COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV / Dante A DRAMA In Two Tableaux aA Six Acts Printed, not Published BY GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 1810 N St., Washington, D. C. Press of Byron s. Adams, Washington, d. c. rii3 tllBRARY of CONGRESS \ Two Copies Keceivec j JAN 8 1903 OLASdA XXc. No. COPYRIGHT 1908 BY GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND "S ^ V DANTE CHARACTERS. Dante (Alighieri) (Guido) Cavalcanti. CiNO (a Pistoja) DiNO (Frescobaldi) (Cosmo) Don ATI SiMONE (Donati) (Brunetto) Latini The Great Italian Poet. A Poet and Patron of Dante, about ten years older than he ; a Lead- er of the White Fac- tion. A Poet and Friend of Dante ; but somewhat younger than he; a Member of the White Faction. A Poet and Friend of Dante, about the same age as he; a Member of the White Faction. The Leader of the Black Faction, and Dante's Enemy. Son of Cosmo Donati, and Dante's Enemy. An aged Teacher of Florence, much re- spected by Dante and his Friends. 8 CHARACTERS. Beatrice (Portina) A Young Maiden, great- ly beloved by Dante. Gemma (Donati) A Young Maiden, Niece of Cosmo Donati, who became Dante's Wife. Bacchina a Young Maiden, a companion of Beatrice and Gemma. Marquis of Malaspina in Lunigiana, a Protec- tor of Dante in exile. Waitress, Priest, Monk, Messengers, Attend- ants, Young Men and Maidens, and Ad- herents of the White and Black Factions. Place and Time, Florence and Italy in the Four- teenth Century. DANTE. Opening Tableau. The Piazza di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. Backing is the Church of Santa Croce. In front of it are the beginnings of a Pedestal, On the highest part of the Pedestal, accompanied by others below her, zsAth whom she is playing, is a young girl (Beatrice) dressed in a dark crimson frock. Below, on the pavement gazing at her, stands a school boy (Dante), who seems to have been suddenly arrested and charmed by her ap- pearance.^ ACT FIRST. Scene : — A public Square or Garden in Florence, arranged for a Fete, as on St, John's Day, when, to quote from Federn's Dante, ''the young men clad in white led by the Senior d' Amour, went singing and dancing up the street of Santa Felicita; and women and girls, also in wreaths of flowers, partook in the fes- tivities; and music and song and ringing bells ailed the air with joyful sounds,'' Backing at the Right, a bench; at the Left front a booth ar- ranged for the fete. In it is a table on which are Howers, apparently for sale, also at least one bottle of wine and three glasses. lO DANTE, The curtain rising discloses, at the back centre, Dante, Cino, Cavalcanti, and Dino, sur- rounding Latini. Dante has a note-book and pencil in his hand^ Cino, Cavalcanti and DiNO hold manuscripts, which can be easily carried in their pockets. Behind the table, stands a matron serving as a Waitress in the fete. Latini. A poet like a poem is a product. CiNO. I thought him born, not made. Latini. And why not both? Let nature frame a man to feel. He thinks Of what he feels. He feels what touches him. The substance of his thought and feeling then Is what experience has brought near to him. CiNO. But men term youth poetic. Latini. Rightly too. The freshest fires are brightest. But our thoughts, How e'er they burn and melt, not often flow To moulds of nature's rarest imagery, Till life has been well sought to find and store it. CiNO. Then youth should wait for age, and grow- apace, And try no more. DANTE. 1 1 Latini. O no ; it is our trying That turns the latch-key of experience Whose doors swing inward quite as oft as outward. Enter — Left — Several Pairs of dancing Young Men and Maidens. They sing: How green the grove and blue the sky ! How gold and red the hedges ! How thrills the breeze with trills on high, That breathe the season's pledges ! For, O, the spring, in all its prime. Has brought the bird its mating time. Exeunt — Right — Dancers. Enter — Left — Gemma and Bacchina, and between them Beatrice.^ The three walk arm in arm, and exchange bows with the Gentlemen, Beatrice taking especial notice of Dante. CiNO {to Dante, as he looks toward the three), A trinity appropriate for St. John's day! Dino. The poet's graces ! CiNo {moving toward the three). And the poet's models. They bring us dies, when our ideas glow, To leave their impress and remain ideals. 12 DANTE. Dante sits apart by himself on the Bench alter- nately writing in the note-book that he holds, and listening to the conversation of the others.^ Beatrice {to Latini). We come to tender you our morning greeting. Cavalcanti {to DiNo). Nor could the tender come more tenderly. Latini {shaking hands with the three young women). I thank you. Bacchina {turning to Dino). Will you recom- mend me now? Dino. For what? Bacchina. Why, if a king's touch cure king's evil, A master's touch should cure the master's evil. Dino. And what is that ? Bacchina {looking toward Latini). All evil in the world, To him, is lack of culture. Dino. So you seek To come in touch with him? Bacchina {laughingly). And with his pupils. (Giving her hand to Dino. Both join in the dance that follows.) DANTE. ' 13 Enter — Right — Pairs of Dancing Young Men and Maidens. They Sing: How keen the glance, and bright the flush! How sense the soul resembles ! How throbs the heart that heed would hush Through lips where music trembles! For, O, the spring of round and rhyme Has brought mankind its mating-time ! Exeunt — Left — Dancers. Enter — Left — Donati. Cino and Dino talk 7mth Gemma and Bacchina. Cavalcanti (to Beatrice). You heard what Cino said. It all was true. The hands of beauty when they touch and thrill us All leave their imprint on ideas, and thus We get ideals. Beatrice (laughingly). You poets wing your words Without the least conception where they wend, Like birds with broken feet that keep on flying From simple inability to perch. Donati. Ha, ha! Cavalcanti (to Donati). You heard her then? Donati. I overheard. Cavalcanti (aside to Dino). Is always overing something, if he can be. 14 DANTE. DoNATi {to Beatrice). Well said, Miss Beat- rice ! These flighty minds That cut connection with the world's demands Are sure to have a limping time of it, If ever they get down to useful work. (Beatrice laughs and bows, then joins Gemma and Bacchina at the Left where all three seem to be helping the Matron who has charge of the Table. Dino sits on the bench beside Dante. They ex- change, and, apparently in a friendly zvay^ criticise each other's writings).^ Cavalcanti {replying to Donati's last remark). They may prove useful without getting down As far as — ^ DoNATi. Useful as the splash and spray Above the waterfall that works my mill. Cavalcanti. They play a necessary part. DoNATi. You own They play? Cavalcanti. And play is necessary too. Our thoughts are children that must play to grow. DoNATi. Say children that when called to work must whine. DANTE. 15 These brains that bellow so about their pains, Prove mainly their own lack of brawn to bear them. Cavalcanti. At least, they lead a peaceful life, not so ? — And that is better than a Hfe of brawls. DoNATi. Who lead a life of brawls ? Cavalcanti. I did not say ; But many a night in Florence is termed black. DoNATi. And many a coward's face is well termed white. Cavalcanti (drawing a sword zvhich Donati also does). Now by my sword ! CiNO. Nay, nay ; but by your sense. What fevers both of you is no disease That can be cured by surgery. Cavalcanti. By j^fhat tWien ? CiNO (pointing to the table, and rapidly filling three glasses from the bottle). By stimulants. Accurse to cutting down. When one can gulp down ! Save your health for me. And, while you sheathe your swords, pledge- gratitude For such delightful ways of sheathing spirits. l6 DANTE. (DoNATi and Cavalcanti sheathe their swords and drink with Cino). Exeunt — Left — Cavalcanti, Donati and CiNO with glasses in hand, followed by the Waitress carrying the bottle, (Di2\0, zvhen he sees them, excusing himself to Dante, rises and follows them.) Exit — Left — DiNO. GeaiMxV {to Beatrice, looking toz^'ard the Left). Ha, ha ! Beatrice. What set you laughing? Gemma. Why, to think My uncle's words could turn a poet's thought Out of his own conceit — humph ! — long enough To take in the conception of another. Beatrice. You like not poets then? Bacchina. They like not her. Gemma. They might, if they could see me. What they see Is never in the thing at which they look ; But, like a halo when it rings the moon, All in the clouds, and drawn there by them- selves. Beatrice. Break through the halo, you might find them out. DANTE. ly Bacchina. Or else be found out by them. Gemma. That is it; And by-and-by come tumbUng from the heights Where they, not we, have put us, — in a realm Where pebbles all seem palaces, and mounds all mounts And clouds all continents, and moons have faces, And all the littlest stars that prick the sky Are spear-points of some huge hobgoblin. Beatrice. To think things larger may enlarge one's thought. Gemma. To think things true when false may prove all false. Beatrice. Who think the poets' fancies true? Their brains, Like helmets when their metal is the best. Receive the light of life and flash it back. None take the flash for fire. Gemma. I see you like A fancy, flashing fellow ! — I the grave And thoughtful: Beatrice. Fancy is the flower of thought. The more of life there is, the more of flower: The more of thought there is, the more of fancv. l8 DANTE. A bear, you know, has hair upon his cheek. .Vnd growls, and, now and then, stands up and hugs. I like men w^lio can prove themselves no brutes. (Dante sits staring at Beatrice.) Enter — Ecft — DoNATi. DoNATi {noticing Dante and addressing him). Why, Dante, you here?^ Dante {rising in embarrassment). Yes. DoNATi {shaking hands with Dante). Good day. Gemma {aside to Beatrice and Bacchina). His "yes" Outsnubs the backset of a tutor's ''no", — Forbids all further effort at expression. Donati {to Dante and gesturing toward the Young Women). You know these ladies, do you not? Dante {bowing azvkzvardly) . Yes, yes.^ DoNATi. What book is that you hold so close in hand? (Dante closes his note-book^ and puts it inside his cloak.) A secret? DANTE. 