University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Park of the Marquis di Tiburzzi. Enter Juranio.
Juranio.
Hail! once again, thou blooming vine-clad bower!
How long is it since the fair mistress' hand
Curled thy soft tendrils to this artful flow,
Moulding the straggling wildness of thy humors
Into such harmony? By your leave, rose.
[Plucks a rose.]
These crumpled features tell some dainty hand
Has pressed into the cramped and knotted bud,
To force its backward nature into flower.
Say, have you told her, treacherous confidant—
For you are full of whispering winds, that tell
To me, a late companion, many a tale
Of the gray East, where all your kindred speak
The lover's low, close language—have you told
How oft your leafy screen has covered me,
While she, the mistress of us both, swept by,
Sad, but majestic? Wherefore is she sad?
My tongue runs tripping, but my heart is lead.
O, Count Juranio, what a fool art thou,
To waste thy manhood on a maid who cares
No atom for thy countship! To lie hidden,
Hour after hour, upon the dank, rough ground,
Merely to catch the glimmer of a girl—
A girl who casts the pearl of her affection
Before that swinish usurer, Marsio!
By heaven, 't is villanous! And were it not—
So much her seeming gives report the lie—
That I believe this marriage forced upon her,
By the parental usage of our land,
I'd fly her as infectious. What, what! she
To prop a selfish dotard's crumbling house
With the untimely ruins of her youth!
To spin a few thin moments for his age
Out of her heart's blood! Suffer worse than death,
That one old man may crawl down to his grave
With a stuffed pocket! By the blessed saints,
Blood has no claim upon her! She is mad,
To nurse the childish folly of old age
To such portentous bigness! Ha! once more
Hide love and me, my sweet confederate!

[Goes behind the bower.]
(Enter Costanza.)
Costanza.
Fit season for my visit. It was morn
When first I met him; every leaf and flower
Looked up and opened to increasing day;
Nature spread wide her arms, in liberal joy,
Yielding her flushing bosom to the sun.
Even as a tardy flower, my heart unclosed
To revel in his presence; even as
Rejoicing nature, my whole quickening frame
Glowed into new existence. While the sun
Plunges in haste behind yon western clouds,
To course dun night around his broad domain,
The leaves and flowers may weep themselves to rest;
Nature may cross her placid arms in sleep,
And dream of morn beneath the merry stars;
But, ah! to me there is no tearful rest,
No quiet sleep, no dream of happiness,
No star of comfort. In the middle heaven,
Yet veiled and ominous, burns my sun of love,
Never to set again.

Ju.
Hold your peace, winds!
Silence, ye fluttering leaves, that I may hear her!

[Aside.]
Cos.
Juranio—

Ju.
My name! [Aside.]


Cos.
Juranio,
'T is weak, 't is wicked, to maintain my grief
On thoughts of thee. For thought breeds love, and love
Redoubles grief, and grieving multiplies
Both thought and love, in an unending round.
O! had we met one little day before,
Ere fate could mock me with the double pain
Of what I am, of what I might have been!
I know thou lov'st me—

Ju.
(Advancing.)
Hadst thou been inspired,
Thy words could not be truer.

Cos.
Ha!—O, shame!
Juranio—Count Juranio!—

Ju.
Hear me, love!

Cos.
Begone, begone, sir!

Ju.
Hear me, dear Costanza!

[Kneels.]
Cos.
By what new license do you use that title?

Ju.
By the allowance of your lips.

(Pietro Rogo crosses the back of the scene, observing Costanza and Juranio, significantly.)
Cos.
How low,
How far beneath my honest scorn, you seem,
Poor Count Juranio! Will you not arise?—
The place is public. Or do you intend
To crown your treachery with my dishonor?

Ju.
A day of marvels! (Rises.)
But a minute since—
The words even now are echoing in my heart—
I heard you—if a man may credit sense—
I heard you, lady—

Cos.
Crop the guilty ears
That were abettors to their lord's disgrace!
Is it your custom, Count, to play the listener?
Our former meeting was in some such way
As this wherewith you honor me.

Ju.
Coquette!

Cos.
Signore!

Ju.
I heard enough to settle such a name
On all the seed of Eve.

Cos.
Redoubted cynic!
Where has your manhood fled, that you employ
Knowledge so basely found, so weakly used,
Upon a lady? What I may have said
In lavish fancy, granted truth compact,
Stands by the favor of your merit only:
After this paltry act—this poor attempt
To scare me to confession, by arraying
My private thoughts against my open words—
How rank you your own merit? Had you been
The generous man I one time held you for,
My thoughts had sunk, as rain-drops into sand,
To cool, but not to quicken. Leave me, sir!

