LITTLE PLAYS OP ST. FRANCIS Incidental Music by Rutland Boughton is obtainable from Messrs. Stainer & Bell, Ltd. 58 Berners Street, London, W. 1 to whom enquiries should be addressed. Applications regarding the amateur acting rights of these plays should be made to the Secretary, Incorporated Society of Authors, 1 Central Buildings, Westminster, London, S. W. 1. The following Little Plays are also issued separately as shilling booklets : — Fellow-Pbisonbrs The Lepers The Builders Brother Sun Brother Wolf Brother Juniper Sister Clare Sister Death LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS BY THE SAME AUTHOR Followers of St. Francis. Four One-Act Plays, uniform with Little Plays oj St. Francis. Saint Francis Poverello. (Messages of the Saints.) Selected Poems. The Wheel : a Dramatic Trilogy. The Death of Orpheus : a Play. Pains and Penalties : a Play. The Chinese Lantern : a Play. With H. Granville- Barker Prunella^ or Love in a Dutch Garden : a Play. Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd., London LITTLE PLAYS of St. FRANCIS A Dramatic Cycle from the Life and Legend of St. Francis of Assisi, by LAURENCE HOUSMAN With a Preface by H. GRANVILLE-BARKER Boston Small Maynard & Company »^I.X^ 'f?^?^v H'^j^i^^ Made and printed in Great Britain. CONTENTS PAQB Preface by H. Granvillb-Barker . , . . vii Author's Preface . xvii LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Dramatis Persons ........ xxi PART I— THE FOREGOING The Revellers 3 Fellow-Prisoners .21 Brief Life 39 Blind Eyes . 51 The Bride Feast 63 Our Lady of Poverty 81 PART 11— THE FOLLOWING The Builders . .99 Brother Wolf 125 Sister Clare 143 The Lepers ......... 167 Sister Gold 173 Brother Sun 197 V LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS PART III— THE FINDING PAGE The Chapter 213 Brother Juniper 227 Brother Elias 239 The Seraphic Vision 249 Brother Sin 259 Sister Death .•••»•••• 267 PREFACE There is an art of the theatre and there is a theatrical industry, and it is absurd to expect that the interests of the two can be continuously identical ; it is dijfificult, rather, to see why now- adays they should ever coincide. Consider for a moment the current conditions of the industry as they are dominated by the London market. High rents, high rates, special taxes, high wages, high prices, the pleasure-affording public largely such a shifting one that its attraction demands much expenditure in advertisement and agency fees — what wonder that the man of business, trying to deal fairly with hard-to-come-by capital, protests that he can only afford to traffic in goods which will attract the greatest number of people to a highly purchased enjoyment of them in the shortest possible time ? The sophisticated in such matters, then, will not expect even the most enterprising London manager to pounce upon this sequence of plays setting forth the life of St. Francis of Assisi as a successor to — ^his latest failure. Is he to be blamed for that ? He may have dropped thousands this past year in exploiting what seemed the safest sort of goods, vii LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS plays that need tax no one's intelligence, disturb no one's complacency, upset no digestion. But, suppose he did venture, for a change, upon a religious revue, could he look to see the patient pittites lined up in their hundreds or to hear from his office during the next few months the pleasing sound of the nightly stampede for taxis, buses, and trains of a crowd purged by the pity and terror of a three hours' contemplation of this life given to God ? It is, of course, unlikely ; though, even in the theatrical industry, stranger things have happened. Mr. Housman himself — ^as experienced in the industry as he is practised in the art — ^probably does not envisage any such immediate fate for these plays. But we must not conclude because of this, and because they make their first bow to the public from the printed book, that they are there- fore undramatic, merely literary, more fitted for the study than the stage — ^because they have not been fitted to the Procrustean bed of the commercial theatre. And, while a theatrical generation ago some critics might have thought to couch praise in such terms, to-day (alas for the theatre !) it is equally foolish to use them as blame. For there is now another theatre towards which the most practical dramatists may advisedly turn their eyes. It is not — ^it can never be — a financial lucky-bag ; no syndicates will exploit it, landlords and ticket agents will regard it with indifference, viii PREFACE To-day, truly, is its day of small things. But on that account alone it is proverbially not to be despised. Besides, the small things are multi- tudinous ; and they show promise of many and various morrows. Some twenty-five to fifty years ago there began (you may date its beginning according to your particular sympathies) a so-called renascence of the English drama. If the birth was painful, the bringing -up has not been easy, and the problem of putting this new heir of the ages out into the world (so to speak) is yet to be solved. There seems little present chance of a solution upon what are called business-like lines, and even less in any appeal to the State or to private wealth for endowment and subsidy. If a national theatre will cost half a million, a national theatre may go hang. If to show school-children Shakespeare is to burden the rates with a few thousands extra a year, he may abide for them in his printed and annotated prison (save for the chance that a teacher or two of talent may be able to rescue him unaided), and the children may abide in their weary wonder at all this blank versifying and conglomeration of queer words being called, of all things in the world, a play. And what cannot be conceded to such a respectable fetish as Shakespeare it will certainly be worse than a waste of time to advocate for any merely con- temporary art. Besides (we shall be told) Shake- LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS speare's plays had no cockering at their birth in the shape of subsidies and official patronage, and they flourished in native unconstrained vigour. But where are now the dramatic nurslings of the Universities, where even is rare Ben Jonson ? The argument is impeachable. But why argue ? For it is at least true that, whatever endowment may or may not do, talk keeps no art alive. And it is also a fair question whether the demonstration of a dramatic renascence made during these last twenty-five to fifty years by a few hundred faithful workers, supported with intermittent enthusiasm by a few thousands of the public — subsidised, in a sense, indeed — has not failed. Well, one might admit it, so far as to admit that the great heart of the people has remained un- touched, that to-day one may stop half a dozen men at random in the streets of Newcastle or Huddersfield and question them upon the achieve- ments of the modern English theatre, to find them not only abysmally ignorant but absolutely indif- ferent about the matter. But there are failures more fruitful than success ; and we, the public, may perhaps face the London manager's balance-sheet of a three years' consistent trial of the ' serious ' drama with more equanimity (though naturally he will not !) if we will look elsewhere for the victory in that rather heart-breaking struggle. It is certainly true that under present industrial PREFACE conditions the best modern drama cannot flourish (apart from a few strokes of luck and by a constant searching for novelty and still more novelty) in any representative variety in the West End of London, and that this inhibition takes reflexive effect throughout the country. There is the failure. The success lies in the upspringing all over England of bodies of people so hungry for a little simple, wholesome, unhocussed dramatic art, that, denied it by the professional providers, they are ready to see to the supply themselves. That they now know what they want, where to find it and how to bring it to full being — ^these are the true fruits, so far, of our English dramatic renascence. We have no national theatre, and the best of our modern plays — each having had, be it said, one hard, if not long, run for its life — lie, most of the time, dusty on bookshelves. But there is hardly a town or a district of villages in England to-day that does not hold some collection of young men and women who, with their workaday world behind them, set out, now and then, to adventure together into the wider mimic life, for the deeper sympathetic experi- ence that they can find in this simple art of acting. Amateur dramatic societies, it is true, have existed for years by the hundred, with their seasonal exhibitions, in which ' local talent,' for the ostensible benefit of local charities, matched itself against London originals in the latest pro- xi LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS curable London success. But these new associa- tions have different aims and are of a different temper. They have as a rule much contempt for the commercial theatre, more indeed than befits their ignorance of its difficulties and its dormant virtues. They read the modern ' bookshelf ' drama and discuss it, rightly enough, with very critical tongues. But their chief anxiety is to stand clean upon their own theatrical feet. The surest of them may disdain to derive their drama from anything but their own expressive selves ; they will both write their plays and act them, paint their scenery and make the costumes, be their own audience too if necessary. Here, though — ^for all the theoretic merit — ^is but a small circle to revolve in. Others are content to turn their eyes outward for plays at least. But they will often look, if they are wise, for plays that are not modelled to the complexities and the sophistication of the professional stage. These — only the very best, of course! — ^might be good enough for them, but when playing becomes the question, too much of a good thing besides. It is true, also, that even the most radical writer, having reasonably enough an eye upon the conditions of his work's first employ- ment, does tend to a set and limited scope of form and content — ^to one, moreover, that may be both positively and negatively unsuitable to groups of amateurs. For material resources they cannot xii PREFACE command ; but, on the other hand, they are free from professional obligations as to subject, length, balance of cast, and half a dozen other minor things. But here is a theatre for which any dramatist of to-day, with his eye upon the immediate to- morrow, may well sit down to write. In collective importance, in the persistent or recurrent interest it may show in his work, it can already rival for him the more exacting and capricious professional stage. And it promises to develop in these two directions, among others : one, of variety of interest, for another, in positive tastes. To have an audience that liked everything would be the enterprising manager's ideal. To cater for a public that tolerates anything, as long as it is mildly entertained, is debilitating to a degree. This, though, is one of the curses laid on the London theatre. The integrated audience (such as it was) has now broken up, with the upbreaking of many things more. And the manager, trying to divine the public taste — searching the entrails of many plays for the purpose — can but come to the despairing conclusion that, as there is no such com- prehensible thing as a public, neither has it any defin- able taste. Wherefore, if he have none of his own, he revolves through chaos to prompt retirement on a run of luck, or bankruptcy. But these smaller, closer-knit