19 Dante (bowing awkwardly). Yes. Exit — Right — DoNATi, laughing. Enter — Left — Cino. (CiNO and Dante sit on the bench and exchange writings.^) Gemma {to Young Women at the Left, and re- ferring to Dante's Book.) His own child, probably! It flies to cover so much like himself. He is a very interesting man. Beatrice. You think so? Gemma. To himself. When all one's eyes And ears are turned like his on his own person, He bears about both audience and actor. Enter — Left — Several Pairs of Dancing Young Men and Maidens. They sing: How framed in grace and phrased in song, How homed in rapture real, How won to worth from earth and wrong Is love when once ideal ! For, O, the spring of life sublime Has brought the spirit's mating-time ! Exeunt — Right — Dancers. Enter — Left — Cavalcanti. Cavalcanti {to Beatrice). My gentle maid, Miss Beatrice, not dancing? 20 DANTE. Beatrice. Not now, rough master Cavalcanti. Cavalcanti. Oh ! Beatrice. Oh? — We must speak as we are spoken to; And if I be a maid and gentle also You ought to be my master and be rough. Cavalcanti. Be rough? — Oh, never. I leave that to Dante. Beatrice. I should think so ! Cavalcanti. Wait, Miss Beatrice. A man may double up his fist and frown, And make fiend-faces merely at himself. Beatrice. Why so ? Cavalcanti. Because that self asserts itself: And he keeps fighting it to keep it down. Beatrice. That self must then be very strong. Cavalcanti. , It is — In Dante. Beatrice. Humph ! — Is that what troubles him ? Enter — Right — Dino. CiNO leaves Dante and goes to meet Dino, where standing at the Right they also seem to criticise each other's manuscript.^ Cavalcanti. It is with you. You have such awful eyes. DANTE. 21 They hush him so his inward soul stops think- ing; And then his outward mein plays pedagogue And whips himself to make himself behave. Beatrice. A very strange man ! Cavalcanti. You should not say that. Just think how hot he must be in his heart To make him warp and shrink up as he does When you come near. Beatrice. He does not act that w^ay With others ? Cavalcanti. No. Beatrice. Some people act that way With cats. Kind souls then shoo these off. Beatrice joins Gemma and Bacchina, and, presently, Exeunt — Left — Gemma, Beatrice and Bac- CHINA. DiNo {looking at the Young Women, to Cino). A poet has to pose, to prose himself Sufficiently for some companionship. CiNO. To one who wed her, she would prove to be A pretty but a pert Lupatto-dog, And snarl at all who did not master her. 22 DANTE. DiNO {looking sharply at Dante). But why does Dante gaze at Gemma so? Finds her inspiring? — I would rather risk Without a disenchanting yell or yolp, Extracting teeth than thought from such a mouth. Exeunt — Right — Cino and Dino. Dante {to Cavalcanti, who has approached him). Say, Cavalcanti, did you hear those words? — "'Why does he gaze at Gemma?" — did you hear? Say, Cavalcanti, did you hear? — at Gemma? They must imagine — ^ Cavalcanti. Yes, they must imagine. They never could have seen it with their eyes. Dante. Seen what? Cavalcanti. Now, Dante, I have made no claim To be your soul's confessor ; but you know That I have guessed to whom you wrote your verses ; And you have not denied it. — Was it Gemma? Dante. The next time that men watch me, they shall think so.® Cavalcanti. And why? DANTE. 23 Dante. No doubt, no thought ! What men conceive They comprehend, they cease to guess about. Cavalcanti. Would you deceive them? Dante. What men have no right To know, one has no right to let them know. Because my soulless will had made me brute, And kept me staring like a pointer-cur As if to turn to prey the very one I most revere, must then my voice, forsooth, Bark out an insult in the same direction? Cavalcanti. I did not say that, boy ; but it were strange To see you start to play the very game That you blame me for. Dante. Nay, I should not say My love sought more than one. Cavalcanti. Nor I, you know — Were it not true. Dante. Oh, fickle Cavalcanti! Cavalcanti. Why, humming bees may sip the sweets they need From every flower; and wh> not humming poets ? Dante. They were not made to sting, nor souls for stinging. 24 DAKTE, The poets are not lesser men but greater. And so should find unworthy of themselves A word or deed that makes them seem less worthy. A man should court but one, and marry her. Cavalcanti. And mar the lives of all he does not marry? Dante. Nay, nay; be true to one, and let the church — Cavalcanti. The church can but confirm a fact that is,— ^ A love that lives already in the soul. Not outside hands, though reaching down from heaven, Can push inside of it what is not there. Nor keep it inside, would it then pass out. You deem it wise or good, humane or Godly, To doom a boy for one mistake in mating To everlasting punishment on earth ? Enter — Left — Gemma. Ah, Mistress Gemma, Master Dante here Was looking at you, so that I rebuked him. Gemma. Was looking — and at what? Cavalcanti. Why, I should say Your ribbons — things that he could tye to. Dante. Oh ! DANTE. 25 Cavalcanti. Why that was what we just were talking of, — A something on the earth, and it wears rib- bons, That one can tye to. Gemma. Making free, I think, With my own ribbons ! Cavalcanti. No, no; making them So they would not be free. Gemma. Yes, they might choke me. Dante. And what a pity that would be ! Gemma. Why so? Dante. These choking throats make faces red. Gemma. Make red? Dante. Yes; yours I never yet saw red. It seemed A readless riddle. Gemma. It could riddle you. Dante. Oh, no; you would not judge enough was in me To justify the jog. Why tap a void? Enter — Left — Beatrice. Cavalcanti goes to her, Dante, standing at the right with his hack to the Left, docs not see her. 26 DANTE. Gemma (to Dante). You may be right, — more right than you suppose. Dante. More right than I suppose? — It is not often One does me so much honor. (They continue talking at the Left.) Beatrice (to Cavalcanti, while she stands at the Right looking at Dante). Yes, I read The song you say that Dante wrote about me. But were he truthful, did he feel it all, It were but natural for him to speak To me. Cavalcanti. He is an artist. Beatrice. What of that? Cavalcanti. You know there were no art, were there no forms Of nature in which art could frame its tribute. But many an artist, for this reason, fears To emphasize the part he finds in nature Lest it outdo the part he finds in self ; So often that which seems most natural The one thing is that he will not let seem so. Beatrice (looking toward Gemma). # How smitten he is with her!^® DANTE, 27 Cavalcanti. Whom — with Gemma? Beatrice. Of course. Cavalcanti. You think so? Beatrice. See him hold her hand. Cavalcanti. If your hand were where hers is, I beheve His own would tremble so he could but drop it. Gemma {to Dante_, while he takes her hand as if to bid Good-bye). But had I no imagination ? Dante. Then, I could not see my image in you, could I ? And if — to quote you — I but think of self, You could not make me think of anything. Gemma. I could not help you much then? Exit — Left — Beatrice. Dante. No ; not if Myself be what I think. (Gemma and Dante bow to each other,) Exit — Right — Gem ma. (Dante takes his note-book from his pocket, and begins to zvrite. ) Cavalcanti {approaching, and laying his hand on Dante's shoulder). What are you doing? 28 DANTE. Dante. Am writing. Cavalcanti. Yes, I saw that. — ^Writing what ? Dante. What comes to me.^^ Cavalcanti {zvith a gesture tozvard the Right), From her? Dante. Yes, partly so; And partly from myself. Cavalcanti. You write it down To save it? Dante. Yes, and save myself. You know That writing is my mission. ^^ Cavalcanti. What was that Which she suggested ? Dante {after hesitating a moment). Why, some minds that try To be in touch with ours but tickle them ; Or vex an itching that can merely fret us. Withal, too, they but scratch the brain's out- side; And then, as if they took the hair for thought, Exhibit this, when tossed and puffed, as prov- ing How they themselves have thus our brain de- veloped. DANTE. 29 Cavalcanti {laughing heartily, then taking from his pocket a manuscript poem). No touch like that though, led you to write this/^^ Why is it, boy, you hold your love so secret ? Dante. Had you a glimpse of God like no one else's You would not speak of it? Cavalcanti. Why not? Dante. It might Subject Him to the insult — might it not? — Of human doubt? Cavalcanti. You are a strange soul, Dante. Dante. You think my verses good? Cavalcanti. Both good and bad. Dante. Why bad ? Cavalcanti. Oh, not so fierce ! Not you are bad; And not your verses when they come from you. Dante. From whom else could they come? Cavalcanti. I seem to hear The echoes thiough them of your masters. Dante. Good ones ! Cavalcanti. Good masters give us methods but not models. 2 30 DANTE. You write as one who rests in a ravine Recording but what others have beheld Above w^here he dare venture. Dante. You would have me?— Cavalcanti. Climb up, or soar — Dante. But how ? Cavalcanti. The- spirit's wings Are grown, not given, unfold within oneself. But you — you get both word and thought from others. Dante. You mean my Latin? Cavalcanti. Yes, I mean your Latin. ^ Dante. The words of Virgil and the Christian Church, — The thoughts that live like spirits in the words, And save our thought through what they there incarnate ! Cavalcanti. The thought they save should be your own, my Dante. Are you a Roman? You should be Italian. ^^ With theme and language fitted for Italians. To lift the lives of common men, it is, That poems make the common seem uncom- mon. Their richest boon, believe me, that which brings DANTE. 31 To him who reads an inward consciousness Of oneness with the spirit that indites them, And its own oneness with the loftiest spirit. Dante. The poet's tool is his poetic tongue. Cavalcanti. Tis not the tongue that makes the bell ring sweet; It is the metal of the bell itself. Enter — Left — Messenger. {to Messenger). Good day. You seem excited. Messenger. Yes, I am. Will never fate decree a time of rest For Florence? Cavalcanti. Not while wide awake ! What now r Messenger. A courier has just come speed- ing in. He says the Ghibbelines take arms again/^ Have fresh recruits enlisted at Arezzo, Have fortified the castle at Caprona, And gather now in force at Campaldino. Dante. And we do nothing? Messenger. Yes, Donati's blacks Like flocks of feeding crows we pelt with peh*- bles Are flying all to saddle. Dante. We should follow. 