Ju.
Costanza di Tiburzzi, ere I go,
Listen. I love you with a single heart.
I do confess much folly in the deeds
To which love drew me. Hidden by yon bower—
While peeping buds unfolded into flowers—
While infant leaves uncurled their tiny scrolls,
And, full-grown, basked them in the mellow sun—
While all creation was an active hymn
Of ceaseless labor to approving God—
I have stood idly, though the dear time sped,
Waiting to catch the faintest glimpse of you.
Then, happy with that treasure of my sense,
Have hied me home, to fill my waking thoughts
With growing fancies; or, through fleeting night,
Made my dreams golden with the memory
Of what had blessed my day. I cover nothing:
I have no skill nor wish to circumvent you.
You know the mystery of my presence here;
You know the secret of my love,—ah! yes,
You knew it ere I spoke it. You can lift,
By confirmation of your former words,
A sinking heart to rapture. Speak, O, speak!
My fate hangs on your mercy!

Cos.
Have you heard
No rumor of my marriage?

Ju.
Yes; a rumor,—
A baseless rumor.

Cos.
Ere another week,
That rumor and my fate will be but one.

Ju.
Is there no hope?

Cos.
I chose my portion, sir.
And must abide the issue.

Ju.
Dear Costanza,
Did you but know the energy, the power,
Which I might use to sway your destiny;
To foil a wretch—

Cos.
Hold! Do you counsel me
To scheme against my honor? Farewell, sir!
I know not by what weakness I have staid
To hear—Kind Heaven, some strength!

[Aside. Exit hastily.]
Ju.
Stay, lady, stay!—
What, shall I follow?—Gods! I'll drown this feeling!
Follow, forsooth, to glut her cruelty,
To make myself the plaything of a girl,—
I, Count Juranio, follow like a spaniel,
And on a cold scent too! Is this thing love?
I ween 't is more like hate—sound, manly hate.
Cold, cruel, heartless jilt! Yes, she was cold—
Cold, very cold. Love is not self-possessed.
But was she cruel? I cannot call her cruel.
I hope not heartless. Yet she loves me not.
Nay, she was very sparing of my feelings.
I broke upon her rudely—startled her;
At such a time too. Yet she loves me not.
Ah! yes; at such a time! while every word
Lightened the freight of her o'erburdened heart.
'T was rash in me—thoughtless: I should respect
Maiden reserve. She likes not sudden passion.
In faith, nor do I. Reason should confirm
Our hearts' emotions, ere we give them way.
Perhaps she loves me yet! I'll swear she does;
Or sovereign Love is but a gilded toy!

(Enter Salvatore.)
Salvatore.
Ho! there, Juranio!

Ju.
Signore Marsio—

Sal.
My name is Salvatore, please you.

Ju.
So!
But let him stand aside; I cannot answer
Where love may drive me.

Sal.
Can you answer me?
Deaf man!—Juranio! Are you dumb too? Here,
Let us talk with our fingers.

Ju.
Salvatore,
I've met her, spoken with her!

Sal.
So have I.

Ju.
What said she?

Sal.
Little. In my breathing-times,
She edged a word in.

Ju.
What had you to say?

Sal.
O! nothing plainly; I've not come to that.
But, here and there, I tumbled in a hint,
Like love astray, which she may ponder on.

Ju.
You love her?

Sal.
Ay, sir; she is not preserved;
I was not poaching; she is open game.

Ju.
How did she take it?

Sal.
Kindly, very kindly.

Ju.
Villain!—traitor! [Seizes him.]


Sal.
Lord love the man! Let go!
Is she the only she within the realm?
I have another she, to whom your she
Is only cousin.

Ju.
Miserable jester!

Sal.
No; I am serious. O, thou dear Filippia,
Couldst thou but hear this shabby creature sneer
At us, and at love's majesty! Base, vile,
Soulless Juranio!

Ju.
On this very spot,
Hidden behind yon bower, I heard her own
Such feelings for me—ah! such rapturous feelings
Of maiden innocence! My beggar heart
Was rich at once, as if the heavens rained love!

Sal.
Heard whom?

Ju.
Costanza—why, Costanza, surely

Sal.
I pray you do not gall me, kinsman, thus.
I am rashly jealous, deadly quarrelsome;
I'll fight you for a feather.

Ju.
While the words
Still tingled in my ears, upon this spot,
This very spot,—see where her little feet
Have nestled in the grass,—I heard her say
She could not love me, never would be mine,
And, worse than all, would marry Marsio!

Sal.
Worms gnaw the fellow! All Filippia said
Was “Marsio, and Marsio,” and “Cousin,
Poor, poor Costanza!” And now you begin!
Think you the heathen means to wed them both?
What is this Marsio?

