Scenes from “Politian” — Edgar Allan Poe (reading text) — reading text

(exit Bal.) Enter Castigilone. Cas. The Earl of Leicester here! Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest, Dost thou not? that I am here. Cas. My lord, some strange, Some singular mistake—misunderstanding— Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged Thereby, in heat of anger, to address Some words most unaccountable, in writing, To me, Castiglione; the bearer being Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, Having given thee no offence. Ha!—am I right? ’Twas a mistake?—undoubtedly—we all Do err at times. Pol. Draw, villain, and prate no more! Cas. Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once, Proud Earl! (draws.) Pol. (drawing.) Thus to the expiatory tomb, Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee In the name of Lalage! Cas. (letting fall his sword and recoiling to the extremity of the stage) Of Lalage! Hold off—thy sacred hand!—avaunt, I say! Avaunt—I will not fight thee—indeed I dare not. Pol. Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count? Shall I be baffled thus?—now this is well; Didst say thou darest not? Ha! Cas. I dare not—dare not— Hold off thy hand—with that beloved name So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee— I cannot—dare not. Pol. Now by my halidom I do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee! Cas. Ha!—coward!—this may not be! (clutches his sword and staggers towards POLITIAN, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl) Alas! my lord, It is—it is—most true. In such a cause I am the veriest coward. O pity me! Pol. (greatly softened.) Alas!—I do—indeed I pity thee. Cas. And Lalage— Pol. Scoundrel!—arise and die! Cas. It needeth not be—thus—thus—O let me die Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting That in this deep humiliation I perish. For in the fight I will not raise a hand Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home— (baring his bosom.) Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon— Strike home. I will not fight thee. Pol. Now, s’ Death and Hell! Am I not—am I not sorely—grievously tempted To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir, Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare For public insult in the streets—before The eyes of the citizens. I’ll follow thee Like an avenging spirit I’ll follow thee Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest— Before all Rome I’ll taunt thee, villain,—I’ll taunt thee, Dost hear? with cowardice—thou wilt not fight me? Thou liest! thou shalt! (exit.) Cas. Now this indeed is just! Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven! {In the book there is a gap in numbering the notes between 12 and 29. —ED} NOTE 29. Such portions of “Politian” as are known to the public first saw the light of publicity in the “Southern Literary Messenger” for December, 1835, and January, 1836, being styled “Scenes from Politian: an unpublished drama.” These scenes were included, unaltered, in the 1845 collection of Poems, by Poe. The larger portion of the original draft subsequently became the property of the present editor, but it is not considered just to the poet’s memory to publish it. The work is a hasty and unrevised production of its author’s earlier days of literary labor; and, beyond the scenes already known, scarcely calculated to enhance his reputation. As a specimen, however, of the parts unpublished, the following fragment from the first scene of Act II. may be offered. The Duke, it should be premised, is uncle to Alessandra, and father of Castiglione her betrothed. Duke. Why do you laugh? Castiglione. Indeed I hardly know myself. Stay! Was it not On yesterday we were speaking of the Earl? Of the Earl Politian? Yes! it was yesterday. Alessandra, you and 1, you must remember! We were walking in the garden. Duke, Perfectly. I do remember it-what of it-what then? Cas. O nothing-nothing at all. Duke. Nothing at all! It is most singular that you should laugh ‘At nothing at all! Cas. Most singular-singular! Duke. Look you, Castiglione, be so kind As tell me, sir, at once what ’tis you mean. What are you talking of? Cas. Was it not so? We differed in opinion touching him. Duke. Him!—Whom? Cas. Why, sir, the Earl Politian. Duke. The Earl of Leicester! Yes!—is it he you mean? We differed, indeed. If I now recollect The words you used were that the Earl you knew Was neither learned nor mirthful. Cas. Ha! ha!—now did I? Duke. That did you, sir, and well I knew at the time You were wrong, it being not the character Of the Earl-whom all the world allows to be A most hilarious man. Be not, my son, Too positive again. Cas. ’Tis singular! Most singular! I could not think it possible So little time could so much alter one! To say the truth about an hour ago, As I was walking with the Count San Ozzo, All arm in arm, we met this very man The Earl-he, with his friend Baldazzar, Having just arrived in Rome. Hal ha! he is altered! Such an account he gave me of his journey! ’Twould have made you die with laughter-such tales he told Of his caprices and his merry freaks Along the road-such oddity-such humor— Such wit-such whim-such flashes of wild merriment Set off too in such full relief by the grave Demeanor of his friend-who, to speak the truth, Was gravity itself— Duke. Did I not tell you? Cas. You did-and yet ’tis strange! but true as strange, How much I was mistaken! I always thought The Earl a gloomy man. Duke. So, so, you see! Be not too positive. Whom have we here? It can not be the Earl? Cas. The Earl! Oh, no! ’Tis not the Earl-but yet it is-and leaning Upon his friend Baldazzar. AM welcome, sir! (Enter Politian and Baldazzar.) My lord, a second welcome let me give you To Rome-his Grace the Duke of Broglio. Father! this is the Earl Politian, Earl Of Leicester in Great Britain. [Politian bows haughtily.] That, his friend Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. The Earl has letters, So please you, for Your Grace. Duke. Hal ha! Most welcome To Rome and to our palace, Earl Politian! And you, most noble Duke! I am glad to see you! I knew your father well, my Lord Politian. Castiglione! call your cousin hither, And let me make the noble Earl acquainted With your betrothed. You come, sir, at a time Most seasonable. The wedding— Politian. Touching those letters, sir, Your son made mention of—your son, is he not? Touching those letters, sir, I wot not of them. If such there be, my friend Baldazzar here— Baldazzar! ah!—my friend Baldazzar here Will hand them to Your Grace. I would retire. Duke. Retire!—So soon? Came What ho! Benito! Rupert! His lordship’s chambers-show his lordship to them! His lordship is unwell. (Enter Benito.) Ben. This way, my lord! (Exit, followed by Politian.) Duke. Retire! Unwell! Bal. So please you, sir. I fear me ’Tis as you say—his lordship is unwell. The damp air of the evening-the fatigue Of a long journey—the—indeed I had better Follow his lordship. He must be unwell. I will return anon. Duke. Return anon! Now this is very strange! Castiglione! This way, my son, I wish to speak with thee. You surely were mistaken in what you said Of the Earl, mirthful, indeed!—which of us said Politian was a melancholy man? (Exeunt.) END OF WORK Source and redistribution notice *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE — VOLUME 5 *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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