ACT III

AFTERNOON

PUCCIO, _as making a report to_ JACOPO.

_Puc._ And here, your captain must report the rest; For, as I say, the main engagement over And Luria's special part in it performed, How could a subaltern like me expect Leisure or leave to occupy the field And glean what dropped from his wide harvesting? I thought, when Lucca at the battle's end Came up, just as the Pisan centre broke, That Luria would detach me and prevent The flying Pisans seeking what they found, Friends in the rear, a point to rally by. But no, more honorable proved my post! I had the august captive to escort Safe to our camp; some other could pursue, Fight, and be famous; gentler chance was mine-- Tiburzio's wounded spirit must be soothed! He's in the tent there.

_Jacopo._ Is the substance down? I write--"The vanguard beaten and both wings In full retreat, Tiburzio prisoner"-- And now,--" That they fell back and formed again On Lucca's coming." Why then, after all, 'Tis half a victory, no conclusive one?

_Puc._ Two operations where a sole had served.

_Jac._ And Luria's fault was--?

_Puc._ Oh, for fault--not much! He led the attack, a thought impetuously, --There's commonly more prudence; now, he seemed To hurry measures, otherwise well judged. By over-concentrating strength at first Against the enemy's van, both wings escaped: That's reparable, yet it is a fault.

(_Enter_ BRACCIO.)

_Jac._ As good as a full victory to Florence, With the advantage of a fault beside-- What is it, Puccio?--that by pressing forward With too impetuous ...

_Brac._ The report anon! Thanks, sir--you have elsewhere a charge, I know.

[PUCCIO _goes_.

There's nothing done but I would do again; Yet, Lapo, it may be the past proves nothing, And Luria has kept faithful to the close.

_Jac._ I was for waiting.

_Brac._ Yes: so was not I. He could not choose but tear that letter--true! Still, certain of his tones, I mind, and looks:-- You saw, too, with a fresher soul than I. So, Porzio seemed an injured man, they say! Well, I have gone upon the broad, sure ground.

(_Enter_ LURIA, PUCCIO, _and_ DOMIZIA.)

_Lur._ [_To_ PUC.] Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio! All's at his pleasure.

_Dom._ [_To_ LUR.] Were I not forewarned You would reject, as you do constantly, Praise,--I might tell you how you have deserved Of Florence by this last and crowning feat: But words offend.

_Lur._ Nay, you may praise me now. I want instruction every hour, I find, On points where once I saw least need of it; And praise, I have been used to slight perhaps, Seems scarce so easily dispensed with now. After a battle, half one's strength is gone; The glorious passion in us once appeased, Our reason's calm cold dreadful voice begins. All justice, power and beauty scarce appear Monopolized by Florence, as of late, To me, the stranger: you, no doubt, may know Why Pisa needs must bear her rival's yoke, And peradventure I grow nearer you, For I, too, want to know and be assured. When a cause ceases to reward itself, Its friend seeks fresh sustainments; praise in one, And here stand you--you, lady, praise me well. But yours--(your pardon)--is unlearnèd praise. To the motive, the endeavor, the heart's self. Your quick sense looks: you crown and call aright The soul o' the purpose, ere 'tis shaped as act, Takes flesh i' the world, and clothes itself a king. But when the act comes, stands for what 'tis worth, --Here's Puccio, the skilled soldier, he's my judge! Was all well, Puccio?

_Puc._ All was ... must be well: If we beat Lucca presently, as doubtless ... --No, there's no doubt, we must--all was well done.

_Lur._ In truth? Still you are of the trade, my Puccio! You have the fellow-craftsman's sympathy. There's none cares, like a fellow of the craft, For the all unestimated sum of pains That go to a success the world can see: They praise then, but the best they never know --While you know! So, if envy mix with it, Hate even, still the bottom-praise of all, Whatever be the dregs, that drop's pure gold! --For nothing's like it; nothing else records Those daily, nightly drippings in the dark Of the heart's blood, the world lets drop away Forever--so, pure gold that praise must be! And I have yours, my soldier! yet the best Is still to come. There's one looks on apart Whom all refers to, failure or success; What's done might be our best, our utmost work, And yet inadequate to serve his need. Here's Braccio now, for Florence--here's our service-- Well done for us, seems it well done for him? His chosen engine, tasked to its full strength Answers the end? Should he have chosen higher? Do we help Florence, now our best is wrought?