Ju.
A wealthy merchant,
Or usurer, or some such sorry thing,
Picked by the Marquis for his daughter's bed:
A slow, sure matrimonial poison, used
To fatten purses,—death to flesh and blood.

Sal.
I understand. We must be rid of him.

Ju.
But how?

Sal.
Quite simply— [Musing.]


Ju.
How?

Sal.
Why break my thoughts?
I quarrelled, fought him, was just burying him,
By an unfailing plan; but you destroyed it.

(Enter Pulti, singing.)
Pulti.
The devil looked down,
With a curse and a frown,
And to the young witch he said,
'Ods blood! I 'd far rather
Quell hell in hot weather,
Than govern one headstrong maid!

Ju.
Whence comes that devilish song?

Sal.
From yonder knave.
Come hither, nightingale.

Pulti.
You called me, signore?

Sal.
Ay, warbler, unperch. What is the news in hell?

Pul.
The devil has a surfeit of light fools,
And sends for solid food; I'll pass you by.

Sal.
Now, by his tongue, the bird 's a woodpecker.

Pul.
And rapping on your poll.

Sal.
His tongue 's a foil:
He foins and parries like a mountebank.
Whom do you serve?

Pul.
Myself most faithfully,
To answer strictly; but I give, sometimes,
To answer more at large, slack services
To signore Marsio.

Sal.
That name again!
How many Marsios are there?

Pul.
One at present.
He gets to breeding shortly; there'll be more

Ju.
Are you purveying for a cudgelling?

Pul.
Heaven knows. What means the gentleman?

Sal.
Scarce nothing:
His thoughts are hardly fantasies just now.
How do you like your service?

Pul.
Why, so far
As one may thrive on musty wine, thin diet,
Most scanty wages—

Sal.
What a churlish wretch,
To treat so brave a fellow to such fare!

Pul.
Signore, you wrong him. I'm as well supplied
With work as bees are; I've more blows than Winter;
Oaths thick as stars; frowns bountiful as sunlight:
I am called up early, like an April violet;
Sent to bed tardily, like a waning moon;
I am railed and sneered at like Heaven's providence;
Outraged like modest nature—

Sal.
So! boy, so!
Is Marsio honest?

Pul.
Passably, so far;
But then, you know, the devil has a say,
Sooner or later, in the best of lives.

Sal.
Would you change masters?

Pul.
Ay, with Satan's dog.
But that is hopeless; wit 's uncurrent coin;
Men drop me sooner than they take me up.

Sal.
Serve me.

Pul.
I'm yours. Now, farewell, Marsio!
I'll leave my rags as keepsakes.

Sal.
Not so fast.
My service is peculiar; but its wages
Out-go your dreams. A fortnight I desire
You watch o'er Marsio, note his slightest act,
Become more zealous, more familiar with him;
Let naught escape you. When the time is fair,
You'll run to me, and make a full report.
I have suspicions of this Marsio's truth,
From certain hints a shrewd-brained lady dropped;
And should I catch him— (Aside.)
Can we not agree?

Pul.
How! I play spy!

Sal.
Are you a Christian man?

Pul.
Yes; of the latest make.

Sal.
Then hearken, man!
If Marsio 's honest, you can say no ill;
If he is false, 't is nothing but plain duty
To fright his brother sinners with his sins.
Make him hell's scare-crow; for example, brother,
Is your best governor of coward man.
There is a pithy sermon, preached for you,
Upon the mote and beam text. After this
Short fortnight's service, life is all your own.

Pul.
I'll do it. But forgive me, if I think
Your promise better than your argument.

Sal.
The knave is apt. [Aside.]


Ju.
Kinsman, 't is treacherous
To set a spy upon your enemy:
You lower to his level.

Sal.
Well, sir saint,
E'en leave the schemer to his wicked schemes.
Wash your hands, Pilate! I can bear the sin.
Remember—What 's your name?

Pul.
Pulti, good master.

Sal.
Remember, Pulti.

Pul.
Ay, sir; have no doubts.
This wretch, this crooked beast, this Marsio,
Must be—What, what? I 'm working in the dark.

Sal.
That saves the sin.

Pul.
(Sings.)

Sal.
That 's the tune, bird!
Time wears, Juranio.

Ju.
Why, let it wear!
Would you clog time? Put wings upon his feet:
Each passing day 's a drop of precious balm
To wounded hearts. Alas! what empty talk!
Time will but add another, deeper pain,
The curse of memory; a dreary waste
Of blasted life, stretching from now to death!

Sal.
You and your love make up the universe!

Ju.
Then leave me to my world. I would not talk;
I wish no comfort, no companionship,
No mocking hope, no fruitless sympathy.

Sal.
Ugh! what a wintry heart! I hope yet.—Come!

[Exeunt.]