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A NIGHT IN AVIGNON




  A NIGHT IN AVIGNON

  BY
  CALE YOUNG RICE

  Author of "Charles Di Tocca," "David,"
  "Plays and Lyrics," etc.

  NEW YORK
  DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
  MCMXIII


  _Copyright, 1907, by_
  CALE YOUNG RICE

  Published, March, 1907




  TO
  DONALD ROBERTSON




A NIGHT IN AVIGNON




CHARACTERS


  FRANCESCO PETRARCA      _A Young Poet and Scholar_

  GHERARDO                _His Brother, a Monk_

  LELLO                   _His Friend_

  ORSO                    _His Servant_

  FILIPPA  }
           }              _Ladies of light life in Avignon_
  SANCIA   }

  MADONNA LAURA




A NIGHT IN AVIGNON

SCENE: _A room in the chambers of PETRARCA at Avignon. It opens on a
loggia overlooking, on higher ground, the spired church of Santa Clara
and the gray cloisters of a Carthusian monastery. Beyond lie the city
walls under glamour of the blue Provencal night._

_The room, faintly frescoed, is lighted with many candles; some
glittering on a wine-table heavy with wines toward the right front. A
door on the left leads to other rooms, and an arrased one opposite,
down to the street. Bookshelves and a writing-desk strewn with a lute
and writings are also on the left; a crimson couch is in the centre; and
garlands of myrtle and laurel deck the wine-table._

_GHERARDO, the monk, is seated by the desk, following with severe looks
the steps of PETRARCA, who is walking feverishly to and fro._


_Gherardo_ (_after a pause_). Listen. Another word, Francesco.

_Petrarca._                       Aih!
  And then another--that will breed another.

_Gherardo._ Dote on this Laura still--if still you must:
  Woman's your destiny.
  But quench these lights and set away that wine.

_Petrarca._ And to no other lips turn? hers denied me?
  Never, Gherardo!

_Gherardo._        Virtue bids you.

_Petrarca._                         Vainly!
  I've borne until I will not... For it is
  Two years now since in the aisles
  Of Santa Clara yonder my heart first
  Went from me on mad wings.
  Two years this April morning
  Since it fell fluttering before her feet...
  As she stood there beside our blessed Lady,
  Gowned as young Spring in green and violets!...

_Gherardo._ And these two years have been inviolate;
  Your life as pure as hers,
  As virgin--
  Save for the songs you've sung to her; those songs
  This idle city echoes with. But now----

_Petrarca._ Now I will open all the gates to Pleasure!
  To rosy Pleasure--warm, unspiritual,
  Ready to spring
  Into the arms of all
  Whom bloodless Virtue pales.
  For, of restraint and hoping, I have drunk
  But a vintage of tears!
  And what has been my gain?

_Gherardo._                  Her chastity.

_Petrarca._ A chastity unchallenged of desire--
  And therefore none!
  Aih, none!
  For, were it other;
  Could I aver that once, that ever once
  Her lids had fallen low in fear of love,
  I'd bid the desert of my heart burn dry--
  To the last oasis--
  With resignation!
  But never have they, never! and I'm mad.

    (_Pours out wine._)

_Gherardo._ And you will seek to cure it with more madness?
  To cast the devil of love out of your veins
  With other love and lower!

_Petrarca._                  Yes, yes, yes! (_drinks._)
  With little Sancia's!
  Whose soul is a sweet sin!
  Who lives but for this life and asks of Death
  Only a breath of time before he ends it,
  To tell three beads and fill her mouth with _aves_.
  Just for enough, she says,
  "To tell God that He made me"--as He did.

_Gherardo._ And to blaspheme with! O obsessed man.

    (_Has risen, flushed._)

  But you will fail! For this vain revelry
  Will ease not. And I see all love is base--
  As say the Fathers--
  All!... and the body of woman
  Is vile from the beginning.

_Petrarca._                   Monkish lies!

    (_Drinks again for courage._)

  The body of woman's born of bliss and beauty.
  Only one thing is fairer--that's her soul.

_Gherardo._ And is that Word which says thou shalt not look
  Upon another's wife a monkish lie?

    (_Silence._)

  Your Laura is another's.

_Petrarca_ (_torn_).       As I found!
  After my heart became a poison flame--
  Within me!
  A fierce inquisitor against my peace!
  After I followed her from Santa Clara,
  That mass-hour,
  To an escutcheoned door!
  After and not before... And such another's!
  Ugo di Sade's!
  A beast whose sullen mind two thoughts would drain;
  Whose breath is a poltroon's;
  Who is unkind.... I've seen her weep; who loves
  Her not.... And yet the