units of so-called amateur interest in drama can form concrete opinions, can also, to xiii LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS some intelligible extent, express them. They are the right soil, then, for experiment. A failure to please is not a catastrophe. Moreover, the selective process by which some band of enthusiasts has just separated itself upon this matter from its neigh- bours (later to recruit from them) will continue in the discovery of its own particular capacities for adventure. And drama opens a wide field. Now it cannot fail to strike one how perfectly — ^whether by accident or design — ^Mr. Housman has provided in this sequence of plays for the needs and ambitions of such players. The multiple unit is a most useful economic form. You may pass from your single play to your section and later accumulate resources to capture the whole work without any waste labour. More importantly, here is religious drama ; and — if one may beg a ques- tion which each reader may claim to answer for himself — drama that is religious not in name only. It is surely a very salient sign both of our new drama's vitality and of the fact we have alleged that its life is now truly a part of the people's life, when it turns — and quite simply and normally turns — ^to religion for a topic. For a topic, in that here we have living religion, not dead. The dress may be twelfth century, but if the faith were not alive and the thought immediate, neither would pass the dramatic test to which Mr. Housman has boldly put them. But let half a dozen actors, xiv PREFACE thinking more of their art than of themselves, and for the time being more of St. Francis than of either — let them give such life as is in them to any one of these plays, and (preface-writer's partiality apart) they will find without fail that the life of the play's art and the intenser life of its purpose will give increase tenfold. For — ^passing the test — that is drama's achievement and reward. There are occasional signs that the Church in England is now bethinking her of what a weapon she threw away when she gave the theatre the go-by. She will not capture it again ; it has a salvation of its own to pursue. But the drama may still offer her service ; even though, in this study of the life and death of St. Francis, it be rather in despite of her more official moods. One sees, very shortly, a Guild of the Players of St. Francis being formed, with these plays for its text-book. Will they tramp, bare -footed and brown -fro eked, round the English country as their prototypes tramped Italy ? A char-a-banc, with an attendant lorry, might be allowable. They will be welcome for certain. They had better be ready to play in a tent by the roadside. But, as often as not, the parson may come out to meet them. HARLEY GRANVILLE-BARKER. XV AUTHOR'S PREFACE The life of St. Francis of Assisi has come to us as much through legend as through history ; and many tales of him which help to give us his living character are not only without historical proof, but may, strictly speaking, be untrue. To this mixed material the dramatist and the student stand in different relations ; and while the latter does well to search for whatever authenticity may lie at the back of legend, the former has mainly to consider what is, or what is not in character, and will accept whole-heartedly any legendary material which serves to give life to his subject, or illustration to its main motive. But he may, in the pursuit of dramatic values, go even further, and feel as little bound to legendary as to historical detail, if — as in the case of these plays — his main purpose is to present a spiritual interpretation of character. And so it has come about that many of the incidents round which these plays were written are purely imaginary ; and, where they are not, they rest only lightly on any actual record of events. Thus, in Part I., three historical facts — the xvii LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS imprisonment of Francis in Perugia, his subsequent illness and recovery, and his encounter with the leper — are used to give connection to a series of dramatic incidents which have otherwise no basis in history. In the play entitled ' Brother Wolf ' I have gone back on legend, accepting the sugges- tion of the ' rationalists ' that the wolf was really a man. In ' Brother Sun ' I have omitted the ordeal by fire which Francis is reputed to have claimed as a test of his mission. In ' The Chapter ' I have combined for dramatic purposes events which took place in two different years. In ' Sister Death ' I have dramatised, in a scene of threatened violence, the really existing jealousy between the citizens and the ecclesiastical authorities over the possession and disposal of the Saint's remains, whereas the only violence actually recorded occurred some while after his death. In doing so I have not taken more liberty with history than other dramatists of historical events have made customary. History is, indeed, the greatest of all works of fiction : and even its official and con- temporary records lead us — and often are intended to lead us — very far from the truth. On one point I have to admit an inconsistency from which I saw no satisfactory way of escape. In these plays, covering three phases of his career, I have given my chief character two names : in the first part he is ' Fi-ancesco,' an Italian like all xviii AUTHOR'S PREFACE the rest. After his ' conversion ' he becomes the ' Francis ' to which English ears are famihar. Also to Brother Juniper I have given the name by which we know him. A dramatist has often to take what sounds best to the ear. Having to choose between ' Father Francesco ' and ' Father Francis,' I took what seemed the natural course and named him as he is best known ; whereas in those earlier incidents of youth, where he was but a leader of frolic and fashion, his Italian name seemed to suit best. Aiming at naturalness in each case, I have let consistency go. Not all of these plays are intended primarily for the stage — not at least for the stage as it exists to-day ; they have nevertheless all been written with an underlying sense of stage requirements and stage effect; and some of them depend so much on these that it is with some regret that I place them before readers instead of before an audience. L. H. DRAMATIS PERSONS Francesco Bernardone . St. Francis of Assisi. PiETRo Bernardone Hisfather. Lucio Leone . His friena I : afterwards Brother Leo. RUDOLFO . His rival. Uberto . RiNALDO . Paolo - His companions. Giovanni , Antonia Betrothed to Lucio. Baldone Her father. LUCREZIA . Her kinstvoman. Arnolfo . Father of Lucio. Margherita . Queen of Beauty. ISOLA . . . . , Julia . . . . Y Her attendants. Laura . . . . . J Clara da Sciffi . St. Clare. GlACOMINA DA SeTTISOLI A Roman lady of rank. POMPILIO . A Commissary. Lupo . . . . . A robber chief. Cecco . . . . ^ Bartol . . . . Giuseppe. His followers. Bastiano • XXI LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS The Podesta .... Chief Magistrate of Assist. Sold AN ..,..,, King of Egypt. DoM SiLVESTRo . . . , . , A PHest. An Old Miser. A Merchant. A Nurse. A Goat-Boy. Brothers of the Franciscan Order : Leo, Bernard, Juniper, Elias, Anthony, Simon, RuFUS, Humble, Illuminato, Pacifico, John, Conrad, Giles, Jerome, Angelo, Matteo. Citizens, Soldiers, Saracens, Slaves, Gaolers, Beggars, Robbers, Lepers, Feasants, Masqueraders, Musicians, Revellers, and Friars. XXll PART I THE FOREGOING THE REVELLERS. FELLOAV-PRISONERS. BRIEF LIFE. BLIND EYES. THE BRIDE FEAST. OUR LADY OF POVERTY. THE REVELLERS It is night in Assisi, and the moon, high in heaven, blazes down into the small square with its stone foun- tain, upon which narrow streets converge. To one side rises the gaunt wall of a church, under which the fountain lies completely in shadow. On the opposite side {corner to a street) stands a deeply - recessed door; above it projects a small window. At the back of the scene is the door of another and larger house. When the scene opens, Lucio is discovered below the window o/'Antonia. Lucio. If it be true, confirm it yet again ! Give me to know that silence shall mean faith : That not Rudolfo's, nor Francesco's love Weighs in the scales with mine. ANTONiA. I swear, I swear I love thee, Lucio. LUCIO. Witness to it, O moon ! And let that uttered music of her breath. Which from this earth doth rise, be in thy keeping Henceforth for ever ! ANTONIA. Hush ! no more : away ! Our secret keeps. I '11 look on thee by day. And know thee not. Good night, Lucio, good night ! [She withdraws : her light is seen passing upwards. LUCIO. Flown ! O my bird, my star ! Up mounts thy light, a LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS And Lucio's eyes go blind. [He crosses to the fountain, and there within a buttress of the church wall stands watching. From a distance comes the sound, as from an opened door, of laughter and revelry, A sudden gleam of light is thrown along the street. Enter paolo and other Revellers, followed by RUDOLFo, cloaked in black and bearing a sword. The Revellers are a little drunk. One runs ahead, hides, and, as the others go by, makes a sham pass with his sheathed sword, crying ' Moo ! ' His ' victim ' squeaks. Loud laughter follows. PAOLO. To the right ! To the right ! Look out for the cow's horn ! Come, my Rudolfo ! We 're for Perugia. [paolo and the others go off, laughing. RUDOLFO. Ye fools, go your ways ! I 'm for Antonia. \He takes his stand within the recessed doorway. Enter Francesco, strumming upon a small mandoL FRANCESCO. Oh, sleep not so ! Let dreams now go ! For the way we know lies easy. So make delight Of the live-long night. While the moon shines bright on Assisi. [He approaches the window of antonia. O whitest flower. From thy high bower Look down this hour, [rudolfo strikes his sword across the strings, 4 THE REVELLERS RUDOLFO. Hold ! FRANCESCO. Litter of Cerberus ! Whose black dog are you ? RUDOLFo. Take your strings hence, strummer ! Linger not here ! FRANCESCO [mildly surprised]. Signor Rudolfo ? RUDOLFO [bitingly]. Aye, Signor Francesco ! FRANCESCO [trying to pass]. Nay, by your leave ! [rudolfo withstands him threateningly. Why then, without your leave, to yourself I leave you! [He crosses to the fountain and there spies LUCIO. Lucio ? LUCIO. How now, Francesco ? FRANCESCO. There is a black dog yonder ; and he bites. LUCIO. Better not cross him ; he is dangerous. FRANCESCO. Yct will I tame him ! See, here is the wine That wins my wager : Uberto and padrone. Both have I beaten ! [From his girdle he unslings a wine- shin. LUCIO. Thou art a thief, Francesco ! FRANCESCO. Aye, till to-morrow : then will I make payment. Set it to cool, here in the fountain, Lucio. LUCIO [reaching down]. The well is dry. FRANCESCO. Excellent ! Pour it in ! We '11 make a miracle of it for San Rufino, — Blood from his bones. Tasting, how they will stare ! LUCIO. What is this for ? 5 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Go OH ! Do as I tell thee ! [lucio pours the wine into the fountain, Fran- cesco resumes his strumming. O whitest flower. From yon high bower Look down this hour, RUDOLFO [coming across]. Cease ! or I hack thy strings. FRANCESCO. Bounteous, but most chaste Moon, here is a lover Bids us not look on Heaven ! — ^would blot out stars, Block windows, call down watchmen from the walls. Put out the eyes of the astronomers. And hold thee his alone ! O gentle mistress, Art thou indeed for him, and for none other ? Then wherefor didst thou bend kind looks on me ? RUDOLFO. Enough ! See to it : get hence ! FRANCESCO. Nay, thou canst have her. Only be careful : see thou treat her well ! For, if thy worth diminish, when she wanes She '11 give thee horns. [rudolfo threatens him. Nay, nay, not cow's horns, Signor ! But horns of ivory, horns of RUDOLFO. This man 's mad ! FRANCESCO. Moon-mad, and full of wine, and wanting more ! Enter uberto, rinaldo, paolo, and other Revellers. REVELLERS. Hi ! Hi ! Where is Francesco ? FRANCESCO. Hcllo ! Hcllo ! Have ye still legs to run ? — And wings ? Come, birds ! 