_Brac._ This battle, with the foregone services, Saves Florence.

_Lur._ Why then, all is very well! Here am I in the middle of my friends, Who know me and who love me, one and all. And yet ... 'tis like ... this instant while I speak Is like the turning-moment of a dream When ... Ah, you are not foreigners like me! Well then, one always dreams of friends at home; And always comes, I say, the turning-point When something changes in the friendly eyes That love and look on you ... so slight, so slight ... And yet it tells you they are dead and gone, Or changed and enemies, for all their words, And all is mockery and a maddening show. You now, so kind here, all you Florentines, What is it in your eyes ... those lips, those brows ... Nobody spoke it, yet I know it well! Come now--this battle saves you, all's at end, Your use of me is o'er, for good, for ill,-- Come now, what's done against me, while I speak, In Florence? Come! I feel it in my blood, My eyes, my hair, a voice is in my ears That spite of all this smiling and soft speech You are betraying me! What is it you do? Have it your way, and think my use is over-- Think you are saved and may throw off the mask-- Have it my way, and think more work remains Which I could do,--so, show you fear me not! Or prudent be, or daring, as you choose, But tell me--tell what I refused to know At noon, lest heart should fail me! Well? That letter? My fate is sealed at Florence! What is it?

_Brac._ Sir, I shall not deny what you divine. It is no novelty for innocence To be suspected, but a privilege: The after certain compensation comes. Charges, I say not whether false or true, Have been preferred against you some time since, Which Florence was bound, plainly, to receive, And which are therefore undergoing now The due investigation. That is all. I doubt not but your innocence will prove Apparent and illustrious, as to me, To them this evening, when the trial ends.

_Lur._ My trial?

_Dom._ Florence, Florence to the end, My whole heart thanks thee!

_Puc._ [_To_ BRAC.] What is "trial," sir? It was not for a trial,--surely, no-- I furnished you those notes from time to time? I held myself aggrieved--I am a man-- And I might speak,--ay, and speak mere truth, too, And yet not mean at bottom of my heart What should assist a--trial, do you say? You should have told me!

_Dom._ Nay, go on, go on! His sentence! Do they sentence him? What is it? The block--wheel?

_Brac._ Sentence there is none as yet, Nor shall I give my own opinion now Of what it should be, or is like to be. When it is passed, applaud or disapprove! Up to that point, what is there to impugn?

_Lur._ They are right, then, to try me?

_Brac._ I assert, Maintain and justify the absolute right Of Florence to do all she can have done In this procedure,--standing on her guard, Receiving even services like yours With utmost fit suspicious wariness. In other matters, keep the mummery up! Take all the experiences of all the world, Each knowledge that broke through a heart to life, Each reasoning which, to reach, burnt out a brain, --In other cases, know these, warrant these, And then dispense with these--'tis very well! Let friend trust friend, and love demand love's like, And gratitude be claimed for benefits,-- There's grace in that,--and when the fresh heart breaks, The new brain proves a ruin, what of them? Where is the matter of one moth the more Singed in the candle, at a summer's end? But Florence is no simple John or James To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit That he's the one excepted man by fate. And, when fate shows him he's mistaken there, Die with all good men's praise, and yield his place To Paul and George intent to try their chance! Florence exists because these pass away. She's a contrivance to supply a type Of man, which men's deficiencies refuse; She binds so many, that she grows out of them-- Stands steady o'er their numbers, though they change And pass away--there's always what upholds, Always enough to fashion the great show. As see, yon hanging city, in the sun, Of shapely cloud substantially the same! A thousand vapors rise and sink again, Are interfused, and live their life and die,-- Yet ever hangs the steady show i' the air, Under the sun's straight influence: that is well, That is worth heaven should hold, and God should bless! And so is Florence,--the unseen sun above, Which draws and holds suspended all of us, Binds transient vapors into a single cloud Differing from each and better than they all. And shall she dare to stake this permanence On any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak, And its temptations many: let her prove Each servant to the very uttermost Before she grant him her reward, I say!

