help Florence, now our best is wrought?

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.

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 speakIs like the turning-moment of a dreamWhen ... Ah, you are not foreigners like me!Well then, one always dreams of friends at home;And always comes, I say, the turning-pointWhen something changes in the friendly eyesThat 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 earsThat spite of all this smiling and soft speechYou 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 remainsWhich 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 knowAt noon, lest heart should fail me! Well? That letter?My fate is sealed at Florence! What is it?

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 innocenceTo 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 nowThe due investigation. That is all.I doubt not but your innocence will proveApparent and illustrious, as to me,To them this evening, when the trial ends.

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!

Dom.Florence, Florence to the end,

My whole heart thanks thee!

Puc.[ToBrac.]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 heartWhat should assist a—trial, do you say?You should have told me!

Puc.[ToBrac.]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?

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 nowOf 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?

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 rightOf Florence to do all she can have doneIn this procedure,—standing on her guard,Receiving even services like yoursWith 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 moreSinged in the candle, at a summer's end?But Florence is no simple John or JamesTo have his toy, his fancy, his conceitThat 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 placeTo Paul and George intent to try their chance!Florence exists because these pass away.She's a contrivance to supply a typeOf man, which men's deficiencies refuse;She binds so many, that she grows out of them—Stands steady o'er their numbers, though they changeAnd 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 cloudDiffering from each and better than they all.And shall she dare to stake this permanenceOn any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak,And its temptations many: let her proveEach servant to the very uttermostBefore she grant him her reward, I say!

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?

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 fancyingHad shown him step by step the uselessnessOf 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 soulOf 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 checksThe fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best?

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 wayTo gain your good word and sincere esteem?Am I the baited animal that must turnAnd fight his baiters to deserve their praise?Obedience is mistake then? Be it so!Do you indeed remember I stand hereThe captain of the conquering army,—mine—With all your tokens, praise and promise, readyTo 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 thrillOf 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 lordsHave all this while provided silentlyAgainst 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?

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 triumphantThat Florence knew you thoroughly and by me,And so was saved. "See, Italy," I'll say,"The crown of our precautions! Here's a manWas far advanced, just touched on the beliefLess 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 againstThe all-exacting, naught-enduring fool,Who thus resents her first probation, floutsAs if he, only, shone and cast no shade,He, only, walked the earth with privilegeAgainst 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!

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 approveSuch 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 destroyThe unoffending one, you call your friend—Still, lessoned by the good examples hereOf friendship, 'tis but natural I ask—Had you a further aim, in aught you urged,Than your friend's profit—in all those instancesOf perfidy, all Florence wrought of wrong—All I remember now for the first time?

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 themPunishment, 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.

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?

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-dayBy 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 lostThan saved by any traitor, even by you;The example of a traitor's happy fortuneWould bring more evil in the end than good;—Pisa rejects the traitor, craves yourself!I, in her name, resign forthwith to youMy charge,—the highest office, sword and shield!You shall not, by my counsel, turn on FlorenceYour 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!

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 eventFlorence, who clear foretold it from the first—Through me, she gives you the command and chargeShe takes, through me, from him who held it late!A painful trial, very sore, was yours:All that could draw out, marshal in arrayThe 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 precedeYour feet, hold up the promise of rewardFor luring gleam; your footsteps kept the trackThrough dark and doubt: take all the light at once!Trial is over, consummation shines;Well have you served, as well henceforth command!

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 wayWe soldiers climb to fortune: think again!The sentence is not even passed, beside!I dare not: where's the soldier could?

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 strengthO' 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 whichWould stop you, fatal to your finer sense,But if he stolidly advance, march muteWithout 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 qualityYou grew so bold on, while you so despisedThe 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.

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 suspendAll further operations till to-night.Thank you, and for the silence most of all![ToBrac.]Let my complacent bland accuser goCarry his self-approving head and heartSafe through the army which would trample himDead 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![ToDom.]You, lady,—you have black Italian eyes!I would be generous if I might: oh, yes—For I remember how so oft you seemedInclined at heart to break the barrier downWhich Florence finds God built between us both.Alas, for generosity! this hourAsks retribution: bear it as you may,I must—the Moor—the savage,—pardon you!Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth!

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!

[ToBrac.]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!

[ToDom.]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!

EVENING

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