6 THE RE^TELLERS UBERTO. Well, well ! what is it, Francesco ? RiNALDO. Cloth-merchant, are we drunk ? PAOLO. The old padrone has turned us out : Says we have had more wine than we have paid for! FRANCESCO. Charges you, does he ? RiNALDO. Cloth-yard, are we drunk ? FRANCESCO. I havc seen worse, Rinaldo. Yonder lies one. UBERTO. What ? The Podesta ? FRANCESCO. Aye ! an hour ago, I found him making a bed of his own doorstep. Truly — compared with him — ^ye be all sober. LUCID. He lies there still. RINALDO. Old paunch-pot turned us out, — said we were drunk. To the cow's horn with him ! UBERTO [after going to look]. Aye, lies there still ! Lord ! where are such examples going to lead us? PAOLO. To drink. We are all drunk: Assisi's drunk. Oh, if Perugia knew, now were her time ! FRANCESCO. Count on it, Paolo ! I can give you proof. The hour has struck ; Assisi is in danger. PAOLO. Comes when ? FRANCESCO. This very night. UBERTO. Whence get you that, dreamer ? FRANCESCO [pointing to the fountain]. Look, Brothers ! There is the omen, PAOLO. What is it ? 7 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Blood ! [They gather round, much impressed, and peer down into the fountain. UBERTO. How comes it ? FRANCESCO. By miraclc ! To-night is the fulfilment of a great marvel. When I was a child, my nurse oft told me of it ; But never have I believed it true — till now. PAOLO. Believed what true ? FRANCESCO. Yc know whose is this church ? Within these walls, sacred to San Rufino, Here, under the high altar, lie his bones. The legend says they live : and that when war Threatens our city's peace, those bones sweat blood. Which, changed to wine, flows down into this fountain. Forewarning us of danger. PAOLO. This is strange telling ! FRANCESCO. Take not my word for it : San Rufino 's vintage Offers itself for proof. [He dips the chained cup, and holds it out to them, Lucio, lending himself to the deception, advances to make reverent inspection, followed by others. LUCIO. It looks like wine. [He hands the cup to uberto, who samples it suspiciously. UBERTO. Aye, and it tastes like wine. FRANCESCO. 'Tis winc, Uberto ! Drink ! I 've won my wager ! [So saying, he slaps him over the back with the wine-skin. 8 THE REVELLERS [This sudden revelation is greeted with a burst of laughter. Sobriety vanishes, bibulous merri- ment again holds sway. Lucio. Ha! He hath beaten thee! The tailor's goose Was the better bird, for all thy crowing, Uberto ! UBERTO. Well, I repent not of it ! When the padrone Kept his last wine-skin from us, I was angry : Now I forgive him. FRANCESCO [holding out the cup]. So, more wine, Padrone ! Pour night into a cup : I '11 drink it dry ! Till dawn shall fill it again. [The cup begins to go round, rinaldo, slow of wits, still sticks to his grievance. RINALDO. He turned us out ! Shall a man live, — shall a padrone live, — Shall he have licence to deny his guests The reason — the only reason for his existence ? PAOLO. Come, come, Rinaldo ! Here 's consola- tion for thee. [Offers him the cup, RINALDO. Why, this is the very life that he denied me ! [Drinking] This, this is what I live for ! FRANCESCO. Happy man ! To drink, and have thy heaven ! RINALDO [still drinking]. Ah ! were I a stone, I would go down into this fountain, and so live. Never to come up again. Why should I ? FRANCESCO. No reasou why ; life being without reason. LUCIO. Life without reason ? Come ! how make you that ? FRANCESCO. What does man live for ? 9 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS UBERTO. That he may go on hving. FRANCESCO. And when he dies — ^what then ? Lucio. He Hves on still. PAOLO. He can't help living. FRANCESCO. Having no choice puts reason out of court. Lucio. And to this riddle, Francesco, what is thy answer ? FRANCESCO. Man lives to be in keeping with his nature ; To be a man, and not to be alive. Were most unnatural. Why do I stand on my feet ? Because my feet Are made to stand on. Why do I see with mine eyes ? Because they are windows to look through. Why do I talk ? Because I have a tongue. Why do I love ? RiNALDO [mockingly]. Love ! FRANCESCO. Bccause, without love, man is no- thing . And nobody can give me a better reason . UBERTO. Call you that reason ? I can reason too. Why do I stumble ? Because I have feet to stumble with. Why do I weep ? Because I have eyes to weep from. Why does the moon grow full ? Because she plays the wanton. Why do I make cuckolds of all married men ? Because woman is woman. There 's reason for you ! More wine. Padrone ! FRANCESCO [holding back the cup]. Why does he want more wine that is not thirsty ? UBERTO. Because, if a thing is good, he wants it without reason. 10 THE REVELLERS FRANCESCO. That 's the truth of it, Uberto. And that is why Folly is better than wisdom. Wisdom requires a reason : Folly none. LUCID. And what is Folly ? FRANCESCO. That which is happy, and without reason lives. PAOLO. But Folly himself does some things for a reason. FRANCESCO. For a false reason. PAOLO. When he is tired, Folly goes to bed. RINALDO. Not he ! UBERTO. Yes ; with a bedfellow. RINALDO. The more tired he, when he gets up again! FRANCESCO. And so must sleep in the daytime, when by reason he should be waking. There- fore sleeps not till reason is against it. So without reason sleeps : — which proves my point. PAOLO. What : that a fool can reason ? FRANCESCO. Pretending to be wise. UBERTO. More drink, Padrone ! PAOLO. Fill us with folly, Francesco ! The night is young. FRANCESCO. Is it your pleasure ? SEVERAL. Agreed ! you lead : we follow. [FRANCESCO Strikes his strings, and begins singing. The others join in. Come, Folly, sweet Folly, to me be kind ! Make bright the eyes of the hour that flies I For to wait till the morrow. That brings a man sorrow. Is a trade that has never made any man wise ! 11 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Come, drink, then, drink, and merry let us be ! For who can tell but to-morrow he may die ? Though never have I met With any one yet Can tell a man, tell a man, tell a man why ! [rudolfo comes suddenly across from his hiding-place. RUDOLFO. Root out, you noisy rogues ! What means this clamour. Waking the weary echoes of the night ? FRANCESCO. The song is over, Signor. The Moon is yours again : Yonder she waits for you. [rudolfo makes a gesture. PAOLO [interposing']. Take it not ill, Rudolfo ! The fool means well, and there 's no mending him. FRANCESCO. So now to return to our philosophy : We are agreed, are we not, that Folly stands Not upon reason ? But when he goes to war. Must he not have some reason, though 'twere a false one ? UBERTO. By the cow's horn, I think so ! FRANCESCO. Aye, there you have it. Look you I On market day. Into Assisi enters from Perugia One of her citizens — a man of wealth. Ere the day ends, he goes with a hole in him. And through it back to the dust from which he came. What follows next ? We, in Assisi, say 'Twas a cow's horn that did it. They, in Perugia, Swear that Assisi slew him, by the hand of [He pauses. 12 THE REVELLERS Lucio [meaningly]. No need to name him. [rudolfo turns sharp and looks at him : lucio stiffens ; they stand eyeing each other. FRANCESCO. And that no cow did it. On that they threaten war. And when we have fought enough, and raged enough. And piled up waste enough of blood and treasure. Some day we shall make peace. And we, in Assisi, Shall still say 'twas a cow that did it ; and they Will swear that it was murder, — not horn but steel. Now had it chanced contrary — ^that in Perugia One of our citizens had been so slain. Then would Perugia have pledged her faith To a cow's horn, and we — to a murdered man. And this is War, — for which Folly finds reason ! PAOLO [singing]. O Folly, sweet Folly ! RUDOLFO. Well, if the horn was long and sharp enough To do its work, would any wish a better ? LUCIO. One, less of a coward, — ^that having dealt the blow Would take the blame for it, not leaving others To pay his debt ! RUDOLFO. How now, Lucio ? FRANCESCO. Come, come ! Will you not drink ? LUCIO. Let me go, Paolo ! He talks of the cow's horn. So do we all, — Against Perugia to maintain our quarrel. But we, here in Assisi, know 'tis false ! And that, in the market-place, was no cow's horn. Or long, or sharp, or straight, or cruel enough. To deal that blow ! FRANCESCO. Pcace, Lucio ! hold thy tongue ! 13 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Lucio. And I tell you, Rudolf o, that you lie ! With your cow's horn, you, from a secret corner. Did stab him in the back. There ! Now you have it! RUDOLFO. Enough, I take you ! LUCIO. Paolo, thy sword ! [He takes paolo's sword. Have out thy horn ! Now toss me if thou canst ! [nuDOLro draws. They fight. The window above is flung open. ANTONiA. Ah, God ! Francesco, part them ! [FRANCESCO intervenes with his mandol, and endeavours to strike down their weapons. FRANCESCO. Softly, softly ! Here is a tune wherein I must take part. Come, Brothers, come ! What piece is this you play ? On my head be it ! [Coming between, he takes a thrust from lucio's sword, and falls into rudolfo's arms. Oh, I have taken death, Lucio, from thee ! Rudolfo, give me stay ! Bring me some of the blood of San Rufino : So — ere I die ! [They bear him to the fountain, and fill the cup for him. He drinks, and makes as much of his dying as is possible, lucio stands distraught with grief: even rudolfo is compunctious. FRANCESCO. Ah ! swear to me, Rudolfo ! And you, Lucio, you too ; — ^never again ! Your hand. Your hand. [He takes first lucio's, then rudolfo's, holding them both.] Ye swear ? lucio. I swear, Francesco. 14 THE RE^^LLERS RUDOLFO. I am content. This quarrel was not my seeking. FRANCESCO. Why, then, all 's well again. Put up your steel ! And pardon me, dear friends, that I deceived you. There came a voice from Heaven, — ^and I obeyed. [He rises, showing plainly that he does not intend dying. But his hurt is a real one : blood drips from it. He staggers. RiNALDO. Francesco, thou 'rt more drunk than any of us. LUCID. Oh ! I have hurt thee ! [He takes Francesco's arm, and begins bandag- ing it. FRANCESCO. No, uo, Lucio ; 'tis nothing. Rudolfo spares thee : vex him not again. RUDOLFO. Art thou so bled, Francesco ? It was not I That did it. FRANCESCO. I would it had been, if this taste of blood Could satisfy thee, Rudolfo. RUDOLFO . Get him to bed ! I leave you. So, farewell ! FRANCESCO. Aye, fare thee well, Rudolfo, fare thee well ! [Exit RUDOLFO. FRANCESCO sits down, and draws a deep breath. All wait on him. 'Tis a fair night. Let not brief discord break The harmony of our mirth. Come, let 's play on. And to unfinished music give conclusion, PAOLO. What now, Francesco ? 15 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Yondei stands Folly, and beckons. PAOLO. Whither away ? FRANCESCO. Assisi is asleep. Let us wake her ! UBERTO. How ? Wherewith ? FRANCESCO. A noise of drums, — ^the beating of her own heart ! Thinks she is at peace, — wakes to a sound of war ; Dreaming of safety, finds her house on fire ; Fenced within walls, hears that those walls are down ! So starkly wakened — should any doubt our word — There 's San Rufino's blood to show for it. PAOLO. 