32 DANTE. Cavalcanti. And follow him? — no, no.^ Dante. Not follow him? — Not that great fighter? Cavalcanti. What? — you call him great ? — Mere bluirer of some baby brawls in Flor- ence ? — The flimsiest nerve can fret to feel a flea. Dante. But those who fight when no one needs to fight Cavalcanti. Are foes to public order.^^ Why, you seem To deem all people patriots like yourself. A little rill just starting from a spring -Could not be quite so gushing fresh as you are ! I love you, boy; but when the rill has rubbed A little more of soil from both its banks ''Twill have more substance if not quite So much transparency. Enter — Left Upper — Beatrice^ Gemma and Bacchina. Unseen by Dante, they busy themselves with th£ flowers on the table. Dante. Yet, Cavalcanti, There is but one thing now for us to do. Do two things, and we do the thing they plan, — DANTE. 33 To fight both black and white, and each time half Our full defense. Now who remembers fac- tion Forgets his Florence. Cavalcanti. True ! — and you would fight? Dante. For right to serve the church and Italy?— Fight those whose flags all fly to signal traitors ? — Fight those who all, like base train-bearers, come To smother down the freedom of the city Beneath an emperor's cloak whose utmost edge Is fringed with bleeding spears? — Were I a moth In a rug their crowd came trampling, I should fight- Ay, with my mouth, too, as you seem to ask — And keep on fighting, too, until I wrought My way to something that could not be tram- pled. Cavalcanti. All right, boy, you shall have your chance. We go. Exeunt — Right — Cavalcanti, Dante and Mes- senger. 34 DANTE. Enter — Left — Latini, Cino and Dino. Beatrice {referring to Dante's words that all have evidently overheard). And that is Dante ! Latini. Yes, the actual Dante. Beatrice. His words and ways have seemed so void of grace, To say not grit ! Latini. In temperaments like his The form is but the signal of the spirit. We never judge a flag by gawky flops Against a wind-forsaken pole ; but by Its flying when it feels the breath of heaven. Beatrice. He seemed a woman ; now he seems all man. Latini. And both are fit in one ordained to be A representative of all things human. If he by nature be a poet, then He should by nature be in substance that Which art demands of him in semblance. DiNO. Cino, We should go home. CiNO. What for? DiNO. To put on kilts, And shown ourselves half women. DANTE. 35 Latini. Nay, without that, My Dino, you can prove your womanhood ; For who but women take all words to heart. And think each point we make must point to- ward them? Exeunt — Right — Latini, Cino and Dino. Gemma. He may be right; but men half done, like eggs Half boiled, are very soft. I much prefer To have them hard. Bacchina. How strange ! Gemma, Why strange? Bacchina. Because I thought we always liked our opposites.^* Beatrice. You mean? Gemma. » Ay, you do well to call her mean. If when we walk, we bring our weeds with us, We cannot hope our air to smell of roses. Bacchina. Aha ! Humph ! — That explains it ! Gemma. What? Bacchina. The way You take in breath (tossing up her head and nose). Gemma. Look up, not down, eh? — I Would rather snatch at birds than dig for worms. 36 DANTE. Bacchina. Have pity, Gemma ! Shell your thoughts before You fling them at us — are so hard to crack ! You surely would not have them crack our skulls ? Gemma. Crack moulds of jelly! Your skulls were more soft Than that to be indented by a Dante. Enter — Right — Cavalcanti and Dante. The Young Women are at the Left, and do not notice their hearers. Beatrice. A steed we drive, a stream that floods its banks, Has not less force because its gait is gentle. Had you but heard his call a moment since To Cavalcanti who behind him leads The half of Florence! Twas a call as brave As ever yet were eagles when their beaks Tear out the hearts from wild beasts twice their size That come to steal the young within their nests. While Beatrice is speaking Dante takes out his note-book and writes. Exeunt — Left Bacchina, Gemma and Beatrice. Dante {to Cavalcanti, referring to Beatrice's words) . DANTE. 37 Ah, Cavalcanti, should my sword not save The soul within me, when the strife comes on, No welcome could await in realms beyond So sweet, so sacred, as I just have heard !^^ Cavalcanti. Stay here, boy, stay ! To make a worthy fight, A man should put his heart in what he does. Your heart is lost. It will be left behind you. Dante. There, there, again, you will not under- stand me. Cavalcanti. Now Dante! Dante. Yes, you think my heart would stay When she it is has flung it toward the fight. What love I have, inspires me in my soul ; And, like the soul, it must express itself Through every fibre binding me to life ; And like the soul, too, I believe it comes From some far realm divine to make divine Myself, my world, and all that dwell in it. A man who feels like this, and would not fight For church and state and home, would be a devil. Cavalcanti. And how long, think you, in this world of ours That you can feel like that ? Dante. As long as love Like what I have inspires me. 38 DANTE. Cavalcanti. Should it fail? Dante. Then you nor anyone could longer find In me a friend. All any life is worth Lies in its possibilities of love. Cavalcanti. But were love's object lost? — -Dante. One cannot lose What is eternal. Hearts must always keep If not their love^ what love has made of them. Enter — Right — The Young Men and Maid- ens who were the Dancers in the earlier ' part of this Act; but the Men are equipped \ for battle and walk seriously and the '■ . Maidens follow them wnth every indica- tion of anxiety. Cavalcanti and Dante, plotting his note-book in his pocket, join them. Exeunt — Left — Omnes. Curtain. D.INTE. 39 ACT SECOND. Scene: Same as in Act First, but not arranged for a Fete. The curtain rising discloses La- TiNi, CiNO, DiNO and other citizens of Flor- ence, also Women. Enter — Left — Cavalcanti. Latini {shaking hands with Cavalcanti). And so you have returned victorious. DiNO. Thanks to Donati ! Cavalcanti. Thanks to him, I fear. DiNO. Why fear it? Cavalcanti. One should always fear the hand That taps a leaking jail to flood its faction. ^^ Who breaks one law may live to break another. This very latest victory was gained Against the orders on our side, as well As ordinance of those upon the other. DiNO. So much the stronger he ! Latini. Beware of strength That, like the brute's, is wielded not by reason. Except by reason thought was never forced For its own good. 40 DANTE. DiNO. But if, in some just cause? — Latini. In lands where law supports the right, to seek To rise by breaking legal barriers Is worse than climbing up a dizzy stair By leaning on a broken bannister. DiNO. You may be right ; but few will think you so. The man who tramples on his country's foes Treads upward toward a height, however gained, Where all his countrymen look up to him. CiNO. And now but one can rival him. Latini That one? CiNO. Is Dante. Latini. Dante? CiNO. Yes, our Dante! Oh, You should have seen him when the battle came. He led the last charge, speeding on a steed^' Well nigh as white as was the air it slid through, His form bent down as if to hurl his head Against their lines, and, by sheer force of brain. Burst through them. Faster than the follow- ing wind DANTE. 41 He flew, as if the blast that urged him on Were some last trump of Gabriel's, and the soul Could fear no ills, for it had passed beyond them. {looking toward the Left), I think him coming now. Latini. He is. DiNO. And with him Comes Donati. CiNO. Watching well the man That brought him victory. Cavalcanti. Too well, I fear! You give to one who never gives to others. He first will recognize you as a dupe. And then prepare to treat you as a prey. DiNO. They fought for Florence. Cavalcanti. Dante, not Donati. He fights that all may follow his own standard. Enter — Left — Dante, Donati, Simone and Others of the Blacks. People. Hurrah for Dante ! Dante. Nay, nay; say Donati, A Citizen. The charge that clove their line for us was yours. 42 DANTE. Dante. Praise not the spear that spHt the foe- men's mail, But praise the brain whence came the skill that aimed it. Dante shakes hands at the Right with La- TiNi, CiNO, DiNO and Others, then takes out his note-book and begins to ztrite, and, after a while, to talk with Cavalcanti. Exeunt — Right — Latini, Cinq and Dino. SiMONi (to DoNATi, at extreme Left, and refer- ring to Dante's words). Well said ! DoNATi. It was. That soft thing termed a sponge Will always hug you, when in touch with it. But no one finds the least impression left When you are not in touch with it. Simone. I see. You think then that he fears you in your pres- ence. DoNATi. I think he may not fear me in my ab- sence. Simone. You doubt him? DoNATi. When I choose a fol- lower, My standard must be followed, — not his own. DANTE. 43 He lets his own thought lead him ; and you know Men led b^; thought are often led to doubt. SiMONE. One thinking follower might make men believe Your other followers were controlled by thought. Don ATI (laughingly). You think a thug could ever pose as thinker ? Enter — Left — Gemma and Bacchina and an- other Woman. Gemma (to Donati, and loo'king tozvard Dante). And is it true he led the charge? Donati. They say so. A brave man, Gemma! but, of course, you know it; Has dared to press a suit with you, I hear. (Gemma nods,) A hero, yes ! You might not go amiss — I mean remain a Miss — had he his way. (Gemma turns toward Dante. Donati contin- ues to SiMONE.) H made a member of our family, He might prove ours in all things. Few have brains 44 DANTE. Too cool and clear to feel a rise in blood And not be fevered and confused by it. No poison paralyzes thought like pride ; No pride as poisonous as family pride. Bacchina {to Gemma, and looking toward Dante). Oh, one could give a world of common men For just an armful of a man like that ! Other Woman. He must have trained his eyes when he was flying. They look as deep down through one as an eagle's, Ay, not as if belonging to the senses But to the soul ! Gemma. You think so? Other Woman. Think so? — Yes. How broad his chest is ! — Look ! — and how it heaves ! Hard work, I think, but thrilling work as well, To keep inside of it a spirit grand As his! Bacchina. Note you his graceful limbs, and how He poises at the waist, as if about To leap to some fair realm of beauty which His flesh enrobes but cannot realize! DANTE. 