r — ^ ' LIBRARY UNIVERSITY Of CALIF OWWM SAN WEGO i \ -«->^ . V ^ ^ j^ ^Z" A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES MAURICE HEWLETT '•'■Fiore/iza mia, ben puoi esser contenta" A MASQUE OF DEAD FLOREN TINES BY MAURICE HEWLETT PRINTED FOR AND PUBLISHED BY THOMAS B MOSHER PORTLAND MAINE MDCCCCXI V FOREWORD WHEN, i7i The Bibelot for Apnl, i8g6, ive printed certain Songs of Dead Floren- tines — a series of Italian lyrics i?t large part done into English by the late fohn Addington Sytnonds — it was, confessedly, with the title in mind of a book but recefitly issued. ' A few months earlier, Earthwork Out of Tus- cany, being Impressions and Translations of Maurice Hewlett, had been brought out by the same publishers, — a book dismissed with scant, disparaging estimate in The Athenaeum, — though now seen to have held within its all too few pages one indubitable little " Imaginary Portrait," yf/ to be ranked im?nediately after the four elaborately finished cabinet-pieces of the same Jiame and genre by Walter Pater. As for the Masque // appar- See Bibliographical Note. FOREWORD e7itly fell still-born from the press : to the best of our knowledge and belief ?io criticism whatever, in any Journal of 7iote in England or America, being passed upo?i it. ^ From our personal vieiu-point Mr. Hewletfs morality-play, if one chooses to call it so, is a brill- iant conceptiofi, bringing together as it does, the august shades of the me7i and women of the Renais- sance. It is in very truth "^ masque of death'' s old comedy,'^ and a brief a dialysis may not be co?i- sidered unwelcome to those who ?iow read it for the first time. The First Pari opefis with an invocatio?i of Da7ite ; then Beatrice is seen, followed by Laura I We reprint the text in its entirety. As Mr. Batteii's illustrations do not lend themselves to satisfactory reprodnc- tion they have been omitted. With the lapse of time it is 7171 likely that this thin oblo7ig quarto will lose vabie either in the eyes of the collector or the lover of poetry for its oiv7i sake. FOREWORD and Fetmrch, and ^' quite out of historic sequence, Boccace and his Fiammetla. Then the three ladies of old time dance and recede from sights while the Chorus recites their worth and the renown of their lovers ; whereupon Giotto, Corso Donati, Farinata, Buondehnonte, Guido Cavalcante a7id the Lady Ficcarda Donati appear. Lastly comes Fra Beato Angelico, the scene closing with Chorus giving voice to approval of his lovely life and quiet end. Fai-t Second deals with ^^ Love and Ltaly a?id Art their fo sterling, ^^ and immediately we have speech with Fra Lippo Lippi ; then enter Fico del la Mirandola, Bartolommeo Scala, Lionardo da Vinci, all voicing the bitter outcry of the Fsalmist. Sinion- etta now makes moan over the dead days of her youth, and her lover Giuliano, with others of the house of Medici pass over the stage with Lorenzo, greatest ofthern all, upon whom the Three Reproaches habited as bent old women heap their curses for his misdeeds. Foliziano, who was with the Magnificent FOREWORD when he died, then recites an elegy a7id is dismissed into darkness. We now see Cosimo di Medici, hard upon whose footsteps follows Savofiarola with the tivo who most loved and hated him ; and last comes Botticelli whose lament is btvken in upon by the Chorus with a sinister dirge of its own. Then the Sun shines out and Luca della Robbia speaks in his own praise which is fully justified by the ever- discerning Chorus. Quatrains are now respectively recited by Macchiavelli, Cellifii and Pulci, afid the burden of Florence, her destiny and doom, sums itself up in a final invocation of Michael Angelo. So passes the glory of the City of Lilies. T. B. M. A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Here you see, as in a glass, Death and Florence grip and pass. One was scornful as a maid In her bravery fresh arrayed : One was brawny, hearted brass Which look'd longer, Death or lass ? Gentles, you and Death and I Have a friendly fall to try. He is masterful and plays Steadily; looks not for praise. Heeds no blame. Your head is high, High as mine — but by and bye ? PERSONS OF THE MASQUE A CHORUS OF TIRED LADIES AND POETS FORGOTTEN THE FLORENTINE SHADES A HERALD THREE REPROACHES KING DEATH THE MASQUE FIRST PART The Scene is an open loggia giving upon a garden in winter, with leafless trees, and cypresses. The rain stands in pools; over all is the soughing of a great wind. A fit- ful sunshine comes and goes. AFTER THE SECOND SOUNDING The Chants of twelve poets and twelve ladies, robed alike in sad-coloured habits, comes into the garden, and looking towards a terminal statue of Memory which is in it, says this : Of quiet death. WE have lost what we had won, Love's reward for love's work done. Sightless Memory receiv'd No news, if we joy'd or griev'd. Were we lov'd ? She lov'd us not. ^ A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Pity-worth ? Behov'd us not. Yet we count us happier Than are they whose keener star Shone about them while they stayed Here with us ; and when they strayed Forbore Death their names to hide : We are they who quietly died. Invocatio)! of the great ones. Here begins that crimson line, Greater none, nor more divine. By thy grimness of achieving, By the scope of thy conceiving, 6^(9^-creative, Zr^izz^egins under a cold clear sky. Enters the Herald, a young boy in a short GreekisJi cloak and Phrygian cap. He carries a jPo??ienico, coivled in white, ivith an anchor. Fra Domenico I trusted in the prophet sent from God ; Side to his side the way to death I trod. A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES 37 The flame leapt heavenward — O true he said ! Our spirits soar'd ; we left but ashes dead. Sandro Botticelli, holding a hollow sphere. Sandro