The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Of the Earl Politian? Yes! it was yesterday.
Alessandra, you and I, 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 yon, 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. Ha! 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 cannot be the Earl?
_Cas_. The Earl! Oh no!
Tis not the Earl--but yet it is--and leaning Upon his friend Baldazzar. Ah! 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_. Ha! ha! Most welcome To Rome and to our palace, Earl Politian!
And you, most n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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?
_Cas_. What ho! Benito! Rupert!
His lords.h.i.+p's chambers--show his lords.h.i.+p to them!
His lords.h.i.+p 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 lords.h.i.+p is unwell.
The damp air of the evening--the fatigue Of a long journey--the--indeed I had better Follow his lords.h.i.+p. 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_.)
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