45 Cavalcaxti {to Dante at the extreme Right), One whose position lifts him where the crowd Look up to him should never use the station To drag* up low down brutes like this Donati. Dante, I only spoke the truth. Cavalcanti. Cook soup for swine! They leave you, if they fail to find it sv/ill ; Or else, in greed to gtt it, trip and tramp you. They harm you for your help; yet still stay swine. Dante. But surely, I meant right. Cavalcanti. Perhaps you did ; But when we find men claiming they meant right, We find most others claiming they went wrong. Dante. You doubt me ? Cavalcanti. It were hard not doubting one Who turns against his own. Dante. You mean? Cavalcanti. I mean Exactly what I say. A little black, If mixed with white, may soil the white as much As all black would. Dante. Yourself had been all black, And lost for Florence all its liberty, 46 DANTE. Had I myself not urged you to the fight. 'Tis only justice, gratitude, to own it. Cavalcanti. Unjust, ungrateful, am I? — What are you To fling these taunts at one who merely seeks To snatch you from the foils of your own folly. The world you think in is a world of fancy. The w^orld all live in is a world of fact. Exit — Right — Cavalcanti. (Dante looks after him, then takes out his note- book and seats himself on the bench.) DoNATi {to SiMONE^ and looking toward Dante and Cavalcanti). They miust have quarreled. SiMONE. Yes, it looks like that. DoNATi. It does ; and, when our enemies fall out, 'Tis time that we ourselves fall in. For then They fight for their own cause with half their force, And with the other half they fight for us. SiMONE. I judge 'twas Cavalcanti's jealousy That caused the jar. DoNATi. And their twin poet-natures. When minds are filled so full of light conceits, Clipped oflf like chippings from substantial concepts, DANTE. 47 They store fit kindling-wood, when comes a friction, To burst in flame. You know I always hold A dreaming man is not a dangerous foe ; For dreams portend their opposites. Just when He wings his whims to heaven, he wakes in hell. Ay, ay, a foe deficient in his brain .^ Is quicker vanquished than if so in body; * For he whose reason fails him in the fray Fights like a knight unbuckling his own mail. Exeunt — Left — Donati and Simone. (Gemma and Bacchina zvho have been at the Left approach Dante. ) Bacchina (to Dante). You know how all are talking of you? Oh, Your ears must flame! Dante (rising and putting his note-book in his pocket). If flaming high enough, I might then look like Moses. Bacchina. But suppose They talked against you? Dante. I would act like him. Bacchina. Be meek? Dante. Oh, yes ; as meek as he was when He took down Aaron's calf. * 48 DANTE. Bacchina. Whose calf is here? Dante. Why theirs who rather would look back to Egypt Than forward to a promised land. Gemma. You mean The poet's land? Dante. It might mean that to you. Bacchina. Why not? — The poet's is the prom- ised land, — Is always promised, but it never comes. Gemma. Some think that he would fly to it. Dante. Why not? Som.e minds would w^alk and some would fly. You fear That those who fly all fail to leave a foot- print ? Gemma. You seem despondent. You have quar- reled — eh ? — With Cavalcanti? Dante. We exchanged some words. Bacchina. And flung them hard to make them hurt the thing They hit, not so? — They made your faces red. Dante. The day is warm — and pleasant. Bacchina laughs and turns away. Exit — Ri^ht — Bacchina and Other Woman. DANTE, 49 Gemma. Should be; yes — For one like you, whom it has proved a hero. Dante. A hero? Gemma. That is what the whole town says. Dante. I did but do my duty. Gemma. That is what But very few do. It gave you your chance. Dante. So pigmies, did one plod with them, might give A little common man a chance of greatness. Gemma. Of course. Dante. Well, I would rather work with giants. Gemma. Why? Dante. They could lift me up above myself. Gemma. But you — you do not need that. Dante. Not?— Not I?— When I am lingering here to learn from you? Gemma. My uncle and the people — you have heard them — Would all give you an uplift. Dante. When the heart Sinks deep as mine, touch deft enough to reach it Requires a single hand, not many. 50 DANTE. Gemma. You Intend to flatter? Dante. Do I ? Gemma. You appear To question me. Dante. One never questions — does he? — A thing in which he takes no interest? Enter — Left — Cavalcanti and Beatrice, and stand watching them. Gemma. I interest you then? Dante. Yes, all things do. Gemma. That holds no flattery. Dante. What? — to treat a maid As if confounding her with all things? Gemma {looking toward the Right), There My uncle comes. I think would speak to you. Exeunt — Right — Dante and Gemma. Beatrice {looking after them). He seems atten- tive to her. Cavalcanti. Yes, and goes To meet Donati. Beatrice. Is it she, or he, That draws him toward the Blacks? Cavalcanti. No fish are drawn Except by hooks first baited to their taste. DANTE. Sr Beatrice. He has a taste then for your enemies? Cavalcanti. I do not know. Beatrice. You doubt him? Cavalcanti. No; I mourn him. Beatrice. You may be right. Tis hard to make him out. Cavalcanti. And harder, if you make him out, to say it. At times, us men who think we understand him He welcomes but Hke strangers pushing in The front door of one's house before they knock. Beatrice. His poems plead with me, his Hps with her. His brain seems Hke a bat's at blazing noon That works but to work out some inward whim And aims at nothing.^^ Cavalcanti. Nay; it aims at all things. Perhaps it might be wise to let him know Your judgment of him. Beatrice. How could that be done ? Cavalcanti. If when one come to pluck a rose, he finds It grows on thorns, he may become more cautious. 52 DANTE. Beatrice. Would that be friendly? Cavalcanti. Are our foremost friends The ones who first forget our faults, or fail Of effort to correct them ? Beatrice. Did we turn Our preferences to pedagogues, and school The souls that came to us for sympathy, Though best of friends, we might seem worst of foes. Enter — Right — Dante follozved by Cino. Cavalcanti. We quarreled lately. Notice me ignore him. (Cavalcanti and Beatrice pass Dante without boziring to him. Dante sits in distress on the bench, and takes out his note-book,^^) Exeunt — Right — Cavalcanti and Beatrice. CiNO {to Dante). What is it? Dante. Why, you saw ! They were my friends. Oh what a world is this for souls to live in ! — For spirits whose one deepest wish it is To think at one with others like themselves. And all together think one thought of God ! DANTE. 53 But here one knows no wishes not imprisoned Where all the implements to set him free Are but these clumsy tools of breath and brawn. CiNO. Some understand us. Dante. You, perhaps, not me! — My soul is but an alien on the earth, And alien most to this brute frame that holds, Nor lets me say or do the thing I would. So what I like not, it attracts to me; And what I like and love, it drives away. CiNO. This on the day the people cheered you so ? Dante. You think I craved their cheering? No, not that. I only want the best I have within To be made better and believed, and then Received by those about me. CiNO. They all know How you have fought for Florence. Dante. Do they know How I would have them live, so none should need To fight for her ? Think you 'tis by the sword That one can set a soul, while living, free? Ay, not by deeds but dreaming does the spirit. Itself uplifted, lift up those about it. 54 DAXTE. CiNO. So you remain a poet! Dante. I remain What heaven has made me. CiNO. Does it come from heaven ? Dante. It comes from all in life that is worth living. Enter — Left — Two Messengers from the Blacks. Enter — Right — A Messenger from the Whites. Messenger from Blacks (to Dante, who rises). Donati and the leaders of the Blacks Will dine to-night at Carpi's. They await you. Messenger from Whites (to Dante). And Cavalcanti and the Whites will dine At Rondinelli's. They await you, too. Messenger from Blacks. Our invitation was the first. Messenger from Whites. And mine The best. Messenger from Blacks (drawing sword). Then prove it. (The other Messenger from Blacks also draws his sword). Messenger from Whites (drawing szvord). You are two to one ; And that is one too many. DANTB. 55 Dante (drazmng his szvord to separate them). Here, fight fair ! Messenger from Blacks. You think your own fair play — against my side And back? Dante. I would not harm you. I would keep You both from harming one another. Messenger from Blacks. Oh ! Enter — Right — Cavalcante and Beatrice. (Dante does not notice them,) Dante {to Messengers). No flattery for your- selves ! In times like these A man would kick apart the meanest curs That snarled and snapped each other for the bone Beside the city gate, and so save all That all might still keep watch for Florence. Messenger from Blacks. Ah, You think when you have cursed us all as curs, That this will keep the city's peace? Messenger from Whites. Well, well ; No man that calls me cur but I call down. Cavalcanti What is it? Wait here. (Motions to Messenger of Whites zi^ho falls back,) 56 DANTE. Beatrice. I have sometimes heard^*^ That whom the gods destroy they first make mad. What pity it would be, did Florence fall, Because of one defender less to save her! When foes assail our heights they all should look To find us marshalled here in unity ; And all our differences hid as deep As are the lowest things the valley shadows. Messenger from Whites. You may be right. Messenger from Blacks {looking toward Beatrice). Some things that may go wrong Are righted by the touch of circumstance. Cavalcanti. All things are righted by the touch of reason. Without it men are but base tools of passion And all their world here, the abode of brutes. Dante {to Messengers). Your pardon, gentle- men; but I must dine In my own home to-night. I thank you much. Exeunt — Left — Cavalcanti, Beatrice and Mes- sengers FROM Blacks.. Exit — Right — Messenger from Whites. DANTE. 