The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Part 20

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_.)

POEMS OF YOUTH