The Knickerbocker Gallery/Dramatic Fragment
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Yours sincerely
Geo. H. Boker
Dramatic Fragment.
FROM THE UNPUBLISHED TRAGEDY OF "FRANCESCA DA RIMINI."
By George H. Boker.
"Noi leggeveamo un giorno per diletto Di Lancialotto, come amor lo strinse;Soli eravamo e senza alcun sospetto." Dante.
Scene—A garden of the palace in Rimini. Francesca and Paolo.
Paolo.But now for the romance. Where left we off?Francesca.Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra strayedAlong the forest, in the youth of May.You marked the figure of the birds that sangTheir melancholy farewell to the sun,Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified,Like humble mourners o'er a great man's grave.Was it not there? No, no; 'twas where they satDown on the bank, by one impulsive wishWhich neither uttered.Paolo. (Turning over the book.) Here it is. (Reads.) "So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot." 'Twere well To follow them in that. (They sit upon a bank.) Francesca.I listen: read! Nay, do not: I can wait, if you desire. Paolo. Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day. (Reads.) "So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot Under the blaze of the descending sun, But all his cloudy splendors were forgot.Each bore a thought—the only secret one Which each had hidden from the other's heart— That with sweet mystery well nigh overran.Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start Put by the ripples of her golden hair, Grazing upon her with his lips apart.He marvelled human thing could be so fair; Essayed to speak; but in the very deed His words expired of self-betrayed despair.Little she helped him, at his direst need, Roving her eyes o'er hill, and wood, and sky, Peering intently at the meanest weed,Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot's eye. Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe, Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh;Or strange, wild figures in the dust she drew, Until she felt Sir Lancelot's arm around Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew:While through his fingers timidly he wound Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swooned;For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed, Firing her blood with most contagious heat, Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed.Each heart was listening to the other beat. As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk, Drooping with summer, in warm languor meet,So met their faces. Down the forest-walk Sir Lancelot looked; he looked, east, west, north, south: No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk;She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth."He kisses Francesca.I'll read no more ! (Starts up, dashing down the book.) Francesca.Paolo!Paolo.I am mad! The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er,The straining cord has broken, and my heartRiots in free delirium! O Heaven!I struggled with it, but it mastered me;I fought against it, but it beat me down;I prayed, I wept, but heaven was deaf to me,And every tear rolled backward on my heart,To blight and poison!Francesca.And dost thou regret? Paolo. The love? no, no! I'd dare it all again,Its direst agonies and meanest fears,For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse!Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand:Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge.Thou canst not name a terror so profoundThat I will look or falter from. Be bold!I know thy love: I knew it long ago;Trembled and fled from it: but now I claspThe peril to my breast, and ask of theeA kindred desperation!
"Quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avante."