57 Dante {to Cino, taking out his note-book, and looking toward Beatrice). Do your wrists, ankles, thighs, and arms, all ache? CiNO. All ache? Dante. Yes, ache. CiNO. How so? Dante. They ache, I say ! At times with too much joy, as if a-tremble To fly above, yet bound by brawn below ; Or when you bow, insulted, slighted, sad. They do not ache then, either? CiNO. No, not mine. Dante. You never feel your soul here in your nerves ? CiNO. No, no. Dante. My nerves are w^eaker, then, than yours. CiNO. Your soul may then be stronger. Dante. Say not that. CiNO. And better! Dante, Nay; no friendship that is true Was ever caught or kept by flattery. No; I am weaker, may be worse. CiNO. Take care ! The modest may be more unjust to self Than are the egotistic to their fellows. 58 DANTE. Dante. If just or not just to myself, who knows it? Why even you, you do not feel as I do. Why should a soul, whose one wish is to be Akin with others — understood, — be made So different? CiNO {pointing to Dante's note-hook). My Dante, all the thoughts That flood the world spring up from single souls ; And some of these are blest by being forced To spend their lives interpreting themselves. Dante (putting his note-book in his pocket), I thank you ; but I fear that any soul That needs to be interpreted, before It gains the common love of common men — For this alone is all for which I long — Dwells in the doom of some uncommon curse. CiNO. Do not think that. Dante. And wherefore should I not? Here stood two parties. Each I strove to serve. With what result? — a brawl befitting wolves. Till I, dishonored bone of their contention, Am snarled aside. CiNO. An hour ago, they praised you. DANTE. 59 Dante. What care I for the masses' praise or blame. But larger atoms of earth^s common dust, If whirled against one or away from one, They cannot fill or empty thus the sphere Where dwells the spirit. Let them come or go. My soul desires not many things but much. Ah yes, and too much, too much, as it seems! Enter — Right — Gemma and Other Women. CiNO {looking toward them). Is that what you desire ? Dante. You said just now The world could not interpret my desire. There is but one — and all things work to make My presence to that one misrepresent me. Gemma {approaching zmth a garland in her hand^ and addressing Dante). Yes, it is brought for you. Dante. For me? Gemma. For you. The knight whose hard strife keeps our soil our own, As much as gardeners who keep it growing. Deserves the garland that is got from it. Enter — Left — Beatrice and Cavalcanti^ un- seen by Dante. 6o DANTE. Dante {to Gemma and the Women, as he takes the garland). I thank you. Fitting, too, it is that these Th^t represent the beautiful in nature Should represent it, too, in human form. What man could fail to do his best to gain The city's best in symbol and in substance! {Bowing to Gemma, then looking up and seeing Beatrice, he suddenly sits on the bench^Y^ CiNO {bending over him). What is it? Dante. Nothing. CiNO {to the Others). Nothing, so he says. Perhaps the battle had exhausted him. Curtain. DANTE. 6l ACT THIRD. Scene: A Room in the House of Dante. Against the back wall, nearest the Right En- trance, is a table, on two sides of which are chairs. Other chairs and a sofa are in the Room. Entrances by Doors at Right and Left. The windows are closed and the light not bright. The Curtain rising discloses Dante and CiNO sitting at the table. Dante is listlessly look- ing away from a manuscript in front of him- self; and CiNO is diligently examining another, Cino (looking toward Dante). Why. Dante, you have lost your interest? — Dante. I have, CiNO. Your verse there is not new, of course. I got it from you months ago ;* but yet True poems hold the truth as gems the light, When rightly polished drawing to their depth All that is luminous in earth or heaven ; And thence reflect it not alone but flash it ; And not till all light go, can lose their bril- liance. 62 DANTE. Dante. You give the reason, All my light is gone. You still write poetry? CiKO. Why, yes, and so Still need your criticism; ay, just now Have found a new task baffling me. Dante. In what? CiNO. A sister of a friend of mine has died, — A maiden of such beauty, grace and love. It were impossible to think her dead, And not be drawn toward beauty, grace and love In their diviner aspects. Dante. You would write Of her? CiNO. So had I thought; but what and how? — Perhaps you might suggest it.^^ Dante. Cino, Cino, I understand you. There are souls on earth With senses all so fine and penetrant That no thoughts in a kindred soul can lie So deeply hidden that they stand not naked. Not her you mean ; not you it is need help. You mean my own lost love. You mean myself. You think that hearts too heavy weighed with grief DANTE. 63 * May empty through their words as well as tears. I thank you, Cino. Let my tears flow first. Our sorrows are half lifted when the souls Of our true friends have come to bear them with us. Last night when darkness fell and veiled my face-^ From those I surely thought it else had frighted, I walked the streets and watched the city dream. In lanes, in inns, in churches, and in homes Each face I gazed at loomed as grim with shadows As those that chilled mine own. This funeral pall Seemed hung above me wide and high as heaven, And grimdy draggled as a tear-soaked fringe, To drips its black between my soul and all things. CiNO. Think not she lies beneath it. Nay, she lives ; And lives where all may look for inspiration. Dante. The one sure proof of inspiration is That it inspires. I feel no inspiration. 64 DANTE, CiNO. The air of heaven to-day is full of sun- shine. Shut in here do you feel it ? No ; none do But those who journey forth to do life's work. Their lot were yours, were you to follow them. Knocking at the Left Entrance. Dante and Cino both rise. Enter — Left — Attendant. Dante. Excuse me, Cino. I must calm myself — Will soon return. A man should not look grieved To greet a friendly visitor. Exit — Right — Dante. The Attendant opens the door at the Left En- trance. Enter — Left — Cavalcanti. Cino {to Cavalcanti). Good day. Exit — Left — Attendant. Cavalcanti. I have not seen him lately — never since The death of Beatrice — Cino. That seemed to quench All ardor in him for all work. Cavalcanti. I hope But temporarily. A mind like his Glows like a spark upon a wintry hearth, — The brightest promise that the times afford. DANTE. 6g CiNO. Vitality as buoyant as his own Can hardly sink. Yet, whelmed in floods of grief, All men at times have need of helping hands. Cavalcanti. The hand that helps another most is his Whose own hand too would find help. CiNO. Let him know The help that Florence needs. Cavalcanti. The loss he feels Is like the love it followed, less derived From outward traits discovered in another, Than inward temperament revealed in self. Can any outward substitute replace That which was all within ? — But we can try it. CiNO. Fie comes, I see. Enter — Right — Dante. He bozvs to Cavalcanti. Cavalcanti. So sorry for you, friend. Dante. I find me in life's path, a traveler Whom accident has maimed, and would be left To die, did friends not come to rescue him. Cavalcanti. Ay, but they do come ! Dante. • Yes, I thank you, yes ; And yet, what can thev do for one? 66 DANTE. CiNO. Perhaps Their outstretched hands may show that love is hidden Behind the mystery that seems to cloak it. Dante. I thank you, Cino. CiNO. Dante, I believe, Though hard the drill that trains the soul to read it, That every message of the stars is written In letters one can learn to spell on earth. Dante. Oh, I can do but little now with letters ! Cavalcanti. It seems thus to you. Dante. Seems thus, Cavalcanti ? — And what is life except the thing that seems? There was a time this round horizon rested About my spirit, as about my finger This ring of gold ; and in it gleamed a gem That centered all heaven's light, and flashed it forth. That gem it lost, and all the light is lost. Cavalcanti. I hope not, Dante. Florence yet is left. Dante. Alas for Florence ! Cavalcanti. There are those who claim Her destined to receive the help of Rome ? DANTE. 6j7 Dante. How so? Cavalcanti. What we are asking. No one knows. CiNO. A mystery yet! The church has not re- vealed it. Cavalcanti. Too much a mystery! When men distrust Their own thought or their thought's authority So they disguise it all in robes of office, Which only men are bid to honor, then I fear they hide what no man ought to honor. CiNO. You are a skeptic, Cavalcanti.^ Cavalcanti. Yes ; As long as one thing in the world is wrong, Some skeptic should be here to think it so. Dante. Has no one tried to solve the mystery ? Cavalcanti. To question mysteries guarded by the church Does not provoke safe answers in our time. Dante. Can no one solve it but the church? Cavalcanti. I fear Donati could ; and therefore say I fear. Enter — Left — Attendant with a card, Dante {taking the card and reading it). Why, even now, Donati visits me. Will you excuse me ? 68 DANTE, Cavalcanti. Ay, but may the comer Be levied to bear tribute to our quest. Dante. Will see you later. Cavalcanti. Yes, Farewell. CiNO. Farewell. Exeunt — Right — Cavalcanti and Cino. The Attendant opens the door at the Left. Enter — Left — Donati, Simone^ a Priest^ Gem- ma, and an Elderly Chaperon. Exit — L eft — Atte n d a n t. Don ATI {to Dante). When passing, though by accident, The loyal pause to honor royalty. So we to honor one whom we esteem. Dante. I thank you. You are welcome. {All exchange greetings.) Will you sit? {They bow, but do not sit.) Don ATI {to Dante). We have not met you lately. Dante. No. Priest. You think. You poets, you are called to testify To what incites you from within, and so The less you take from outside life the better? Dante. At times, if aimed for better poetry. DAKTR. 