Latest of all, and loneliest, I endured In heaviness of days with light obscured : Green earth grown grey, sun cold, the comely head Of my life's flower snapt short — Art with her, dead ! The Chorits breaks in upon him with this lament, what time the rain descends and the wind blows shrill. The dirge. What shall it profit, O Man, That the pitiful soil of thy years, Sterile, acheth a span Of waste furrow'd by tears ? Waste sown with tears, 38 A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Flowering pale for a span, Wither'd anon like the years ; What profit, O Man ? Twenty thou groanest to learn. Twenty thou thinkest to fly. Twenty drag, and thy turn Cometh to die. What profit, O Man, What the harvest of years, Strown like corn to the fan, Cut as with sickle the ears ? Corn that is sown with tears, Winnow'd as chaff by the fan ; Gone the harvest of years : — Death is profit, O Man ! Of Loss. And Profit. A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES 39 When the Sun gleams again, you see Liica della Robbia, clothed in apple-green, with a bunch of yellow and blue flowers in his hand. LUCA Mine was a glad small spirit unafraid ; I breathed it out, the stone walls flower'd, and made Florence a garden. So without a dread I laid my tools aside and blossom'd, dead. Chorus Praise of Luca. Thou shalt be called the Son of Man And Spirit of the Earth, That met young Love and kiss'd her And wreath'd her lips with mirth; April with eyes aglister, Green May her buxom sister, Shy loves and tender fruitage Were children of thy birth. 40 A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Wherein, perhaps, the dirge is answer\i. \Mth eyes seeking the Sun, And heart loving the Day, Knowing no evil to shun, Guileless, walking the way, Breathing the secret of children and flowers Into thy clay ! Man with the faith of a child, Child with a strength superhuman ; Lover, that told of the Virgin most mild. Wedded to no man : Holy art thou, that could call her arise God, but a woman ! Niccolo MacchiaveUi, bearifig a skull wreath' d ivith floivers. Macchiavel That kings might feast I sweated God away ; To insolent stripling feet I bow'd my grey A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES 41 Wise brows. A smirk, a shrug, a wagging head — I used this way : they use it on me dead. Benvenuto Celli7ii, blindfold. Benvenuto The glory of their princedoms, and their power Who go in purple, I knew my little hour. What time my brain-trap gript them all, I led Whither I would. What profiteth me dead ? Luigi Fulci, gnawmg a stone, PULCI Let who wins laugh : I laugh'd at Heaven and Earth. Dante saw Grief 2iX\di lov'd her; I chose Mirth. Mirth and I laugh'd till we were out of breath. And left one laughing still — the jester. Death. 42 A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Chorus The hirden of Florence, A boy singing His love and pain ; The watch-bell ringing, Blood shed like rain ! A dreamy maid, And a voice like a cry — " Betrayed, betrayed ! How shall we die?" Sigh^ wind, sigh. The squire at hawking. The grass in flower ; Shame stalking In the lady's bower. " Love like a drought Doth scorch and dry : My heart is out. Now let me die ! " Sigh, wind, sigh. A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES 43 All the burning Of all the South, Turn'd to mourning Thy singing mouth. The fire kindled, Soar'd to the sky ; The song dwindled, The lute lay by. Sigh^ wind, sigh. " How shall I sing With my lady cold ? She died in the Spring; I am grown old." This is the load Of the singer's cry — "If 6^^^/ is God He will let me die ! " Sigh, wind, sigh. 44 A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES Then the CJioriis invokes the last Shade. Chorus ^. . ^ , Finis coronat ! Now, last and greatest of these, Buonarroti the Seer, Wielder of dark mysteries, Graver that knew no peer! Poet, thinker in stone. Painter, Maker of men, Naked, silent, alone, Gods walking again ! Thee, last, who art first, Thee, King, we invoke ; Tell of Florence accurs'd, Her dolorous stroke. Michael Angelo comes crown'd ; his robe full of weeping eyes, Michael Angelo The gaunt long life of unfulfill'd desire. The hireling's ashes on the poet's fire ! A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES 45 I praj-ed in stone. Their scorn was on their head : In me they slew the last of their great dead. Chorus Florence was. Blind, Wind, blind ! As the owl in the day : Florence was, and is not ; She passeth away 1 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE A Masque of Dead Florentines, / wherein some of Death's Choicest Pieces, and / the Great Game that he played therewith, / are fruitfully set forth. / [Motto : " Fiorenza mia, ben puoi esser contenta."] / ^Publishers' Device^ / By Maurice Hewlett / Pictured by J. D. Batten / J. M. Dent & Co. / — London, / MDCCCXCV. Oblong, 4to, cloth, gilt top. Pp. viii-i + 52. To this first edition dedicated " To my proved com- panion of Florentine days and other seasons of fair and foul weather — this northern fruit to my wife,'''' Mr. Hew- lett added the following prefatory note : '■'■ Itwill sicfficiently be seen that this poem does not treat of Florentine histo7y ; that it fiouts chronology. Nullum tempus occurrit regi. Alay this maxim be ttuisted to further the poet ? The painters adopted it when they yoked Lucrece, Susanna, atid the daughters of Danaus to Chastity's chariot; attd T>2in\.e fojind \J\yss&s in the same pit with Guido da Montefeltro. Let this serve as my excuse for setting Giotto after Boccace, and for worse dis- courtesies to Time's travels^ HERE ENDS A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES BY MAURICE HEWLEIT PRINTED FOR THOMAS B MOSHER AND PUBLISHED BY HIM AT XLV EX- CHANGE STREET PORTLAND MAINE MDCCCCXI B 000 008 52