'Tis a large matter, Francesco ! How can so few Rouse a whole city ? FRANCESCO. Ring the bells, Paolo, shout, beat at the gates. Bring torches, run, raise knockings in all the streets. Wake the Podesta, call the city guard. Shout ' Ho ! Perugia ! ' Make loud enough The terror of your tongues, — so swiftly then Shall the infection spread, will any hereafter Dare say what dog first barked ? We shall be blameless Like all the rest. Oh, come, stay not to parley ! To it, boys, to it ! When San Rufino sounds. Your call has come. Then bid Assisi wake ! [The Revellers disperse swiftly, this way and that. Some FRANCESCO holds back. Lucio. The Podesta is there, Francesco. FRANCESCO. Go, take two others, Blind him, and bring him hither ! Now, my Uberto, Yonder Rufino's bell is waiting for thee. [He helps uberto to enter the church by the 16 THE REVELLERS stair window. And now for a moment he is all alone. O sweet Antonia, do not be afraid ! Our revel harms thee not ; nor shall thy heart Have further ground for grief. Lucio is safe. Enter rinaldo and others, leading the podesta, hound and bonneted. [Overhead the hell of San Rufino starts clang- ing. Uproar begins in the city. RINALDO. Thou naughty man, thou naughty man, come hither ! PODESTA. Let me go, villains ! BiNALDO. He calls us villains ! PODESTA. Help ! Help ! FRANCESCO. Fellow, who art thou ? PODESTA. I am the Podesta. FRANCESCO. That cannot be ; for drunk, and on his doorstep, We find thee sleeping. PODESTA. I say I am the Podesta ! FRANCESCO. Then, if thou art. Why wast thou sleeping ? PODESTA. Wherefor should I not sleep ? May one not sleep o' night ? [More hells begin ringing. FRANCESCO. Hark, to his folly ! Old man, how dar'st thou sleep With death at every door, and city gates Unguarded, for the enemy to enter ? PODESTA. Who is the enemy ? FRANCESCO. Pcrugia. B 17 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS PODESTA. You lie ! She is not. Yesterday, came word Proposing peace ! FRANCESCO. A blind ! — ^blinkers for asses ! And thou hast put them on ; and in her harness, Tied to her yoke, thou hast betrayed the city. PODESTA. Nay, God forbid ! [The uproar increases. FRANCESCO. Thy prayer is said too late ! PODESTA. I '11 not believe it. Where is the city guard ? Guard ! Guard ! Ho, help ! Thieves, robbers, murderers ! FRANCESCO. Nccdlcss thou criest. Loose, and let him go ! [They unbind him, and at a signal from FRANCESCO run off, UBERTo retums. If thou believe me not, the more drunk thou. Are not the signs apparent to thy brain ? Hark to the beating bells, the battered gates, The shoutings in the streets ! Or, if such signs be not sufficient for thee. Here witnesses the blood of San Rufino. PODESTA. Saints ! What a night is this of signs and wonders ! How am I torn, divided ! Enter citizens, running, half-clad and carrying arms. Help, ho ! Guard ! Come ye so late when I call you ? Are ye so slow. When doom is on us ? Ho ! Bring me my sword, 18 THE REVELLERS My helm, my armour ! Go, get me a horse ! Cry ' Help, Assisi ! ' Ho ! Assisi ! Ho ! [Exit, accompanied by the citizens., UBERTO [laughing]. There goes old Thunderbolt ! Thou hast so stuffed his stomach for the fight. Now there 's no holding him. FRANCESCO. Hark, how he roars them on ! Assisi wakes. And sleep is slain for ever. UBERTO. I must see more of this. Come on, Francesco ! [Exit uberto. [FRANCESCO sits down by the fountain, in sudden dejection. FRANCESCO. Swcet night, how we have fouled thee ! Into thy fold Have come like wolves, and all the flocks of peace Into a howling wilderness have scattered ! [The tumult in the city increases. O Father Folly, whither hast thou brought me ? Here, after faithful service, am I left ; And when my other father hears tell of it. To-morrow, there '11 be trouble ! See, up yonder. How from her throne the chaste and bloodless Moon Watches our world, so drunk, so full of wine. And boisterous revelry, and jealous fears. Dancing to death 1 [A clock tolls.] There goes another hour ! Nay, thou didst well, Antonia, not to mate With such a moon -calf as makes meat on me ! Enter lucid, running. Lucio. O my Francesco ! Here is great news and marvellous ! Didst thou know ? 19 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Come messengers ! Perugia declares war ! Her army is set forth, and will be here Ere daybreak ! O Francesco ! Didst thou know ? FRANCESCO [wMmsically amused]. No, Lucio, I did not ! But the Moon knew : For she sees further than we do. VOICES [without], Francesco ! Francesco ! FRANCESCO. Heavcn hath been kind to me, I have done well ; And I shall not be hanged for it. Look, Lucio, look ! What a light shines on me ! I am moonstruck : there she goes to make my fortune ! r shall be Prince ; the world shall hear of me ! And for Assisi I will make a name, — For fair Assisi ! Enter uberto and the other Revellers. REVELLERS. Franccsco, thou hast saved the city ! [FRANCESCO stands for a moment rapt in the delight of his success. Then takes his instru- ment and sings. FRANCESCO. O Folly, sweet Folly, to me be kind ! Make bright the eyes of the hour that flies ! For to wait till the morrow. That brings a man sorrow. Is a trade that has never made any man wise ! [With cheers, the Revellers hoist him to their shoulders and bear him off. His song dies away in the distance. 20 FELLOW-PRISONERS Scene: a prison in Perugia. The door with barred grille is set in a recess to the right facing the spectator. To the left, high up in the wall above a stone seat, is a grated window. At one end of a table in the foreground RiNALDo and Uberto are throwing dice; at the other Giovanni and Paolo play chess. RuDOLFO sits apart from the rest paring his nails with vindictive relish as though he were faying an enemy. Other prisoners loiter expectantly at the door; some talk through the grille with their gaolers. Lucio sits under the window sunk in dejection : over his head hangs a wicker cage containing a pair of doves. Francesco reclines beside him and sings to the accompaniment of a guitar. The song is gay and debonair ; grace-notes abound in it. FRANCESCO. Why should we wish for wings to fly, O Head, O Heart, now you and I Have found a cell which fits us well ? Life is our own : let well alone ! Birds of a feather, down we fell Together, to find fortune flown. [rinaldo turns with a gesture of impatience. UBERTO. Come, play, Rinaldo ! 21 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Why should I wish for feet to run ? So many a mile, so ill begun, I toiled to make myself a jest 1 A weary way, a wasted day, I ran to see a sinking sun — — UBERTO. Again I take thee ! [rinaldo hands over Ms stake. FRANCESCO. Which set too soon. But now the moon Is kind to me ; and that is best ! RINALDO. Thou chattering monkey, cease ! Tie up thy tongue ! FRANCESCO. I was not singing to thee, Rinaldo — Signor Rinaldo. RINALDO. Thou wast singing in my hearing, Francesco — Signor Francesco ! I would I were stone deaf, or thou stone dumb I FRANCESCO. The song is ended, Signor. RINALDO. End thyself with it ! I am sick of the very sound of thee. UBERTO. Come, come, Rinaldo ! Let the mer- chant take Such measure as he is made for. Now, take mine ! There 's sixes for thee ! RINALDO. I cannot stand that fellow ! The more lame time Creeps from us like a snail, the more he crows ! UBERTO. Rudolf o, stand in with us presently : We '11 make a place for thee. [rudolfo half turns his head hut says nothing. RINALDO. How savage sick he is ! UBERTO. Like a chained hawk : Song-birds do better. 22 FELLOW-PRISONERS RiNALDO. What ? That gold -finch ? Faugh ! I 'd Hke to throttle him. UBERTO. Well, hate has a use. When it gives life a purpose. Come, play on ! [rudolfo seems to think so also. His eyes rest on Lucio ; he watches him intently, GIOVANNI. Check ! PAOLO [taking the piece]. Goes thy queen. FRANCESCO. Lucio, what is thy grief ? Lucio. The days, and all the minutes of the hours ! Will this war never end, — ^peace never come ? FRANCESCO. Oncc thou didst sigh that all days were too short ; And now thou sighest because they are too long ! Make more of them ! — until, so short they seem. Thou 'It have new cause for sighing, — ^namely the old cause. LUCIO. Thou 'rt but a fool, Francesco. FRANCESCO. So was I born. For to be born is foolish. My mother cried because of it. LUCIO. Why is it foolish to be born ? FRANCESCO. Before a man was born he wanted nothing ; But when he is born he wants everything. LUCIO. And lives to get it ; and so proves his fitness. FRANCESCO. Nay, but he cannot ! Look you ; I have two eyes. And cannot see from the back of my own head : But dearly would I like to ! I have two legs ; And love them so that lief would I have a hundred. 23 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS But a world's wishing will not make them grow. Nor give me a body that could find room for them. Want is my master. I am full of wants ; And therefore am a fool ; and therefore happy. Lucio. Why happy, having wants ? FRANCESCO. Heaven only knows I Yet would a hundred legs not make me happy ; For then I should not want them. LUCID. Ah ! thou canst talk ! FRANCESCO. What else is left me ? I look out through bars : See a bird fly, — ^and straightway I want wings. But had I wings, a prisoner, — I should be More miserable than ever. LUCIO. Your want were then To be out, also ? FRANCESCO. Aye ! And, being out. What should I want with wings ? Lucio. Oh, have thy way I And have thy wants ! Where is the messenger That brings my ransom ? FRANCESCO. Riding the same four feet That bring me mine. RiNALDO. What ? Shall one sorry beast Bear up the load of all thy boasted fortune. Thou purse-proud popinjay ? UBERTO [laughing]. Oh, peace, Rinaldo ! RINALDO. Thou pink-eyed peacock ! Sick, I heard him boast : ' My father 's rich : I 'm Bernardone's son, A man of substance ; — ^price me as you please ! I 'm precious, and can be paid for ! ' Faugh ! the fool 24 FELLOW-PRISONERS Has neither blood, backbone, spirit, nor courage ; — Only a merchant's purse, and a braggart tongue. And feathers to his cap — for ladies' eyes That will not look at him. GIOVANNI. Leave him, Rinaldo ! RINALDO. Leave him ? Let him leave us ! What folly brought him ? Was he a fighter ? FRANCESCO. No, I liked not fighting. I brought myself, to be with Lucio. RINALDO. With Lucio ? I thought ye had more cause For jealousy. RUDOLFo [sarcastically]. Cause ? Ha ! LUCIO. Have done, Rinaldo ! That is all mended : we are friends again. RINALDO. I would yc were not ! Thou 'rt the better man, Lucio, — the better born, the better bred ; And it consorts but poorly with thy credit To friend with such as he. LUCIO. Pardon, Rinaldo : I choose friends as I find them — for myself. RINALDO. Oh, fairly said ! And so do I choose — ^pah ! — Things that I spit on ! [FRANCESCO stavts to Ms feet. LUCIO [interposing]. Uberto, stand between This madman and his rage. No, no, Francesco ! [uBERTo and lucio hold them apart. FRANCESCO [turning away]. Well . . . Well . . . God keep your wits, sir ! . . . Life 's to mend. [He picks up a garment from the bench, squats 25 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS cross-legged on the floor, opens his pouch, gets out his needle and thread, and prepares to mend. RiNALDO. Look on him, look ! Thou tattered rag, thou patch ! FRANCESCO. Thou worthy fellow. RINALDO. Thou lie ! FRANCESCO. Thou rash conclusion. [FRANCESCO holds up the torn garment, and examines it. PAOLO. Hark, how he mocks him ! Lucio. Answer not, Francesco ! RINALDO. Thou bauble ! Thou piece of trim- ming ! FRANCESCO. Thou voicc of rage. RINALDO. Thou scab ! FRANCESCO. Thou scold. [He starts to cut a patch. RINALDO. Thou upstart worm ! Thou mush- room ! FRANCESCO. Thou mother's son. RINALDO. Thou slime ! Thou filth ! Thou syrup ! Thou sticky thing ! FRANCESCO. Thou pcrsou. GIOVANNI. Francesco, for God's sake, use harder words ! Thou 'It break his heart. RINALDO. Ha ! Shall my heart be broken By such a milkmaid ! Pah ! Yet will I sting him ! UBERTO. God save us ! Give us peace ! [FRANCESCO Mtcs off a length of thread. RINALDO. Thou bastard boy ! 