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Scenes From Politian By Edgar Allan Poe
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SCENES FROM "POLITIAN"

AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.

                               I.

            ROME. -- A Hall in a Palace  Alessandra and Castiglione..

    _Alessandra._  Thou art sad, Castiglione.

   _ Castiglione. _ Sad! -- not I.
Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!

   _ Aless. _ Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing
Thy happiness! -- what ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

    _Cas.  _Did I sign?
I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,
A silly -- a most silly fashion I have
When I am _very_ happy. Did I sigh?                         (_sighing._)

   _ Aless. _Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged
Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
Late hours and wine, Castiglione, -- these
Will ruin thee! thou art already altered --
Thy looks are haggard -- nothing so wears away
The constitution as late hours and wine.

    _Cas. (musing.)  _Nothing, fair cousin, nothing -- not even deep
sorrow --
Wears it away like evil hours and wine.
I will amend.

   _ Aless. _Do it! I would have thee drop
Thy riotous company, too -- fellows low born --
Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir
And Alessandra's husband.

    _Cas.  _I will drop them.

   _ Aless. _  Thou wilt -- thou must. Attend thou also more
To thy dress and equipage -- they are over plain
For thy lofty rank and fashion -- much depends
Upon appearances.

    _Cas.  _I'll see to it.

   _ Aless. _Then see to it! -- pay more attention, sir,
To a becoming carriage -- much thou wantest
In dignity.

    _Cas.  _Much, much, oh! much I want
  In proper dignity.

   _ Aless.(haughtily)  _Thou mockest me, sir!

    _Cas. (abstractedly.)  _Sweet, gentle Lalage!

   _ Aless. _Heard I aright?
I speak to him -- he speaks of Lalage!
Sir Count! (_places her hand on his shoulder_) what art thou dreaming?
he's not well!
What ails thee, sir?

    _Cas. (startling.)  _Cousin! fair cousin! -- madam!
I crave thy pardon -- indeed I am not well --
Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please.
This air is most oppressive! -- Madam -- the Duke!

                                                   _Enter Di Broglio._

   _ Di Broglio._  My son, I've news for thee! -- hey? -- what's the
matter? (_observing Alessandra_)
I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her,
You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute!
I've news for you both. Politian is expected
Hourly in Rome -- Politian, Earl of Leicester!
We'll have him at the wedding. 'Tis his first visit
To the imperial city.

   _ Aless. _What! Politian
Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?

   _ Di Brog._  The same, my love.
We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young
In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,
But Rumour speaks of him as of a prodigy
Pre-eminent in arts and arms, and wealth,
And high descent. We'll have him at the wedding.

   _ Aless. _I have heard much of this Politian.
Gay, volatile and giddy -- is he not?
And little given to thinking.

   _ Di Brog._  Far from it, love.
No branch, they say, of all philosophy
So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.
Learned as few are learned.

   _ Aless. _'Tis very strange!
I have known men have seen Politian
And sought his company. They speak of him
As of one who entered madly into life,
Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.

    _Cas.  _Ridiculous! Now I have seen Politian
And know him well -- nor learned nor mirthful he.
He is a dreamer and a man shut out
From common passions.

   _ Di Brog._  Children, we disagree.
Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air
Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear
Politian was a _melancholy_ man?                             (_exeunt._)

                          II

  ROME. A Lady's apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden.
Lalage, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a
hand mirror. In the background Jacinta (a servant maid) leans carelessly
upon a chair.

 _   Lal._ [_Lalage_] Jacinta! is it thou?

   _ Jac._ [_Jacinta_] (_pertly_.) Yes, Ma'am, I'm here.

   _ Lal._   I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.
Sit down! -- Let not my presence trouble you --
Sit down! -- for I am humble, most humble.

    _Jac._ (_aside_.) 'Tis time.
(_Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her
elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look.
Lalage continues to read_. )

    _Lal._ "It in another climate, so he said,
"Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!"
(_pauses -- turns over some leaves, and resumes_)
"No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower --
"But Ocean ever to refresh mankind
"Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind."
O, beautiful!- most beautiful -- how like
To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!
O happy land (_pauses_) She died! -- the maiden died!
A still more happy maiden who couldst die!
Jacinta!
(_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes._)
Again! -- a similar tale
Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!
Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play --
"She died full young" -- one Bossola answers him --
"I think not so -- her infelicity
"Seemed to have years too many" -- Ah luckless lady!
Jacinta! (_still no answer_)

    Here 's a far sterner story,
But like -- oh, very like in its despair --
Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily
A thousand hearts -- losing at length her own.
She died. Thus endeth the history -- and her maids
Lean over and weep -- two gentle maids
With gentle names -- Eiros and Charmion!
Rainbow and Dove! -- -- Jacinta!

    _Jac._ (_pettishly_.) Madam, what _is_ it?

    _Lal._  Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind
As go down in the library and bring me
The Holy Evangelists.

    _Jac._ Pshaw!   (_exit_.)

    _Lal._ If there be balm
For the wounded spirit in Gilead it is there!
Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found -- "dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill."
(_re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table._)
There, ma'am, 's the book. Indeed she is very troublesome.  (_aside._)

    _Lal. (astonished.) _ What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught
To grieve thee or to vex thee? -- I am sorry.
For thou hast served me long and ever been
Trust-worthy and respectful.                   (_resumes her reading._)

    _Jac._ I can't believe
She has any more jewels -- no -- no -- she gave me all.    (_aside._)

    _Lal._ What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me
Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo?- and when is it to be?
Can I do aught?- is there no farther aid
Thou needest, Jacinta?

    _Jac_. Is there no _farther_ aid!
That's meant for me. (_aside_) I'm sure, madam, you need not
Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

    _Lal._ Jewels! Jacinta, -- now indeed, Jacinta,
I thought not of the jewels.

    _Jac._ Oh! perhaps not!
But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There 's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he 's sure the Count Castiglione never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I'm certain, Madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels _now._ But I might have sworn it.          (_exit._)
(_Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table -- after a
short pause raises it._)

    _Lal._  Poor Lalage! -- and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid! -- but courage! -- 'tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
(_taking up the mirror_)
Ha! here at least 's a friend -- too much a friend
In earlier days -- a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale -- a pretty tale -- and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe: It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased -- remembers me
Of Joy departed -- Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed: -- now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true- thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain -- no heart to break --
Castiglione lied who said he loved --
Thou true -- he false! -- false! -- false!
(_While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches
unobserved._)

    _Monk._ Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter, in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

    _Lal._ (arising hurriedly.)  I _cannot_ pray! -- My soul is at war
with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses -- go! I cannot pray --
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me -- go! -- thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread- thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!

    _Monk._ Think of thy precious soul!

   _ Lal._  Think of my early days! -- think of my father
And mother in Heaven think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! -- think of them!
And think of me! -- think of my trusting love
And confidence- his vows- my ruin -- think -- think
Of my unspeakable misery! -- begone!
Yet stay! yet stay! -- what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?

    _Monk._  I did.

   _ Lal._ Lal. 'Tis well.
There is a vow were fitting should be made --
A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,
A solemn vow!

    _Monk._ Daughter, this zeal is well !

    _Lal._  Father, this zeal is anything but well !
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register
This sacred vow?                             (_he hands her his own_)
Not that- Oh! no! -- no! -- no!                            (_shuddering_)
Not that! Not that! -- I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself, --
I have a crucifix Methinks 'twere fitting
The deed -- the vow -- the symbol of the deed --
And the deed's register should tally, father!

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