69 Priest. Oh, say not that ! ^ Dante. Why not? Priest. If it would grow, A nature young as yours has need of health. The spirit's health is hope. Without it none Attain full manhood. Life is like a day. It wakes to longer work and larger wage, The brighter its beginning. Dante. Yes, I fear so. Priest. You fear so, eh? — and yet you do not fear Insulting nature when it comes to bless you {Pointing to the closed shutters) With windows barred like this, as if the day Had brought not light but lances. Dante. Think I need it? DoNATi. At least, enough light from the outer world To see what now has come to Florence. Dante. What? DoNATi. The Holy Father's promise and protec- tion Against the Emperor. Dante. Is it true? DONATI. It is. 70 DANTIL Priest. And that would bring the whole our city needs, — Not strength so much to fight the force without But spirit to unite the force within. Life grows here like a tree with outer branches Too broad for any handling, but with trunk So small and slender that a single hand Can fix its destiny for life or death. The trunk of all that lives is in the spirit. But find the hand that can be laid on that, You find what brings to all things bloom or blight. Dante. You mean the Holy Father's? Priest. I mean his. With outer facts we merely fashion faction, In inner feeling we find fellowship. DoNATi. He speaks the truth. Dante. Ay, what a noon were that ! There were no shade beside a thing on earth, If heaven's one sun were central over all. You think it could be done? — could end our factions ? DoNATi. Why could it not? — not many men would band Against the Holy Father. Dante. And were vou — DANTE. 71 Were you the source whence came this consum- mation ? DoNATi. So men have said. Dante. And will you pardon me? — In thought, if not in word, my lack of knowl- edge Had lacked the honor due you. DoNATi. You are frank. Priest. A mind with thought forever in the clouds May be excused for stumbling, now and then. At what, if seen through, might appear mere shadow. Gemma. One may excuse a bird, if, when it flies, It fails in seeing everything on earth.^* Dante. I beg your pardon, lady — for I fear To court with too much courtesy the truth That but to be truth bids us oft be curt — Some poet's eyes are keen as are their fellows ! In searching through the pathways of the past. What guide men better in their task than poems ? SiMONE. But how about the future? Dante. 'Tis in them One reads the most of that which is to come. SiMONE. And in the present, too? 72 DANTE. Dante. In it, not that Which is but should be, is the poet's theme, And he who thinks it thinks the thought of God. DoNATi. Come, come, we need not quarrel. Not how men Can fight the air with words, but how their frames Can back their words with blows that free their air Of all that blocks right doing, this is that By which a man reveals his worth in life. And you will join with us, and with the church? Dante. You may depend upon me. DoNATi. That I shall. {aside to Simone.) Now we shall have but half the Whites against us. {to Dante). I must be going to my offices. {to Gemma). You said, I think, that you go elsewhere ? Gemma. Yes. Don ATI {to Dante). Good morning. Senior. Dante {bidding Good-bye to Donati, Simone and Others). Thank you for your visit. DANTE. 73 Exeunt — Left — Donati^ Simone, Priest and Attendants. {to Gemma). They seemed in haste. Gemma. Are bent on business. Dante. You know, I sometimes think that busi- ness Is like a cyclone, fills our ways with dust And bustle ; yet men say it comes to clear them And bring us rest and comfort. Humph ! — farewell. Gemma. So kind in you to help my uncle !-^ Dante. No ; My heart belongs to Florence ; only beats That she may live her life ; and he was kind In helping her ; and I have gratitude. Ay, he was right. For us one hope remains, — The church. We both look forward to the church, And, joined by it, our union will be perfect. Enter — Right — Cavalcanti and Attendants. They overhear the last sentence. Exeunt — Left — Gemma and Chaperon. Dante {turning to Cavalcanti). Ah, back again? Cavalcanti. We are. 74 DANTE. Dante. Have news? Cavalcanti. We had. — Had learned a good deal since, just now, we left you. Dante. What was it? Cavalcanti. Nay, like wise men, we are wary Of friends that follow those with hostile colors. Dante. I do not see — Cavalcanti. We saw and heard and know. Dante. Oh that was nothing! Cavalcanti. Not for you, perhaps. But very much for us. Dante. Let me explain. Cavalcanti. You need not; nor excuse it. Temperament And taste, like flower and fragrance, go to- gether. What God hath joined let man not put asunder. Dante. But you Cavalcanti. Have found before, that family reasons, At times, turn white to black. Dante. Are no such reasons. Cavalcanti. Mere words are wind ; not all their storm or stress DANTE. 75 Can pack the air so thought cannot see through it. Dante. You mean? Cavalcanti. We overhead Dante. And think — Cavalcanti. And know. Dante. To know one needs to learn. How did you learn? — What steps were those that led up to your knowledge ? Cavalcanti. When mortals climb a path to truth unseen, They feel their way along the links of logic. Dante. Aha ! Cavalcanti. The notes just heard from you but echo The strains that all have heard you pipe for months. Dante. Why then have I myself not heard the echoes ? Cavalcanti. I take you, Dante, for a man of honor.^^ And after prying, pulling, plucking, plying. With such a maiden's heart, you would not fling The soiled thing back to her, face us and claim You had been empty handed ?^^ 76 DANTE. Dante. Cavalcanti ! — And you, of all men, knew the thing I meant! Cavalcanti. The thing you said ! — To God with what you meant. — One who has not his confidence must guess it. •Dante. How did my spirit trip to fall so far In your esteem? Cavalcanti. We mortals are compounded Of sense below, and spirit resting on it. If sense give way, no wonder spirit falls. Dante. You deem me treacherous to the one above That so I love ; and treacherous too to one^^ That I do not love ? — By your hope of heaven, In your deep heart, can you believe this of me ? Cavalcanti. Why, think you, some men call me skeptical ? — Because I say what I believe, not so? Dante. But do you think? — Cavalcanti. What else, pray, could one think? — You just took council with Donati. Dante. There ! — Again your jealousy! He called on me, Not I on him. Cavalcanti. You know his object? DANTE. 77 Dante. Yes — To end our factions for us here in Florence, — To place above us all the sovereignty Which only brings good will and peace on earth. Cavalcanti. And you have pledged yourself and followers To join Donati in enthroning him? Dante. I have. Cavalcanti. You fool. Dante. Take care. Cavalcanti. I say but truth. A man who fails to judge the character Of what is promised by the character Of him who promises, reveals no mind ; For mind is what connects effect and cause. You knew the baseness of Donati, yet Guessed not the baseness that was in his plan. Henceforward, though you know a bush be poison, Bid men come pluck and gorge its pretty ber- ries ; And, if all die, expect no blame for it — You have but carried out the kind of thought With which heaven filled the kind of mind like yours. Surrender, would you, to the Holy Father P^^ 78 DANTE. You know what that means? — All his troops come armed. Their leader is the French prince, Charles of Valois. The Emperor, I tell you, is a very god Beside a devil of a man like Charles, — A treacherous, truthless, crafty, cruel brute ; Who too comes pledged to slaughter or to banish Each man of us not in Donati's faction. Dante. Can this be true? Cavalcanti. It is. May heaven defend us! The pull that lifts one by a rotting rope Is far less dangerous than the help that comes From foolish friends. Enter ^ suddenly — Left — Donati, Simone, Priest and Attendants. DoNATi {noticing Cavalcanti and Attend- ants). Aha ! They would dissuade you ? Dante. There seems a difference of opinion here. DoNATi. I have your promise. Cavalcanti. And I fear a traitor. Don ATI {to Dante). And he has given you Droof ? DANTE. 79 Cavalcanti {to DoNATi). What need of proof? We best can judge of some things by their source, — Of days by daylight, and of good by goodness. Heaven sends the one, and only heavenly traits Can bring the other. DoNATi {to Cavalcanti). Yours are heavenly traits ? — He made a promise. Novv' you bid him break it? Cavalcanti. A promise made to suit a lie but robes Untruth which truth should strip and so show naked. DoNATi. Here stand my mxcn ; and if his tongue prove false, {pointing toward Dante.) Their blades know how to cut it loose from him. Cavalcanti. And here stand mine; and if he prove a traitor, Their blades know how to cut him loose froiTh us. Don ATI {to Dante). Now choose between us„ if you dare. Cavalcanti. Ay,, choose I 8o DANTE. Dante. Have you considered that to which you dare me? To start right here a civil war in Florence? Kill off our bravest citizens, and open The doors of half our homes to lust and mur- der? And do you think that I could dare do that ? You bid me choose between 3^ou. You forget There is another power upon the earth Far higher, stronger, than can be your own. (placing his hand on the Priest) I hide beneath the shelter of the church. I vow a pilgrimage to R.ome ; and thus (turning to Donati) Fulfill my promise, (turning to Cavalcanti) and find out the truth From him who knows it best, — the Holy Father.27 Curtain. DANTE. 