_Dom._ And as for hearts she chances to mistake, Wronged hearts, not destined to receive reward, Though they deserve it, did she only know, --What should she do for these?

_Brac._ What does she not? Say, that she gives them but herself to serve! Here's Luria--what had profited his strength, When half an hour of sober fancying Had shown him step by step the uselessness Of strength exerted for strength's proper sake? But the truth is, she did create that strength, Draw to the end the corresponding means. The world is wide--are we the only men? Oh, for the time, the social purpose' sake, Use words agreed on, bandy epithets, Call any man the sole great wise and good! But shall we therefore, standing by ourselves, Insult our souls and God with the same speech? There, swarm the ignoble thousands under him: What marks us from the hundreds and the tens? Florence took up, turned all one way the soul Of Luria with its fires, and here he glows! She takes me out of all the world as him, Fixing my coldness till like ice it checks The fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best?

_Lur._ Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the way To gain your good word and sincere esteem? Am I the baited animal that must turn And fight his baiters to deserve their praise? Obedience is mistake then? Be it so! Do you indeed remember I stand here The captain of the conquering army,--mine-- With all your tokens, praise and promise, ready To show for what their names meant when you gave, Not what you style them now you take away? If I call in my troops to arbitrate, And dash the first enthusiastic thrill Of victory with this you menace now-- Commend to the instinctive popular sense, My story first, your comment afterward,-- Will they take, think you, part with you or me? If I say--I, the laborer they saw work, Ending my work, ask pay, and find my lords Have all this while provided silently Against the day of pay and proving faith, By what you call my sentence that's to come-- Will friends advise I wait complacently? If I meet Florence half-way at their head, What will you do, my mild antagonist?

_Brac._ I will rise up like fire, proud and triumphant That Florence knew you thoroughly and by me, And so was saved. "See, Italy," I'll say, "The crown of our precautions! Here's a man Was far advanced, just touched on the belief Less subtle cities had accorded long; But we were wiser: at the end comes this!" And from that minute, where is Luria? Lost! The very stones of Florence cry against The all-exacting, naught-enduring fool, Who thus resents her first probation, flouts As if he, only, shone and cast no shade, He, only, walked the earth with privilege Against suspicion, free where angels fear: He, for the first inquisitive mother's-word, Must turn, and stand on his defence, forsooth! Reward? You will not be worth punishment!

_Lur._ And Florence knew me thus! Thus I have lived,-- And thus you, with the clear fine intellect, Braccio, the cold acute instructed mind, Out of the stir, so calm and unconfused, Reported me--how could you otherwise! Ay?--and what dropped from you, just now, moreover? Your information, Puccio?--Did your skill, Your understanding sympathy approve Such a report of me? Was this the end? Or is even this the end? Can I stop here? You, lady, with the woman's stand apart, The heart to see with, past man's brain and eyes, ... I cannot fathom why you should destroy The unoffending one, you call your friend-- Still, lessoned by the good examples here Of friendship, 'tis but natural I ask-- Had you a further aim, in aught you urged, Than your friend's profit--in all those instances Of perfidy, all Florence wrought of wrong-- All I remember now for the first time?

_Dom._ I am a daughter of the Traversari, Sister of Porzio and of Berto both, So, have foreseen all that has come to pass. I knew the Florence that could doubt their faith, Must needs mistrust a stranger's--dealing them Punishment, would deny him his reward. And I believed, the shame they bore and died, He would not bear, but live and fight against-- Seeing he was of other stuff than they.