26 FELLOW-PRISONERS FRANCESCO. Thou pride of ancestors. RiNALDO. Thou crow ! FRANCESCO. Thou crested eagle. RINALDO. Thou tailor ! FRANCESCO [threading his needle]. To the needle's eye, thou camel ! RINALDO [squealing with rage]. Ah ! [The onlookers take rinaldo's wrath as men well accustomed to enjoying the humours of it. But when he makes an infuriated dash at FRANCESCO, two of the others again stand between. UBERTO. Nay, nay ! Thou shalt not ! GIOVANNI. Be not so curst, Rinaldo ! Lucio [to FRANCESCO]. Nor thou so calm ! The Gaoler enters, followed by two Turnkeys. GAOLER. Run in, fellows, and part them ! Remember, sirs, that ye be prisoners. Only free men are free to fight each other. RINALDO. Enough ! What 's he, that thou tak'st keep for him ? GAOLER. He stands to ransom like all the rest of you. RINALDO [fired anew to his grievance]. To ransom ? Ha! This painted stickleback, whose merchant father Sells cloth by the false yard, [FRANCESCO is obout to retorU LUCIO. Oh, peace, Francesco ! RINALDO. This nice, priceless ninny. Itching to ape his betters, tricks for battle. He cannot fight, never hath swung a sword ; — 27 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Oh ! but can dress ! To armour add ten suits, Tassels, and silks, striped hose, a cap with plumes, Wears silver spurs ; has servants at his back, — And he a tailor ! GIOVANNI. Come, Rinaldo, come ! A merchant, not a tailor. RINALDO. Look at him now ! [FRANCESCO continucs his mending. Then — taken prisoner — and held to ransom ; He makes a boast of it, puts up his price, — Parades his riches. So five hundred ducats Are set upon his head, — on mine two hundred. Is it to be believed, to be endured. That my worth is accounted less than his — Less than his dirty half ? See how he sits ! GAOLER. All which concerns me not. While under bonds Ye must be peaceful. I will have no cow's horns Among you here. Perugia makes no profit From dead men's bones. [He goes toward the door. Fair sirs, if any of you Wish to be buying, vendors from the market Are here to serve you. UBERTO. What have they to sell ? [The prisoners begin crowding toward the grille, through which can be heard the cries of the salesmen. GAOLER. Flesh, fish, and fruit ; bread, wine. Come, take your turns I Your turns, your turns, gentlemen ! [To the Turnkeys] Stand in between, 28 FELLOW-PRISONERS Handle what passes ! [To the prisoners] See that ye keep the peace ; Else ye get nothing ! [He goes out. The prisoners at the grille begin bargaining with money, clothes, or chain- links, in exchange for provisions, UBERTO. Thou hawk, how thou didst peck him with thy tongue ! RiNALDO. There is no blood in him ! Why does he live ? These peaceful practisers defeat my senses, And make me look a fool ! UBERTO. Come, let 's to market ! RINALDO. Thou 'st emptied me, Uberto. UBERTO. That shall not hinder. I must not see thee starve for that ill-fortune Which brings me increase. What wilt thou have, Rinaldo ? RINALDO. Wine ! Wine ! And then, more wine ! This rating of a fool makes a man thirsty ! [They move toward the grille, lucio, Fran- cesco having given him money, rises to follow them. FRANCESCO. Thou hast forgotten, Lucio, to feed thy cagelings. LUCIO. When I forget, thou dost remember for me. Feed them, Francesco ! [He gives Francesco a bag of grain. FRANCESCO. Were they my prisoners I would let them go. LUCIO. Why ? They seem happy enough. 29 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. ' Enough ' — ' Enough ' ? Oh, Lucio, they have wings ! LUCIO. They have not brains, Francesco : but, what is better. Each hath its mate. FRANCESCO. Aye ; that is true ! . . . Lucio, we two, in prison, are better friends Than fortune would allow us when in freedom. Lucio. No reason stands against it now, Fran- cesco. The fear each had of each hath lost all meaning, — She being so far away. FRANCESCO. I ncvcr feared, I only envied thee. . . . But now, I know ! LUCIO [gently]. How much I love her ? FRANCESCO. How much she loves thee. LUCIO [devoutly]. I do believe 'tis true I Rudolfo lied! She did not love him — ever. FRANCESCO. Said he so ? . . . No : nor Francesco ; only Lucio. [He mounts the bench, and begins giving the birds their food, lucio goes to the grille, giovanni, having made his purchases, approaches, and stands watch- ing. GIOVANNI. Francesco, dost thou hope to get thy ransom ? FRANCESCO. Aye : if my father thinks that I am worth it. GIOVANNI. 'Tis a great sum. Merchants fare better now Than lords of title : while both parties fight 30 FELLOW-PRISONERS They make their profits . Hast thou heard, Francesco, Of what has happened lately, in Assisi ? FRANCESCO. I heard a whisper of it. GIOVANNI. Rinaldo now Will scarcely raise his ransom. At his back Stands an impoverished house ; and there be others. FRANCESCO. Others ? — What, here ? GIOVANNI. Rudolfo's loss is more Than he yet knows ; no one dares tell him of it. We 're of the people's party ; in whose winning These find their dow^nfall. FRANCESCO [after a pause]. Aye ! GIOVANNI. What does ' aye ' stand for ? FRANCESCO. No ouc dares tell him ? Oh, had Rudolfo guessed That a cow's horn could into so much ruin Have pushed a city ! [There is commotion at the gate, lucio comes running. LUCIO. Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! Francesco, Here comes the messenger, bringing my ransom ! To-night I shall be there ! [The door opens ; pompilio, full of his import- ance, enters. SEVERAL. Ah ! 'tis Pompilio ! Worthy Pompilio ! Welcome ! What news ? What news ? POMPILIO. Greeting, fair Signors. I come from Assisi ; And I have here [They all crowd in on him.] I pray you, give me space Wherein to find myself. By your leave, gentlemen ! So ... I have here — I being Commissary, Emis- sary, or Embassy 31 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS RiNALDO. Messer Pompilio, hast thou brought my ransom ? UBERTo. And mine ! OTHERS. And mine ! Lucio. Oh, where is mine, Pompilio ? POMPILIO. I have with me a list. Signers. Patience, I pray you ! Here is the list ; with names set in due order. I cannot give the names except I read them . . . Signor Giovanni. GIOVANNI. Aye. POMPILIO. Thy ransom of a hundred ducats, the citizens have accorded thee by vote : having heard well of thy doings ere thou wast taken. FRANCESCO. See what comes of being brave, Giovanni ! I was not brave. No vote would see me ransomed. POMPILIO. Signor Rudolfo, I have brought thy ransom. RUDOLFO. Surely ; I sent for it. Wherefor so late? POMPILIO. 'Twas hard to come by, Signor. [pompilio hands Mm his ransom. RUDOLFO. Hard ? Why hard ? pompilio. I have ill news for thee. Signor Rudolfo, Thy house is down : no stone of it is left. The citizens, needing stone to build their walls. Thy house has served their purpose : thine, and some others. {For a moment rudolfo stands dazed. Signor Paolo. RUDOLFO. Hell and perdition take them ! {He goes and heats at the grille. 32 FELLOW-PRISONERS A ransom ! Hi ! Here, fellows, let me go ! I will have down their walls before they know ! [The door opens. Exit rudolfo. Lucio. He goes, Francesco ! FRANCESCO. Carrying lame fortune with him. LUCIO. But I have less ! His riches find him favour ; And now he will be first. FRANCESCO. What ? — ^with Antonia ? Oh, have no fear. To-night I give thee wings ! POMPiLio. Signor Rinaldo, Thou 'rt in like case, but worse. Thy father's house, His goods, his lands, and his estate being forfeit. There is no ransom for thee . . . Signor Lucio. RINALDO. Out, Tradesman ! If thou art not gone to-night, I '11 throttle thee ! [Pushing FRANCESCO violently aside, he retires. UBERTO goes to comfort him. POMPILIO. Signor Lucio . . . Thy father saith, as thou didst go to war Contrary to his wish and prohibition. Thou must come out of it — ^by thine own means. LUCIO. Francesco ! I am slain ! FRANCESCO. Patience, awhile ! POMPILIO. Signor TJberto. UBERTO. Well ? How falls my fortune ? POMPILIO. Thy ransom was two hundred and fifty ducats. And here I have it for thee. UBERTO. Oh ! Give me a horse with wings I Now will I flv, C 33 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Back to Assisi, ere a new day dawn. Come, Giovanni ! Alas, my poor Rinaldo ! RiNALDO. Must I keep house with him ? POMPiLio. Signor Francesco. [poMPiLio is now handling a bigger money-hag than the others. UBERTo. I do not think so. Nay ; wait, let us hear ! POMPILIO. Thy ransom, Signor, was five hundred ducats. Thy father sends it thee ; and with all haste Bids thee return to him. RINALDO. Dog ! I could hang him ! GIOVANNI. He escapes thy keeping, — As thou didst pray, Rinaldo. FRANCESCO [taking the hag]. Is here the full amount ? POMPILIO. Why, surely, Signor. FRANCESCO [meditating]. Five hundred ducats. RINALDO. To see him handle it doth sicken me ! Out, scabby leper ! POMPILIO. Now for the others. Come, gentlemen ! [The remaining prisoners gather round pompilio and receive their ransoms. The door opens and shuts to their summons . One by one they go out . FRANCESCO. Lucio . . . What was thy ransom ? Two hundred, was it not ? Lucio. 'Twas so, Francesco. FRANCESCO [giving it]. Here it is for thee. LUCIO. For me ? What mean you ? FRANCESCO. Wiugs, Lucio, wings. See, yonder is Assisi. [lucio stands speechless. FRANCESCO. Signor Rinaldo. Was not, also, thy ransom two hundred ducats ? 84 FELLOW-PRISONERS [rinaldo starts to speak, but stops : and stares in angry bewilderment. It is here, Signer ; For, having now only three hundred left, They are no use to me. RINALDO. What does he mean ? To mock me ? UBERTO [with quiet conviction]. No, Rinaldo. RINALDO. I understand him not. UBERTO. Nor I. But take it ! For that he means to let thee have thy freedom. That I can swear to thee. Lucio. Ah, dear Francesco ; Though never have I yet deserved thy love, How this shall teach me ! FRANCESCO. Go, put ou thy wings ! Put on thy wings, my bird, ere night grow deeper I RINALDO. Signor Francesco ... I am sorry ! FRANCESCO. So am I, Signor Rinaldo. 'Tis not because I love thee, that I now Would pay thy ransom. What thou saidst was true. I am no fighter : even this poor tongue Hath no such edge as thine. And, since it seems Assisi still needs fighters, — in my stead To her I send thee. LUCIO. O my Francesco, thither when I am come. How I will sound thy praises ! FRANCESCO. Not too much, brother : Or many will not believe thee. RINALDO. Signor Francesco, Forgive what a harsh tongue hath said of thee ! I take all back again. Give me thy hand. [They join hands. Here 's a brave man — my better I 35 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Indeed no, Signor ! I am still a coward. And very much afraid. Lucio. Of what, Francesco ? FRANCESCO. Of what my father will say, when he beholds This better bargain. He will not be pleased With me ; nor with you, either ! RiNALDO. Oh ! have no fear. We will get speech of him, and he shall hear Handsomely of thee, FRANCESCO. No . . . no . . . no, Rinaldo. Avoid my father as thou wouldst the plague ! For being choleric, crossed in his wishes. He will forget that he 's no gentleman. RINALDO. That 's a hard thrust, Francesco. FRANCESCO. I did uot mean it. I was thinking only of my father. Now haste ! for it gets dark ; and the fair road Waits for your company. [uBERTO and rinaldo begin to make prepara- tions for departure, pompilio and the other prisoners have gone. LUCIO. O happy night, and road that bears me home. Back to my love ! FRANCESCO. And with the dawn Assisi Shines in thine eyes, and all her windowed towers And peering walls that climb, roof above roof. Up the steep hill. Then the dim darkling streets Awake, doors open, and the market hums, — And there 's Assisi — dancing ! I can see Assisi dancing. Therefore am I free ! Free, Lucio, free I 86 FELLOW-PRISONERS RiNALDO. So now — as you will have it — Here we must leave you. I am sorry. I thank you FRANCESCO. And I am glad, Rinaldo, to have served you. Signor Uberto, — ^wilt thou do this for me ? Commend me, from a distance, to my father, — Say what thou wilt, and thank him for his bounty : Tell him my worth was never yet so great As he this day hath made it. To my mother . . . Go, see her, Lucio, when he shall be absent : Bid her not weep for me. And, for the rest. Give all my greeting ! [uberto and rinaldo go out. LUCIO. Ah ! farewell, Francesco ! FRANCESCO [embracing him]. Swift to thy mate, thou turtle ! Tarry no more ! See what a tender heaven of bedded stars Is watching over thee ! LUCIO. Kiss me, Francesco ! Give me a message to her, and I will bear it, Whate'er it be. Trust me, for now I go ! FRANCESCO. Tell her how much I love — thee, Lucio . . . Farewell, Brother ! [lucio goes. FRANCESCO is left alone. He stands listening awhile to the sounds of de- parture. Then he goes and opens a square of the barred window. FRANCESCO. And you, poor turtle pair, the last of all! Night comes apace : but in the night your wings Shall find a home. 37 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS [He takes the two birds from their cage, and looses them, first one, then, more slowly, the other. So, farewell, little sister ! . . . And farewell, brother ! Stretch out thy wings, and go! Tell her how much I love thee, Lucio. [For a long time he stands looking out into the gathering darkness. Then he steps down, takes his guitar, and sings. As he sings, the empty prison-wall sends hack an echo : and it is thus we hear them. FRANCESCO [with ccho as accompaniment]. Go ! I have given you wings to fly ! {Wings to fly !) [He starts at the sound, and crosses the chamber. What is that voice of sighing and farewell ? {And farewell !) So ! We are alone together, we two, you and I. {You and I.) Brother Wall ! {Brother Wall !) Lovers, here we lie. {Here we lie.) Other loves are flown. {Flown.) Here alone we dwell. {We dwell.) Alone ! {Alone !) Not alone ! {Not alone I) You and I ! {You and I !) You . . . {You) . . . and I ! . . . {and I !) [Ceasing to sing, Francesco stands mazed in his new discovery; then, very softly, he speaks: Brother Wall 1 88 BRIEF LIFE Outside the walls of Assist, the rosy light of daivn strikes the battlements and towers: but the gateway still lies in shadow. From within comes the sound of feet on the paved causeway, and a heavy jangling of keys. The gates slowly open, and one sees a narrow tortuous street, the lower windows of which here and there show a light. As the Porter emerges he stumbles upon an obstacle and stoops to examine it. A Travelling Merchant with his head resting on a large pack is what he sees, and the man being where he ought not to be, the Porter^ acting not vindictively but officially, kicks him again. PORTER. Here — you ! Get up ! MERCHANT \rousing\. Where am I ? PORTER. In the way. Out of it ! MERCHANT. Is this Assisi ? PORTER. Where else should it be ? MERCHANT. I didn't know. Three years have made a difference. The place has changed. What have you got walls for ? PORTER. Safety, of course, rich, it gets to have enemies. MERCHANT. Oh ! When I gate was shut, so I had to bide out. an enemv. 39 When a city grows came last night the But I wasn't LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS PORTER. What have you got there ? MERCHANT. Same as always : cloth. Rare kinds, too. PORTER. What are those ? MERCHANT. Samples. That piece comes from Persia. PORTER. Where 's Persia ? MERCHANT. Back of Constantinople. PORTER. A long way ! All cloth, you say ? MERCHANT. Aye : the very finest. PORTER. Pietro Bernardone 's the man for you, then. MERCHANT. He uscd to be. Still alive, is he ? PORTER. More than ever. He 's grown rich. MERCHANT. Oh ? Did he build this wall ? PORTER. No. The citizens did that between them ; and quick about it too, for a good reason ! MERCHANT. Why ? Enter an old Peasant carrying a load of vegetables. He walks as though his hack pained him, and whines cheerfully as he goes. PEASANT. Ay -ah ! Ay-ah ! Ay -ah ! [He stops to change shoulders. PORTER. Oh, ho ! Jacopo, you are the first. PEASANT. Ay-ah ! Ay-ah ! Ay-ah ! [He passes into the city. MERCHANT. Why had they to be quick ? PORTER. To keep out the banished lords. They 'd a fight for it. MERCHANT. Who ? PORTER. The lords first, on their own ; then Perugia joined in. Now it 's peace again — for a bit. 40 BRIEF LIFE MERCHANT. Pciugia ? I was of half a mind to go there yesterday. PORTER. You did better to come here. MERCHANT [looMng back the way he has come]. Yes ? One sees plenty of country anyway. No- thing changed out there. PORTER. Not ? Can you see the Count's castle ? MERCHANT [changing the direction of his gaze]. It 's gone ! PORTER. Aye. When his back was turned they pulled it down — ^to build these walls with. [Chuck- ling] He didn't like it ! MERCHANT. Things have happened 1 PORTER [with relish]. Aye ! MERCHANT. So that 's why I had to sleep out. Does Bernardone still live where he used to do ? PORTER. Same street : new house. The largest you can find. MERCHANT. He had a son, I remember, — a very gay youth ; easy at business. Always gave the price that one asked him. [As he speaks, a Citizen comes through the gate, and stands awhile before setting forth. PORTER. Signor Francesco ? MERCHANT. Oh, was that his name ? PORTER. Ah ! He has been busy dying, for the last — I don't know how long. MERCHANT. Dying ? What ails him ? PORTER. Some sort of fever : gaol fever most likely. He was prisoner in Perugia for over a year. I haven't heard that he 's dead. CITIZEN. Nay, and you will not. To-day Signor Francesco is up and out again. 41 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS PORTER. So ? He 'd always a lot of life in him. Out, you say ? CITIZEN. As I came forth I passed him — looking more like a wax taper than a man. How come you. Traveller, to Assisi so early ? MERCHANT. Bccausc last night your city shut its mouth at me. Oh well ! if walls stand for wealth, I '11 not complain of them. CITIZEN. You come at a good time. This is our market day. MERCHANT. Market ? One can't sell Persian cloth in a market-place, except it were in the days of Solomon. You aren't all so rich as that yet. [He goes into the city. A Townsman comes out, and begins setting up his tooth in a corner by the gate. While he does so, peasants enter, carry- ing wine-shins, oil, fruit, vegetables, etc. With some of these he presently barters an exchange. PORTER. So ! Signor Francesco lives, does he ? CITIZEN. Aye : if it be not his ghost. As I passed he seemed not to know me. PORTER. You are off early, good Signor. CITIZEN. To be in Spoleto before nightfall. PORTER. Easy enough now the days grow longer. CITIZEN. The vines are beginning to look green. PORTER. Things were late, but they 're coming on now. CITIZEN. Late is what I must not be. So, friend, God keep you ! \He goes. PORTER. And may you, Signor, return safely. {Crossing to the other side of the gate from the now erected booth, he takes out some bread and olives, and begins eating. Inside the gate 42 BRIEF IJFE appears the figure of Francesco. A church- hell tolls a single stroke. He halts ; the sound seems to shake him. PORTER. Somebody dead. Who '11 that be ? . . . Now I — I can remember — I can remember when {His reminiscence is interrupted by the entry of FRANCESCO who tottcrs through the gate leaning upon two sticks. He is very pale and thin, but his eyes are bright and eager. The prospect ahead absorbs him to the exclusion of all else. He halts and looks over the country lying before him. PORTER. Signor Francesco ! Is this you — or some other ? FRANCESCO [breathing deeply]. Ah ! . . . Ah ! . . . Oh, there 's the world again ! Beautiful world ! PORTER. Signor Francesco ! So it 's true : you are alive again. [Inside the gate two townsmen are seen pitching their booths to right and left of the entrance. FRANCESCO [^^^7/ in a dream]. Am I ? [He turns feebly to a seat under the wall, and from there once more fixes his eyes on the prospect before him. PORTER. Well, well, well ! I don't like the look of that. It 's not Signor Francesco as we knew him. TOWNSMAN. No. Enter two Peasant Women, laden for the market, quarrelling as they come. 1st WOMAN. And I say 'twas mine ! Here, give it me ! [She makes a snatch. 2nd woman. 'Twasn't yours : and won't never be yours ! 43 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 1st woman. He promised he 'd give it me. 2nd woman. He thought better, then. He 's had enough of you. That 's why ! 1st woman. You fat cheat ! I '11 scrape the dirty flesh off you ! 2nd woman. You touch me ! [She throws down her load. Enter a Peasant. PEASANT. Here ! Get on ! Get on ! You two she-asses, what are you braying for ? [He strikes at them with his staff, and drives them before him. They enter, disputing volubly. In with you ! In ! In ! [Drover and driven disappear through the gate. Others pass in and out. To all these Fran- cesco pays no attention. Out of the city Lucio comes running : looking anxiously ahead, he misses sight of Francesco. LUCIO. Francesco ! [He continues to run.] Fran- cesco ! PORTER [calling him hack]. He 's here. LUCIO [turning, surprised]. Francesco ! I called thee. FRANCESCO. Aye ? LUCIO. What is the matter ? FRANCESCO. Look ! LUCIO. Well ? I am looking. FRANCESCO. What dost thou see, Lucio ? LUCIO [at a loss for his meaning]. Hills . . . trees . . . valleys . . . vineyards . . . the river . . . the road going down. There, south, lies Foligno, there, west, Perugia. • . . All the world, Francesco ! 44 BRIEF LIFE FRANCESCO [despondently]. Aye. Lucio. And green grass . . . [francesco sighs deeply] and sunshine. Anything else ? . . . What wouldst thou have me see ? [The Porter goes in through the gate. The Townsman sits down behind his booth. No one comes by. FRANCESCO. Everything is dying. LUCIO. Dying ? Nay, it is spring, not autumn I see here. FRANCESCO. I Only see — ^Death. LUCIO. But thou art alive again. FRANCESCO. For a while, for a little while. LUCIO. Thou art still weak : but soon thou shalt get strong. FRANCESCO. No. LUCIO. Yes ; I promise thee ! FRANCESCO. How Can a man be strong that is afraid ? LUCIO. Of what ? FRANCESCO. Death. LUCIO [extenuatingly]. Death, — death ! To be sure, man is mortal. How else would he be here ? FRANCESCO [with a startled cry]. From thee also I hear it ! LUCIO. What ? FRANCESCO. The tolling of the bell. . . . Some day . . . some day ... I must die ! LUCIO. Is that news to thee ? FRANCESCO. I thought uot of it. Now I think — I see death everywhere. LUCIO. Come, come, Francesco I Get to bed 45 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS again ! Thou hast neither wits nor feet to carry thee. Prithee go in with me ! [Paying no heed to him Francesco totters to his feet. FRANCESCO. Surely the world is beautiful. But I am blind. I cannot see ! Lucio. Not see ? FRANCESCO. Life I . . . Lucio, Death is waiting for me ! LUCIO [soothingly]. Not yet, not yet. FRANCESCO. Waiting ! . . . and I do fear it ! LUCIO. Francesco, thou art changed ! FRANCESCO. And yet thou knowest me, and wast once my friend ! LUCIO. And shall be ever ! To thee do I not owe That liberty which gave my love its life ? FRANCESCO. Make haste and have thy fill of it, ere thou die ! LUCIO. Sweet life ! FRANCESCO. Swcct dream ! LUCIO. Why, then, how sweet to dream ! FRANCESCO. Until we waken ! Lucio, haste thee to wed Ere breaks thy dream ! . . . Look ! LUCIO. What ? FRANCESCO. On youdcr bough Lighted a bird : and straight a leaf fell down ! LUCIO. Come, come, Francesco ! Show me again the face of ancient friendship ! What has become of thee ? Canst thou not laugh ? Give me again thy hand ; also thy love. Which is so dear to me, — for now I need thee ! FRANCESCO. God o' mcrcy ! That would help 1 Why dost thou need me ? 46 BRIEF LIFE Lucio. For that same cause which, parting first, then bound My heart with thine. Help to keep safe Antonia ! Yesterday we were betrothed, we two — she and I. FRANCESCO. Oh, what a cooing of turtles is in that word ! ' We two ; we two ; she and I ! ' But — if it be so — What need for further help ? Thy suit, thus granted, Declares her safely thine. LUCIO. No, no, Francesco ! There is much danger in it — ^more now than ever ! Rudolfo yields not to the plain persuasion Of her fixed heart's preferment, — hears not reason, Dismissal owns not, will not his claim surrender ; Not her will nor her father's can dissuade him From his stiff purpose. Darkly he doth pursue it. And where doors have but bolts, windows but bars. On some blind, fearful night he '11 find occasion To rob me of my heaven ! Oh ! Francesco ! Why have men hate for those that would hate none ? For this compassionate love which now I cherish Hath so o'erflown my spirit that henceforward I would love all men ! But — Rudolfo hates me ; And I do fear him. FRANCESCO. Whcrcfor shouldst thou fear him. Being so much the surer ? Shall he prove Less mortal than thou art ? LUCID. Wliat hast thou said, Francesco ? FRANCESCO. Nothing, nothing, dear fool ! Would killing him Better thy love, — make thee more worthy of her ? LUCID. I never thought nor wished it ! 47 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS FRANCESCO. Shall man's best virtue — Which is to love — become a rank offence When it is found in others ? In that he loves her. He is the better proved, the more thine equal. Oh, fear him not ! for then is thy love mortal. Through fear, as his through hate, which now lives only Because thou fear'st him. Lucio. Would that I could believe so ! Nay ! for his enmity he hath much reason. Seeing that, at first, his suit was the more favoured. FRANCESCO. Ncvcr by her. LUCIO. When did that weigh, Francesco ? A maiden's favour ! — ^which we, poor fools and lovers. Waiting to win, how often we lose all ! The favour was her father's ; so it became Rudolfo's, he being then so much the richer ; Till, in the people's rising, his estate Went racked to ruin. Then, to his misfortune. That vantage he once counted on, stood mine. FRANCESCO. And he and I com.panions in affliction ! LUCID. Contraries, rather : for he does not take it Simply, as thou dost. FRANCESCO. 'Twould uccd some wit to teach him To be as simple as I am. Lucio. There is one man Can teach him 1 Thou art full of a strange madness. Which, though I understand not how, Francesco, Makes men be other than they are by nature : Thyself the proof. Therefore, by dear example, Do thou confirm him to a more kind forbearance, — 48 BRIEF LIFE Or to such measure thereof, that he, henceforward. Shall hate me less. Do this for me, Francesco ! FRANCESCO. Say no more, Lucio! While yet I live Still would I serve thee. [rudolfo appears within the gate, LUCID. Comes my enemy ! \As RUDOLFO comes out, Francesco advances to meet him. lucio stands hack. FRANCESCO. Signor Rudolfo. RUDOLFO . Your pleasure, Signor ? FRANCESCO. I pray you give me greeting, and wish me life ! RUDOLFO. Oh, have thy life ! I grudge it not to any Who take not that which is mine. FRANCESCO. Bcstow on me Only such parts of thee as go a-begging When thou hast satisfied the claim of others. So help me life, I will be merry again ! RUDOLFO. That is well said. FRANCESCO. I mean — ^when I am stronger. RUDOLFO. Then shall I hope to see thee ! Farewell, Signor. Let me, at our next meeting. Find thee in better case, — ^and better company. \He goes out. LUCIO. He never spoke to me ; but all the while His eye was on me ! Some fixed and subtle purpose Hath in his heart found lodgment ; and his mind Is bent on evil. I am no coward, Francesco ; yet I fear him ! FRANCESCO. Lcave him to me ; and henceforth, as I live, D 49 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Thy fear shall find no cause. Come, Lucio ! I will be merry again. I will forget [Again the bell begins to toll. Francesco stops short. Oh, horrid sound ! How hollow and without hope. Bereft of harmony, that message comes Of some brief life now ended. Yet would that bell Sound merry among the rest ; only alone Its cry goes mournful ! [The bell tolls more insistently. Francesco stops and struggles with his fear. Suddenly he breaks into a wild cry. FRANCESCO. Life ! Life ! Let me have life ! [Letting fall the two sticks he leans on, he throws out his hands, in a gesture of welcome. He totters forward : his knees give under him. He falls into lucio' s arms. Thou seest, I have feet and can run ! Time cpnnot fly so fast as I can. Therefore I will be nficrry again ! Merry, merry, Lucio ! [He breaks into wild laughter. The bell tolls on. Out of the gate comes the funeral procession of a young child. The body lies on an open bier borne on the shoulders of children. The mourners follow. The laughter of Francesco stops dead. CURTAIN 50 BLIND EYES The scene is laid within the loggia of the market-square of Assist, through which a way of steps leads up into the church. The loggia is raised above the square, which, in bright sunlight and filled with booths, is seen through the arcade. A low balustrade joining pillar to pillar is broken under the second arch from the left by entrance steps, below which, on a lower level, are seen groups of Beggars. To the left side of the entrance stands a Blind Beggar in rags ; a shade cover's his eyes, in his right hand he carries a copper bowl for alms : his left arm projecting at an awkward angle is tremulous with paralysis. Between the third and fourth arch stands a table with benches, and further to the right is seen the door of a wine-shop opening into the loggia. The church entrance lies to the extreme left. Throughout the action Townsfolk are seen entering or return- ing from Mass ; as they pass, the Beggars greet them with cries of supplication : ' Charity, kind Charity ! ' ' Pity the poor ! ' ' Help the poor cripple!' 'Pity, kind friend!' accompanied now and again by short tags of Latin and the names of saints. [rinaldo, uberto, and lucio come up the steps from the square, uberto tosses and catches his cap as he goes, rinaldo and he are both laughing, lucio, smiling a little slyly, keeps to the rear oj the others. BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! [rinaldo tosses a coin into his bowl, lucio, 51 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS following, looks at the Beggar with suppressed laughter, gives him a secret dig in the ribs and passes. The Beggar, ignoring the in- timacy, continues his cry : Pity the poor blind ! RiNALDO. Ho, Padrone ! [The PADRONE scuttles forward obsequiously, PADRONE. Signor ? RINALDO. Wine, Padrone ; — your best. PADRONE. To be sure, Signor, yes. . . . For how many, Signor ? UBERTO [ostentatiously counting]. One . . . two . . . three . . . and another is coming. PADRONE [in a tone of discovery). Ah ! four, Signor ? UBERTO. Four . . . precisely. [The PADRONE hurries away. Lucio, where is that son of Bernardone ? Lucio. Thou 'It find him here, all in good time, Uberto. UBERTO. Let him make haste ! Already 'tis near noon. BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! Enter paolo, who gives to the Blind Beggar in passi^ig. UBERTO. Paolo, hast seen Francesco ? PAOLO. Down at the Porta Spoleto two hours ago I saw him : giving money to a beggar, — And very merry about it. RINALDO [slapping his knee]. To a beggar ? Ha ! Now we 've tracked him. LUCIO. To what end, Rinaldo ? 52 BLIND EYES BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! RiNALDO. My fortune, and his ruin. His trick betrays him : He bribes a beggar, and I — win my wager. PAOLO. What is the wager ? UBERTO. Madness, noon-day madness I RINALDO. Why ! thirty ducats. Lucio. Which thou must pay Francesco. RINALDO. I ? — I pay him ? Catch me ! I will be hanged first. LUCIO. The rope is ready. PAOLO. Come, come, what wins the wager ? UBERTO. Francesco says that lying is more easy To be believed than truth. RINALDO. And honesty Less profitable than theft. And this he wagers That he will prove, here in the market-place, — — UBERTO. To-day. RINALDO. Will tell the same lie fifty times : UBERTO. Have it believed by all : RINALDO. Make money by it : UBERTO. And never have it questioned. BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the blind ! PAOLO. When does he do it ? Has there been set a time ? LUCIO. To-day, ere noon. PAOLO. Will he bring in his pocket The fools that shall believe him ? RINALDO. Why ! 'tis we Ourselves that are to believe him ! PAOLO. A stiff task ! UBERTO. Oh, he 's an excellent fool ! But this shall cost him. 53 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Lucio. Not a penny, Uberto. PAOLO. What ? Wilt thou also lay A wager on it ? LUCIO. As I am a sportsman I wager nothing on that which I 'm so sure of. PAOLO. Well ! if he wins, the man 's a miracle. LUCIO. Wait, then ; see him perform it. Enter giovanni. He gives to the Beggar in passing. KJNALDO. Come, Giovanni, Here 's entertainment for thee. . . . Ho, Padrone ! GIOVANNI. What is it ? RiNALDO {to the padrone]. Another cup, more wine. Padrone. PAOLO. Francesco — at his tricks again. GIOVANNI. What now ? UBERTO. He is to tell us lies ; and we, being warned. Are to believe him. RINALDO. Nay, and that 's not all. On stroke of noon he swears to take and strip A cheating beggar. UBERTO. Beat him round the market, Rob him of all his money, give it to others, RINALDO. And the beggar is to forgive him ! . . . As to that. His measure has been taken : he has bribed one. LUCIO. So there you lose, Rinaldo. RINALDO. I' faith, I do not ! I have got him beaten. Had he bribed each jack man of them, I care not. He sets his trap : see me unbait it for him ! BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! 54 BLIND EYES [rinaldo signals to the Beggars seated on the steps below. RINALDO. Here — here, you fellows ! Aye, 'tis you I 'm calling ; You cripples, you blind bats, lame dogs, deaf mutes, Come, all of you ! BEGGARS. Pity ! Pity ! Charity ! Kind charity ! \They begin doubtfully to crowd toward him, still at a distance. RINALDO. Oh ! you '11 get charity, — in such good measure As you deserve. Mark, while I tell a tale ! Know you Francesco, son of Bernardone ? — Know you him, when you see him ? BEGGARS. Aye, aye, Signor ! BLIND BEGGAR. I know him well, Signor. RINALDO. Hither at noon He comes to jape, and jest, and mock at you. BEGGARS. Mock US ? Mock los ? How can he mock us, Signor ? RINALDO. Against two of us he hath laid a wager He will take one of you, for a cheating beggar, — First strip, then rob, then beat him round the market. BEGGARS. Take ? Strip ? Rob ? Beat ? RINALDO. What say ye ? Shall he do it ? BEGGARS. No, Siguor, no ! PAOLO. Lucio, Rinaldo 's winning ! [lucio shakes his head, smiling. RINALDO. Aye ! but there 's one whom he hath bribed to let him. BEGGARS. No, uo ; he shall not ! RINALDO. Then let that man stand out : And I will give him — hark you ! — twice the money, 55 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Twice what Francesco offered. — ^Do you hear me ? — Twice — ^that he shall not let himself be beaten ! Lucio. Oh, excellent, Rinaldo ; excellent ! EiNALDO. Now let the fellow he hath bribed come forward ! BLIND BEGGAR. He bribed me, Signor. RINALDO. You ? — 2i blind man of all people ? BLIND BEGGAR. I am uot really blind, Signor ; I can run as fast as he can. When he beats me, I shall but run away. UBERTO. Why, here 's as big a rogue as he is himself ! How much did he promise thee ? BLIND BEGGAR. All that he got, Signor. UBERTO. All . . . that . . . he . . . got ! RINALDO. ' Got ' how ? BLIND BEGGAR. By his wagcr, Signor. RINALDO. Thou must be dreaming. That was thirty ducats. BLIND BEGGAR. And twicc makcs sixty, Signor. I am well content Not to get beat at all, — for sixty ducats. [rinaldo stands stupent : slowly the truth begins to dawn on him. Lucio. Rinaldo, thou art caught ! This trap was baited Too finely for thee. BLIND beggar [returning to his post]. Pity the poor blind ! [Up the steps from the square comes clara da sciFFi, a child of ten, very richly dressed, accompanied by her Nurse. . NURSE [pushing her way through the Beggars]. 56 BLIND EYES Come ! what a crowd is this ! Make way ! Make way ! CLARA. Wait, Nurse, oh, wait ! Look ! There 's a poor bhnd man. BLIND BEGGAR. Kind friends, pity, pity the poor [ CLARA Stops and looks up at the Blind Beggar with a face of pity. The Beggar's cry stops abruptly ; his arm ceases to jerk ; he stoops towards her. RiNALDO [his mind catching at straws^. He said — that he would give him — ^thirty ducats ! And — for his lie . . . [Conviction seizes him.] Out, cheat ! [ CLARA reaches up and puts a coin into the Blind Beggar's bowl. She passes on into the church. The Blind Beggar throws up his hands and falls to weeping. RINALDO. O cunning knave, I know thee ! 'Twas thyself Thou didst so bribe ! There, there ! Look at him ! Look! FRANCESCO. Ah ! pity me, sweet Jesu, pity me ! Oh ! what have I done ? PAOLO. Now say ! Is that Francesco ? FRANCESCO. Ayc, 'tis Francesco. Shame on thee ! oh, shame ! Thief, liar, trickster, cheat of charity ! Now will I punish him as he deserves. Unmask ! Do off thy cloak ! Strip, and make bare ! Out ! Out ! Have at thee ! So ! [He throws off his disguise, takes from his girdle a scourge of cords, and descends into the market- place, beating himself as he goes. The crowd 57 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS follows him with murmurs of astonishment. The hell tolls the hour of noon. GIOVANNI. Is this for the wager ? PAOLO. Nay, 'tis madness ! See, See where he goes ! RiNALDO. The man is flaying himself ! Lucio. Francesco ! GIOVANNI. Look ! He tears off his coat ! PAOLO. Look ! He draws blood ! LUCIO. Pity, pity ! Francesco, spare thyself ! RINALDO. Nay ; look you ! look you ! Ah, ha ! GIOVANNI. He falls ! UBERTO. He rises ! LUCIO. Oh, stay ! Enough 1 Enough ! RINALDO. Thy fears be folly I 'Tis but another lie ; he mocks us still ; Under his shirt is a wine-skin. UBERTO. 'Tis blood, Rinaldo ! RINALDO. I say 'tis wine. He beats, but does not feel it ! Thou priceless rogue ! All this for sixty ducats ! PAOLO. Hush ! Here he comes again. Way there, you fellows ! [The Beggars part to right and left. Fran- cesco re-enters, torn and bloody. Scourge in hand, he advances pale and trembling. SEVERAL. Well played ! Well played ! Oh, bravo ! Bravely done ! RINALDO. You 've bcatcu us, Francesco. UBERTO. We do own it ; And stand your debtors. RINALDO. Give me as happy a death I I would die laughing ! 58 BLIND EYES FRANCESCO. Why do you laugh, when you have lost your wager ? UBERTO. The joke, so played, was worth it ! FRANCESCO. You laugh. Brothers, Because you like to be lied to. So content you. The laugh is over ! RiNALDO. Not till we 've paid thee. Here is all I have : The rest must follow. [rinaldo and uberto offer him their purses. FRANCESCO. I am ashamed ! [He drops the scourge, and stands weeping, Lucio. Ah, me ! I feared so ! FRANCESCO. Hear me ! I will stand naked. What I did, I did in blindness. That I won pittance by lies. From you, and you, and you, — all that was nothing : For in your hearts ye had no charity. Your giving to the beggar did but help you The easier to forget him. Came another, — A little child : her eyes had sorrow in them. And in her heart was pity. Then I knew What I had done . . . the blind man's eyes were opened ! LUCIO [gently touching him]. Oh, come away, Francesco ! FRANCESCO [drawing away from him]. Then you saw. Brothers . . . you saw what I did. Oh, when I said that I would beat a beggar, — A cheating beggar, — ^round the market-place, Knew I how much he would deserve his beating ? Well . . . that is done. 59 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS EiNALDO. Come ! take your winnings, and don't whine, Francesco ! FRANCESCO. My winnings ? . . . Ah ! Yes, yes : give me your money, And keep back nothing ! UBERTO [giving him the purses]. 'Tis all thine, Francesco ; and the rest follows. FRANCESCO. Mine ! [He moves slowly toward the crowd of Beggars, watching from below. RiNALDO. What madness now ? FRANCESCO. Oh, hearken, hearken to me, hungry Brothers ! All you poor, little, holy ones, whose needs I set at naught, whose outstretched hands I mocked: Come, let me kneel to you, and kiss your feet ! And take from me this load : this. Brothers, and this. And this ! Take all ! [He distributes the money among them. The Beggars murmur and chuckle confusedly as they scramble for the coins he throws them. Now, of your pity, and charity, pray for me That am a sinner ! RINALDO. Faugh ! The fellow 's mad ! UBERTO. I think thou art, Francesco. FRANCESCO. Aye, 'tis true I For when I was at liberty to do well. Then I did ill ! Come then, my friends, put bonds And chains on one that ought not to be free ! RINALDO. Here is a sickness that is past my curing : I understand it not ! UBERTO. I' faith, nor I ! Lucio. I think I do begin to. Now for the mending! 60 BLIND EYES Re-enter f from the church, clara accompanied by her Nurse. Francesco goes and kneels before her. He catches the hem of her robe. FRANCESCO. O little child, sweet lover of my Saviour, Forgive me that I robbed thee ! I am sorry. NURSE. Have miercy on us ! What mockery is this ? Sirrah, be pleased to let my mistress pass ! Nay, who, in God's name, are you ? FRANCESCO. I am the beggar that got sweet alms from thee. Pretending to be blind. Oh, was not that A sorry deed, — to steal kind charity In jest ? CLARA. Nurse, the poor gentleman is crying ! NURSE. And well he may ; and should have something to cry for. Had I the shaping of him ! Out of the way, Fellow, and let us pass ! Come, come ! Let be ! [Thrusting him aside she moves on. CLARA. I 'm sorry. [She stoops forward and kisses him. NURSE [looking back]. Heart of my heart's mis- tress, what street-kissing is this ? Off from it, off from it ! For shame ! Here 's a fine tale that shall be told of thee ! What shall thy father say ? [And so, scolding as she goes, she disappears with her charge, clara turns to look back. FRANCESCO in a gentle rapture gazes after her. FRANCESCO. She has forgiven me ! Saw you that, Brothers ? Did you understand ? Know you not what she was ? Oh, look, look, look! 61 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS PAOLO. What mean'st thou ? FRANCESCO. That — ^was Sister Charity ! MNALDO. Come, let us go, and to his madness leave him ! UBERTO. Farewell, Francesco ! Heaven bring thy wits To a better understanding ! FRANCESCO. Aye ! . . . Amen ! [Exeunt uberto, rinaldo, and paolo. GIOVANNI. Deal wisely with him, Lucio ! Lucio. He will do That for himself, Giovanni. Fare thee well ! [Exit GIOVANNI. [lucio stands watching Francesco without speaking. For a while Francesco stands quite still, lost to the world. Then very gently he begins speaking. FRANCESCO. Look, in what verity, When she begins, One kiss of Charity Covers my sins. What shall I say to her That was so kind ? This is my way to her — ' Pity the blind ! ' Put off disparity And all disguise : Sweet Sister Charity, Open mine eyes ! CURTAIN 62 THE BRIDE FEAST Scene : A broad arched loggia opening upon a garden. To one side, on a low dais, is a table, set with fruit and flowers, at which the bridal party is seated. Night has fallen ; candles are lighted ; and across all but the central archway curtains have been drawn. Attendants pass in and out, removing the remains of the feast. A Servant bears round a bowl of rose-water into which the guests dip their hands; another follows with a napkin . The Two Lovers dip and dry hands together. Absorbed in each other they pay no heed to what goes on round them. BALD ONE. Our feast is over, but not our con- tentment ; Which, from such full assurance as here offers. Waits for more courses in the abundant future. ARNOLFO. Aye, surely ; if these young vows now in the making Bear fruit after their kind ! LUCREZIA. May one but live to see it ! BALD ONE. That may we all, Lucrezia. UBERTO. Fruit should come quick ; and make you, Messer Baldone, Young in your ancestry. 68 Signor Arnolfo, Wherefor doubt ? From such blossom LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS BALD ONE. It should do. Oil, were health the effect of favour. And youth as catching as it appears attractive To her eyes now, I 'd be a boy again ! LUCREZiA [watching the lovers]. So lost to the world already ! ARNOLFO. Their love so wraps them They are abed each in the other's eyes. BALD ONE. The time 's still early : they withdraw too soon From our society. LUCREZIA. But out of such a dream who shall dare wake them ? BALD ONE. I will. Autonia ! [The call goes unheeded, ARNOLFO. You : Lucio ! UBERTO. Thy father calls thee, Lucio. LUCIO. Sir ? ARNOLFO. Return to us awhile ! Are ye departed Ere ye have said good-night ? LUCIO. 'Tis a good -night, sir, though it be not said : It needs not saying. BALD ONE. Truly, I think not either ! Love is a wondrous wine : it goes down sweetly. Causing the lips of them that dream to speak. Server, draw back the curtains, and let cool night Breathe on us with all her spices ! [The curtains are drawn back, disclosing a garden of deep dusk in which moonlight is faintly beginning. All the Attendants but one have now gone. LUCREZIA. Hark, a bird sings. 64 THE BRIDE FEAST ARNOLFO. Then Lucio must sing louder. Thou hast a rival, boy. Take up thy lute ! [A figure in cloak and hood, wearing a mask, crosses the garden and halts behind one of the pillars. There he stands, looking fixedly at ANTONIA. LUCIO. Aye ; if Antonia will first prove the strings. [He offers her his lute. ANTONIA [striking a chord]. There are the keys for thee. LUCID. The song is sung. I cannot better it. [He lays the lute down again. BALD ONE. His plight stays hopeless ! Here is to thy recovery, Lucio. [Drinks. And thine, Antonia, — if thou share his sickness. ANTONIA. Indeed I do : nor ever of mine own will Wish to be cured ! BALD ONE. Well, well, since you deny us. We must have other minstrels. What is this masque That they are bringing us ? Lucio. It is Francesco's. BALDONE. Francesco Bernardone's ? He is thy friend ? I have heard tell of thy much love for him. LUCIO. And there 's more of it. Till I beheld thy daughter. He was half the world to me. ARNOLFO. 'Twas a rare friendship, seeing he was thy rival. LUCIO. 'Twas a rare man. Father. He hath a heart So foolish and so tender, that whoso wins it E 05 LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS Finds himself beaten. Is it not to him I owe the peace which gives present completion To my fair fortune ? BALD ONE. Aye ? what peace mean you ? LUCID. Sir, he hath wrought Rudolf o (Whom once you did prefer, and to his suit extend some favour) Out of his jealous anger unto acceptance Of that which finds us here. So, to-night, brings Rudolfo with him, a partner in his pageant. For token of fair amity and peace. Contention being ended. BALD ONE. He deserves well, that over his own heart Thrones and makes prosperous the loves of others. ANTONiA [rising]. Oh ! See there ! See there ! BALD ONE. What now, Antonia ? ANToi