8l ACT FOURTH. Scene : A Monk's Cell, dimly lighted by a single lamp connected by a door with a church, from zvhich the sound of musical instruments and of singing can be heard. The cell is plainly fur- nished with three or four chairs or benches. Tn the Right rear is an alcove in front of which 'hangs a Curtain, This can be opened reveal- ing a space about the size of a window, through which, at times indicated in the text, a head and bust can be seen. Entrances, Right and Left, the latter into the church. Enter — LefP — Dante and Cino, shutting the door and making the cell dark. Dante. My journey wrought no good. The holy father Kept me a prisoner there for months, you know,^^ For fear my presence here should thwart his purpose ; — Was courteous, of course ; but Cavalcanti Was more than half-way warranted, I fear. In church or state, the official seems the same: 82 DANTE. A palm in front to beg one for a bribe, A fist behind with which to threaten him. CiNO. Yet yoii yourself are prior of the city? Dante. And so have learned that when men give us votes, They lie in v/ait to get their gifts returned, — To vv'rest from us an undeserved reward, Or brand us ingrates whom all friends desert. CiNO. Oh, say not all ! Dante. No, Cino, no ; not all.^^ Forgive me, Cino. Since we two were boys, The only love I felt would be returned, V/as wdiat I gave to you. Cino. And yet they say The love of woman Dante. Could that satisfy And thrill with aught so true, unselfish, pure ? — I worship boyhood, thinking what we were. Cino. But what of Rome? Dante. If leading toward the wrong. Ought those who seek the right to follow her? Cino. Good children follow. Dante. Parents gone insane. Or but awry, are saved by opposition. Love uniformed and forced in hatred's press- gang DANTE. 83 Is only served by those who war againsc it. Our thoughts of good should learn to separate The heavenly dove from its foul earthly nest. To hold the latter's dead impurity At one with spotless life that wings on high, Is often to deserve — I will not judge them. I would I could forget them. Do you know Some men there are have murder in their hearts Through all their lives; and if they murder not CiNO. They may be rightly numbered with the saints. Not what our lower nature makes us feel, But what our higher nature lets us do, Determines what we are. Dante. I hope so, friend. At times my soul appears a stormy sea. All rage below and rain above ; and then It seems the tears I shed have drained me dry. And left a void too deep for faith in God Or man to fill. CiNO. For that I brought you here. Dante. And kindly meant, but yet we mortals find That few things, when we turn them inside out. Are proved to be the miracles we thought them. 84 DAXTE. CiNO. But you may see here for yourself. Dante. Oh no ! The time to see the feathers on a wing Is not the while it flies ; no, no ; and not While playing sleight of hand to see the fin- gers. CiNO. But you can use your judgment. Dante. No, again ! — No man who is no expert risks a judgment On questions experts only can decide, Without revealing his own lack of judgment. CiNO. At least, your mind is open. Dante. Yet to what ? — All brains with limits are what polyps own You think? — Ours too fit forms whose grasp can never Outreach the touch of short tentaculae. Your monk has credit here?^^ CiNO. With some he has. They think that through him they have seen the virgin. Dante. Humph ! CiNO. He is coming. Enter — Right — Monk. (to Monk). I have brought with me The Senior — He is prior of the city. DANTE. 85 Monk. You do me honor. CiNO. Would consult with you About the city's welfare. Monk. I know not What may be granted. Sometimes at this hour, The while one hears the music in the church, I sink unconscious. Then, so am I told, Some higher power proclaims its presence through me. Music is heard from the church zvith the follow- ing words: The sky contains full half I see. "^ In soil below I live, I love. High in the half that looms above, Oh, is there nothing there for me? During the music, the Monk points to the curtain, Cino and Dante draw it aside, and examine the zvalls and floors behind and beneath; then the Monk goes into the alcove and draws the curtain behind him. The words of the song are followed by a soft instrumental interlude, Dante. Seems honest. Cino. I have thought so. Dante. Could one solve All motives and all means of mystery, There were no sphere for faith. 86 DANTE. CiNO. Yes ; sit you here. CiNO and Dante take seats at the Left, fac- ing the Curtain. Throughout the seance, Dante, now and then, writes in his note- hook. Dante. And now you think the prior of the city May meet an actual holy father, eh? After the instrumental interlude the following is sung: The sky's bright sun and stars I see. The soil below is guised in green. In heaven whose orbs are robed in sheen, Oh, is there nothing there for me? These words are followed by a soft instru- mental interlude. The curtain begins to -move from side to side. Then it opens and a Woman's form robed in a white gown appears. CiNO. That seems a woman. Dante. But the Monk was beardless. CiNO. Yet note how slim she is. Dante. She may be, yes. Figure. Good evening, friends. Dante. A very good falsetto ! The figure after making gestures disappears. CiNO. Well done, not so? DANTE. 87 Dante. Too well! Cinq. Could you explain it? Dante. Why no; not wholly. What of that? At times, That facts are facts is plain without explain- ing. To know things grow, we need not know their methods. To think things handiwork, we need not see The hand that does the work. What was she, think you? — And what her object? CiNO. Was a guide preparing The way for more. Dante. Conducting spirit, eh? After the instrumental interlude the following is sung : In thoughts within, sweet rest I see. In things without, but dust and toil. Where hang no veils of flesh and soil, Oh, is there nothing there for me? These words are followed by a soft instru- mental interlude. The Curtain opens, and a Man's Figure clothed in white appears, CiNO. Watch that now. Dante. Has a beard, and well put on. 88 DASTE. Figure. The world keeps whirling on from day to night. None always dwell where ahvays glows the light. When darkness conies, and doubt assails the mind, Then light and faith come following swift be- hind. The iigiire disappears, Dante. Is optimistic. Yet the merest child Could recognize the monk there by his voice. And what was he? CiNO. A guide. Dante. Another, eh? — And learned his lesson well. But when will those That need the guiding come ? CiNO. Must wait and watch. After the instrumental interlude the following is sung: In faith and hope and love I see Why earth sent home the Christ that came. When I go home, and own the same, Oh, is there nothing there for me? These words are followed by a soft instru- mental interlude. The curtain opens and a Figure of Beatrice clothed in white ap- pears. DANTE. 89 CiNO. Look there. I think your name was called too. Dante. Yes. — And shall I answer? CiNO. I would— go and see it. Dante {rising and approaching the curtain). Why, why, — what is it? — Cino, can you help me? Come here, please, come. CiNO. Why, that is Beatrice.'^^ Dante. You see her? CiNO. Yes. Dante. And it is not my fancy? CiNO. Nay, question not yourself, but her — less loud !— She else may disappear. Dante {to the Figure). You come to me? Figure. And do you know me then ? Dante. Are Beatrice? — You wear her form. — What would you have me do? — Figure. Do what you dreamt last night, and now design. Dante. And then, what then? Figure {disappearing). Then — we shall meet again. 90 DANTE. Dante. Wait, wait! (to Cino) Why, call her back! Cino. No, not to-day. You spoke too loud. Hear that? — The monk is waking. Dante. Why I — I had no chance to test its truth. Cino. And yet you saw her. Dante. Yes. Cino. And so did I. Dante. And if I come again here, can I see her? Enter — from behind the Curtain — the Monk. Dante continnes, addressing the Monk. What I have seen now, can I see again? Monk. They tell me so. And did you get the thought To guide you in the conduct of the city? Dante. The conduct of? — Oh yes, you thought of that ! {to Cino). But as I sat here, I had not that thought. But one sweet thought of her, and how to reach her; And what it was that filled the space between us ; And how I could describe it ! Did you hear The word she spake. She bade me tell my dream DANTE. 91 Of moving toward and meeting her. — But how Could she have known it ! Could I but believe She was a spirit sent here to inspire me ! {to Monk). And you will let me come again, and probe The truth of this ? Monk. I will ; yet now it seems That you believe it. Dante. \Vith my heart I do. Monk. And sometimes hearts judge better than do heads. CiNO. Ay, sometimes things may be so beautiful, And fill the spirit with such holy thrills, To doubt them were akin to doubting God, When face to face with his own blazing pres- ence. Monk. At least, all beauty changes what it brightens. A flower that blooms may merely fall to soil, But, when it does, the soil to which it falls Is never quite the same it was before. Dante. Yet mind has methods that must be fulfilled. You say that I may come again. I thank you. {to CiNO). To save mine honor that men else had doubted. ^« ^5 31 I had to marry; yet I feared I wronged 92 DANTE. The memory of this other. Now, if true— - Oh Cino, think ! — She may forgive and guide me! Enter — Left — Attendant and Gemma. They open the door and leave it open, letting iv. much more light. Sh — sh — my wife. {gesturing and speaking to both Cino and the Monk). No word of this to her! Gemma {bowing to others and speaking to Dante). I came here to attend the funeral — ^^ Seniora Frescobaldi. Then I learned That you had crossed the cloister. You should know The threatened danger. Whites and Blacks have come In crowds and companies, all frowns and threats, Dante. They surely have not brought their weapons ? Gemma. Yes. Dante. Oh swine! — to use the very house of God As if a sty to glut their groveling hate ! — We should prevent this. DANTE. 