 | Plays and Poems |  |
SCENE II
Another Apartment in the Castle. Enter Marsio.Marsio.
If I know money—Heaven knows I should—
They must come to it. Needy, needy, say you?
I have known the needy murder for a ducat:
Lo! here are millions; and but for a name.
A very ancient, very noble name,
I grant; but somewhat damaged in the keeping.—
Easily patched, however, easily patched with gold.
Join Marsio's riches to Tiburzzi's name,
And who can stand against them? But the name,
Ungilt and naked, is an empty noise,
Which Marsio's gold—Marsio's hard, solid gold—
As well can purchase in the daily market
Where parents vend their marriageable wares.
Why should I doubt? There 's nothing like a heart
To chaffer for. I never bought a heart.
Men say I want one. Ha, ha! how they lie!
[Laughing.]
'T is a great rock on which all commerce wrecks.
There is no rival, no keen moneyed man,
To weigh his scrapings 'gainst my topmost bid;
So says the Marchioness—O, pardon me—
Our mother, I should say; though ne'ertheless
A marchioness for all that, Costanza dear.—
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Besides a hundred other sweet, pet names,
To come up on occasion. Ha! our mother!
And all one splendor with a blaze of smiles!
(Enter the Marchioness.)
I guess your meaning
Marchioness.
Hist! the Marquis comes.
Show no surprise; one doubt may mar the whole.
Hear, ere you speak.
Mar.
I am all ears, no tongue.
(Enter the Marquis.)
Marquis.
Welcome, friend Marsio!
Mar.
“Friend Marsio!”
Well spoken, friend Tiburzzi! (Aside.)
Gracious sir,
Your proud addition to my humble name—
March.
Stoop not too low, or you may never rise.
[Apart to Marsio.]
Mar.
—My deeds shall ratify.
March.
Turned just in time.
[Aside.]
Marq.
Frankness is best—
Mar.
The coin of honesty!
March.
For Heaven's sake, peace! Art talking for a wager?
[Apart to Marsio.]
Marq.
Signore, it seems my daughter and yourself,
Unknown to me—and therein much I blame you—
Have leagued your hearts—
Mar.
What! she—
March.
O, silence, silence!
[Apart to Marsio.]
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You would excuse her, signore, with such reasons
As, to the partial wits of lovers, seem
Both law and right; on me they fall full coldly.
That love, which breeds such ecstasy in you,
To me is breach of trust. But let that pass.
Mar.
Against your word—
Marq.
Do not deceive yourself;
Hearts will make way against ten thousand words.
Mar.
Are you so wilful? Forward, then.
[Aside.]
March.
You see,
My lord but seeks our daughter's happiness.
Marq.
Yes; take her, sir. No foolish whim of mine
Shall stand 'twixt heart and heart.
Mar.
“'Twixt heart and heart!”
What does he mean? Well, I will swallow all.
[Aside.]
Your frank approval stifles my poor thanks.
Let me repay your frankness with its equal.
No man, who is your friend, has wanted eyes
To see how, day by day, that ancient wealth,
Which once so proudly propped your mighty name,
Has slipped beneath the thing it should support;
Till all the glories of this noble house
Seem tottering down to ruin and oblivion.—
Nay, do not chafe; I cannot choose but know it.
Marq.
“Know it, know it!” the very beggars know it,
And, with unbegging laughter, pass me by!
My name 's the jest of all this mocking land.—
The blind, dumb, deaf, conceive it! Idiots, jays,
Parrots, have wit to say, “Poor, poor Tiburzzi!”
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I would not ape them.
Marq.
O, 't is nothing new:
Heaven makes us feel our chastenings commonly.
Of all realities, the reallest thing—
Of all heart-sickening, spirit-killing things—
That can unnerve, unsex, and bring to naught
The proudest purposes of stubborn strength,
Making brawn Hercules a whining baby—
The very top and crown is poverty!
It feeds on hope, it glories in despair,
It saps the brave foundations of the will,
It turns our simple faith to blasphemy,
It gnaws its way into the very spirit,
And with a weary siege starves out the soul,
Sending to judgment that bright denizen
So changed in hue, so fallen from its estate,
That Heaven, in the poor, warped, and shivering thing,
Can scarcely recognize its handiwork!
Mar.
My purse shall aid you. Use it, without stint,
In common with me.
Marq.
Pshaw! I need it not.
I and my wants have grown such intimates
That 't would seem strange to part us. Prisoned men
Have wept at parting from their old, dull cells:
So custom, I doubt not, may reconcile
A father to an unconfiding child.
I can take naught of him.
[Aside. Walks apart.]
March.
Urge him no more:
His mind is troubled with an idle fancy
About Costanza's want of trust in him.
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But he will change, next moon.
[Apart to Marsio.]
Marq.
Pray treat her well,
Pray treat her well, good signore Marsio:
One sin makes not a sinner. She is worth it;—
Yes, yes, although she 'd not confide in me.
But then, you know, we fathers have no vows
Like you hot lovers; have no skill, to show
The depths and heights of customary feeling,
With high-spiced words. Love grows a gray-beard in us,
And lacks the prattle of the wingéd boy.
Pray treat her well.
Mar.
I'll have no other care.
A precious store ne'er wants a zealous ward.
Marq.
Let not that promise rust.
March.
Our daughter waits
Signore, go on before. What, what, so tardy!
Does your love use a herald?
Mar.
By your leave, then.
[Exit.]
March.
Stands it not as I said?
Marq.
Is she my daughter?
March.
If she is mine.
Marq.
That strain I cannot doubt:
There the blood cries.
March.
If it amuses you,
Pray rail away. There 's many an out-door saint
Blows off his wolfish humors at his wife,
And paces forth a lamb.
Marq.
Love Marsio?—No!
What, sell herself?—pah! pah! Come, let us in.
This shivering on the brink is worse than drowning.
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The galling process of the action stops,
And I may rub my fretted hands at ease.
I'll not be tortured.—Marry, marry shall they;
And sooner than they think! Still waiting, madam?
Heavens! what a new Tiburzzi fortune sends!
[Exeunt]
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