_Lur._ Hear them! All these against one foreigner! And all this while, where is, in the whole world, To his good faith a single witness?

_Tib._ [_Who has entered unseen during the preceding dialogue._] Here! Thus I bear witness, not in word but deed. I live for Pisa; she's not lost to-day By many chances--much prevents from that! Her army has been beaten, I am here, But Lucca comes at last, one happy chance! I rather would see Pisa three times lost Than saved by any traitor, even by you; The example of a traitor's happy fortune Would bring more evil in the end than good;-- Pisa rejects the traitor, craves yourself! I, in her name, resign forthwith to you My charge,--the highest office, sword and shield! You shall not, by my counsel, turn on Florence Your army, give her calumny that ground-- Nor bring one soldier: be you all we gain! And all she'll lose,--a head to deck some bridge, And save the cost o' the crown should deck the head. Leave her to perish in her perfidy, Plague-stricken and stripped naked to all eyes, A proverb and a by-word in all mouths! Go you to Pisa! Florence is my place-- Leave me to tell her of the rectitude, I, from the first, told Pisa, knowing it. To Pisa!

_Dom._ Ah my Braccio, are you caught?

_Brac._ Puccio, good soldier and good citizen, Whom I have ever kept beneath my eye, Ready as fit, to serve in this event Florence, who clear foretold it from the first-- Through me, she gives you the command and charge She takes, through me, from him who held it late! A painful trial, very sore, was yours: All that could draw out, marshal in array The selfish passions 'gainst the public good-- Slights, scorns, neglects, were heaped on you to hear: And ever you did bear and bow the head! It had been sorry trial, to precede Your feet, hold up the promise of reward For luring gleam; your footsteps kept the track Through dark and doubt: take all the light at once! Trial is over, consummation shines; Well have you served, as well henceforth command!

_Puc._ No, no ... I dare not! I am grateful, glad; But Luria--you shall understand he's wronged: And he's my captain--this is not the way We soldiers climb to fortune: think again! The sentence is not even passed, beside! I dare not: where's the soldier could?

_Lur._ Now, Florence-- Is it to be? You will know all the strength O' the savage--to your neck the proof must go? You will prove the brute nature? Ah, I see! The savage plainly is impassible-- He keeps his calm way through insulting words, Sarcastic looks, sharp gestures--one of which Would stop you, fatal to your finer sense, But if he stolidly advance, march mute Without a mark upon his callous hide, Through the mere brushwood you grow angry with, And leave the tatters of your flesh upon, --You have to learn that when the true bar comes, The murk mid-forest, the grand obstacle, Which when you reach, you give the labor up, Nor dash on, but lie down composed before, --He goes against it, like the brute he is: It falls before him, or he dies in his course. I kept my course through past ingratitude: I saw--it does seem, now, as if I saw, Could not but see, those insults as they fell, --Ay, let them glance from off me, very like, Laughing, perhaps, to think the quality You grew so bold on, while you so despised The Moor's dull mute inapprehensive mood, Was saving you: I bore and kept my course. Now real wrong fronts me: see if I succumb! Florence withstands me? I will punish her.

At night my sentence will arrive, you say. Till then I cannot, if I would, rebel --Unauthorized to lay my office down, Retaining my full power to will and do: After--it is to see. Tiburzio, thanks! Go; you are free: join Lucca! I suspend All further operations till to-night. Thank you, and for the silence most of all! [_To_ BRAC.] Let my complacent bland accuser go Carry his self-approving head and heart Safe through the army which would trample him Dead in a moment at my word or sign! Go, sir, to Florence; tell friends what I say-- That while I wait my sentence, theirs waits them! [_To_ DOM.] You, lady,--you have black Italian eyes! I would be generous if I might: oh, yes-- For I remember how so oft you seemed Inclined at heart to break the barrier down Which Florence finds God built between us both. Alas, for generosity! this hour Asks retribution: bear it as you may, I must--the Moor--the savage,--pardon you! Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth!