The Vigil of Venus and Other Poems | Page 4

L., with balustrade and marble seats, and an?opening whence a flight of steps leads down to the?city. The city lies out of sight below the terrace;?from which, between its cypresses and statuary, is?seen a straight stretch of a canal; beyond the canal are?sand-hills and the line of the open sea. Mountains,?L., dip down to the sea and form a curve of the?coast._
_As the curtain rises, a crowd of town and country?folk is being herded to the back of the terrace by the?Ducal Guard, under Cesario. Within the Chapel, to_?_the sound of an organ, boys' voices are chanting the?service of the Mass._
Cesario, Gamba the Fool, Guards, Populace.
Cesario. Way there! Give room! The Regent comes from Mass. Guards, butt them on the toes--way there! give room!?Prick me that laggard's leg-importunate fools!
Guards. Room for the Regent! Room!
[The sacring bell rings within the Chapel.
Cesario. Hark there, the bell!
[A pause. Men of the crowd take off their caps.
Could ye not leave, this day of all the year,?Your silly suits, petitions, quarrels, pleas??Could ye not leave, this once in seven years,?Our Lady to come holy-quiet from Mass.?Lean on the wall, and loose her cage-bird heart,?To lift and breast and dance upon the breeze.?Draws home her lord the Duke?
Crowd. Long live the Duke!
Cesario. The devil, then! Why darken his approach?
_Gamba (from the bench where he has been mending his?viol)._ Because, Captain, 'tis a property knaves?and fools have in common--to stand in their own?light, as 'tis of soldiers to talk bad logic. That?knave, now--he with the red nose and the black?eye--the Duke's colours, loyal man!--you clap?an iron on his leg, and ask him why he is not?down in the city, hanging them out of window!?Go to: you are a soldier!
Cesario. And you a Fool, and on your own showing?stand in your own light.
Gamba. Nay, neither in my own light, nor as a?Fool. So should myself stand between the sun?and my shadow; whereas I am not myself--these?seven years have I been but the shadow of a?Fool. Yet one must tune up for the Duke.
_(Strikes his viol and sings.)_
"Bird of the South, my Rondinello----"
Flat-Flat!
_Cesario (calling up to watchman on the Chapel roof)._ Ho there! What news?
A Voice. Captain, no sail!
Cesario. Where sits?The wind?
Voice. Nor' west, and north a point!
Cesario. Perchance?They have down'd sail and creep around the flats.
_Gamba (tuning his viol)._ Flats, flats! the straight horizon, and the life These seven years laid by rule! The curst canal?Drawn level through the drawn-out level sand?And thistle-tufts that stink as soon as pluck'd!?Give me the hot crag and the dancing heat,?Give me the Abruzzi, and the cushioned thyme--?Brooks at my feet, high glittering snows above.?What were thy music, viol, without a ridge?
[Noise of commotion in the city below.
Cesario. Watchman, what news?
A Voice. Sir, on the sea no sail!
One of the Crowd. But through the town below a horseman spurs-- I think, Count Lucio! Yes--Count Lucio!?He nears, draws rein, dismounts!
Cesario. Sure, he brings news.
Gamba. I think he brings word the Duke is sick;?his loyal folk have drunk so much of his?health.
[_A murmur has been growing in the town below. It?breaks into cheers as Count Lucio comes springing?up to the terrace._
Enter Lucio.
Lucio. News! Where's the Regent? Eh? is Mass not said??Cesario, news! I rode across the dunes;?A pilot--Nestore--you know the man--?Came panting. Sixteen sail beyond the point!?That's not a galley lost!
Crowd. Long live the Duke!
Lucio. Hark to the tocsin! I have carried fire--?Wildfire! Why, where's my sister? I've a mind--
[_He strides towards the door of the Chapel; but?pauses at the sound of chanting within, and?comes back to Cesario._
Man, are you mute? I say the town's aflame?Below! But here, up here, you stand and stare?Like prisoners loosed to daylight. Rub your eyes,?Believe!
_Cesario (musing)._ It has been long.
Lucio. As tapestry?Pricked out by women's needles; point-device?As saints in fitted haloes. Yet they stab,?Those needles. Oh, the devil take their tongues!
Cesario. Why, what's the matter?
Lucio. P'st! another lie?Against the Countess Fulvia; and the train?Laid to my sister's ear. Cesario,?My sister is a saint--and yet she married:?Therefore should understand ... Would saints, like cobblers, Stick but to business in this naughty world!?Ah, well! the Duke comes home.
Cesario. And what of that?
Lucio. Release!
Cesario. Release?
_Lucio (mocking a chant within the Chapel)._ From priests and petticoats Deliver us, Good Lord!
_Gamba (strikes a chord on viol). AMEN!_
Cesario. Count Lucio,?These seven years agone, when the Duke sailed,?You were a child--a pretty, forward boy;?And I a young lieutenant of the Guard,?Burning to serve abroad. But that day, rather,?I clenched my nails over an inward wound:?For that a something manlier than my years--?Look, bearing, what-not--by the Duke not miss'd,?Condemned me to promotion: I must bide?At home, command the Guard! 'Tis an old hurt,?But scalded on my memory.... Well, they sailed!?And from the terrace here, sick with self-pity,?Wrapped in my wrong, forgetful of devoir,?I watch'd them through a mist--turned with a sob--?Uptore my rooted sight--
There, there she