93 MOxXK. I will keep them parted. (Holding up his cross). Against the cross they will not dare to fight. Exit — Left — Monk. Dante. The city-guards should be informed at once. Here, take you this for me. (IVriting on a paper, and handing it to Attend- ant.) Exit — Right — Attendant. (A noise of conflict.) CiNO. Already fighting? He moves tozmrd the door at the Left, Enter — Left — The Monk, evidently slain, borne by Attendants. Dante (to Cino, as he himself kneels down to examine the Monk on the floor). Killed him? killed him? — and I can learn no more ? — The gates of heaven that he could set ajar, And he alone, must now be closed again? Enter — Left — Cavalcanti and Donati, both respectively followed by Whites and Blacks, Dante rises and continues to them). Oh vou accursed heathen! worse than those 94 DANTE. Who igncrantly crucified the Lord! You knew his messenger, yet murdered him. Attendant of Cavalcanti. It was an accident. Dante. An accident! — Like that which follows from the rock that falls Where men who lie in wait have loosened it. An accident — oh yes ! — that plots to arm The palsied, shaking, thought-void clutch of rage And let it loose to raise a hellish storm Just where the good have come for heavenly calm! The lightning of your flashing blades fell not Ey accident. Attendant of Cavalcanti. It was Donati's men. That started it. Attendant of Donati. Nay, Cavalcanti's. Dante. Nay, But both ; and all whose orders brought these arms. When mortals are our hosts, the meanest man Will not insult them in their homes, but you Come here to God's house with intent to break His law of love, and kill his ministers. Why, one might almost visit hell today In safety, — so deserted by the fiends DANTE. 95 Called out to take possession here of you ! (Some drazv swords and threaten him.) You threaten me? — Why not? — Just now in there {pointing toward the Left) Were threatening God ! — And do I fear you ? —No; I have no need. The men who dare do right Enlist with God, who guards — or guides them home. Enter — Right — A File of City Guards, There is one certain w^ay to end these troubles. I had my doubts before. The priors lack One vote by which to banish both your lead- ers, — Yes, Cavalcanti and Donati, both.^- Gemma. Nay, say not that! Dante. I say that I shall give it; And clear my conscience, while I clear this air, And clean these foul and corpse-clogged lanes of Florence. Let this be done, her son's aspiring hope May picture outlines of her destiny In hues more bright and sweet than could be dreamed By any soul bemired here and bestenched In blotches of your cursed Black and White. Curtain. 96 DANTE. ACT FIFTH. Scene : The same as in Act Third. Backing, at the center, a desk connected with a writing table. In the desk are many papers in confu- sion; and, near it^ on the floor a waste basket. In the room are chairs and sofas. The curtain rising discloses Dante ztnth pen in hand sit- ting before a paper on the desk, humming and drumming zvith his fingers, as if marking off time to some rhythm. Enter — Right — Gemma. Gemma (to Dante). What are you doing? Dante. Writing. Gemma. Always writing. Bante. That is my mission. Gemma. Not your business. Dante. They differ? Gemma. Yes. One's mission, as a rule, Is wrought alone ; one's business with others. Things done alone may but be done for self. Things done with others may be done, too, for them. Dante. True missions only serve the higher self. DANTE. 97 Gemma. Some people always think their own selves higher Than are the selves of those about them. Dante. Oh !— You knew me as a poet when we married. Gemma. I knew you as a boy, too ; and I thought That when you grew you would become a man. There was a time my uncle thought so, too. He pictured you a hero and a leader. Now none dare claim you as a follower. Dante. None dare? Gemma. Who dares to have a follower That stabs him in the back, as you have stabbed Donati and your great friend, Cavalcanti? Dante. You know I try to follow what is right. Gemma. And never find the right save in your- self; And, if you did, your endless cant and chatter, Knagged out like warnings from a rattler's tail, Would worry off your faction's foes before You harmed them. Dante. So you think me wrong? Gemma. As all do. Who vote you prior now^ ? They tax your all Like some plebean. When you wish to work, None care to wager wages on your doing. 98 DAXTE. Dante. And my own household also turn against me? Gemma. Besides descending to your disesteem, Your wife should hanker, eh, and hunger too To starve with you !^^ {Snatches and tears up the manuscript he is zuriting. ) Dante (trying, at first, to save his manuscript) . And why do you do that ? Gemma. To wake you up. Dante. One who writes out his dream Must be awake already. Gemma. I would make You realize it, so I tear it up. Dante. One dream was torn up long ago, I fear. Wh}^, Gemma, when I married you, I judged Your spirit by the beauty of its body; And that seemed so at one with what I fancied I could not doubt that it would prove at one — Could we but know each other, through and through — With all my soul that had conceived the fancy. Gemma. 'Twas not the first time life has proved that poets Are fools who judge their fancies to be facts. Dante. At times, my faith still thinks they may be facts. V DANTE. 99 Our fancies are the children of the soul, And all their heritage of prophesy Forms but the heir-loom to which they are born. Gemma. Yes, yes, still prating of the soul! — as if A man could take it out and measure it ! Dante. The stature of the soul is measured by The distance of its outgrowth over earth. Gemma. The outgrowth, eh? — explains your misfit, does it? — Oh yes ! — you have outgrown your low sur- roundings ? Dante. Why misinterpret me? I may not fit The world I live in. Did the Christ fit his? Could any man walk straight in paths of earth, Nor trespass on some crooked path of others? Enter — Left — Attendant, and behind him DiNO. Exit — Left — Attendant. Gemma and Dante. Good day. Ding. Good day. Dante. And is there any news? Dino. There is, and bad. I thought I ought to warn you. • LOFC. lOO DANTE. Dante. How so? Ding. Donati is returning soon With Charles of Valois^ and the French to back him. Dante. The Whites will not be able to protect us? DiNO. The Whites have lost their leader, Dante. Cavalcanti Can be recalled now, if Donati come. DiNO. No, no; not he; he is beyond recall. Dante. What mean you? DiNO. He was banished by the priors To Sarzana. — It is the home of fevers. ^^ They welcomed him too warmly. He is gone. Dante. I never knew of fever raging there. Gemma. As many go astray through ignorance As through iniquity. Ay, there are times Wise rascals do less harm than righteous fools. Dante. You speak like that to me, and now? Oh God ! When all my soul sinks downward with the weight Of that dead body of my friend? — no pity? You know there was but one right thing to do. I could not let the wish of this rash friend Outweigh the safety of the whole of Florence. DANTE. lOi Gemma. And yet be sure the whole of Florence feels Less gratitude for you, than grief for him. His friends, at least Dante. I see; and I who tried To meet out equal justice to a hoard In church and state, all squirming here like worms To tomb their mates in dirt and mount upon them, Priests cursing people, people cheating priests, Whites boasting of white shrouds they trail behind them, Blacks of black funeral palls that follow them, And every one of them too mean to own One other man the equal of himself, — I stand the enemy of all. Oh God! — Some spirits here may seek thy higher life, And help their fellows. It is not for me. Would I mount up, I find no wings for it. I fall. Enter — Left — Attendant and Cino. All exchange greetings. Exit — Left — Attendant. (Dante continues to Cino). And you, too, come to bring bad tidings? I02 DANTE. CiNO. I bring this proclamation. It concerns you. {Handing a paper to Dante.) Dante {taking the paper and looking at it). Who wrote it, and who sent it, and from where ? CiNO. It comes here from Donati and Prince Charles. They march against the city. Dante. But the Whites? CiNO. We have no leader, and the most are fly- ing. Dante. What says the proclamation? CiNO. It names you, xA.nd four besides you, summoned to appear'* And answer for extortion and rebellion Against the Pope and Charles. Dante. Extortion ? What ? — For raising pence to keep the city's peace? — Rebellion, toward the city's enemies? Who charges that? CiNO. It says here, ''common fame.'' Dante. What threatens those who fail to heed the summons? CiNO. Their property shall all be confiscated, DANTE. 103 Themselves be banished, and, if caught in Florence, Be burned alive. Dante. If I obey the summons And speak the truth, they will obtain their wish; I shall be caught in Florence. CiNO. You should leave. Dante. Too true! but, first — you are a lawyer, Dino— Draw up a paper, making over all My property to Gemma. (DiNO sits at the desk and writes,) CiNO {taking Dante to extreme Left). Why not deed The property to some one else in trust ? Dante. Not safe ! If held as mine it might be doomed. Donati's niece could keep it for herself. CiNO. She might not deed it back. Dante. She would not take it From her own children; and, you know, be- sides, We men who wed incur a debt of honor. Cino. But should that let one harm himself? Dante. Why, honor Is in oneself, and so does not depend 104 DANTE. On anything another is or does. {to Ding). The paper will be ready soon, not so ? I must prepare me, and will then return. Exit — Right — Dante. Gemma {to Dino). You must be sure to make all clear and certain. CiNO {to Gemma). What will you do without him? Gemma. Humph! — not penance! We do that only to the ones we worship. CiNO. So women do not worship those they marry. Gemma. Not after they have married them. CiNO. Why not? Gemma. They get too near them. CiNO. Humph! but that depends On what one means. They can not get too near To anyone in spirit. Gemma. What is that? CiNO. That in us which has least of body in it ; And yet, like fire, may glow when bodies meet, And make one's whole life luminous. Gemma {looking at him disparagingly) . A poet! CiNO. Yes ; making poetry is practicing The language of the spirit. I should like To learn to speak it altogether. DANTE. 105 Gemma. Should you? — That wish is what sends Dante now from Flor- ence. CiNO. That wish is what sends Dante now from Florence ; I shall remember. May I quote you to him ? Gemma. ^Twill be so kind of you, reminding him Of me! Enter — Right — Dante. Dante {to Dino). The writing ready? DiNO {rising and handing the paper to him). Brief but clear. Dante {reading it), I see — will sign it. {to Cino and Dino.) Will you witness for me? Dante, Cino and Dino sign. Dante {h