University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—AN APARTMENT IN CIMARO's PALACE.
Enter Raffaelle and Servants.
Raffaelle.
Who waits this morning?

Servant.
Signior Lodovico
Attends you, sir, and other gentlemen
Are in the hall.

Raffaelle.
I'll see them; (Exit Servant.)

They are industrious; my last night's feast
Would weary stronger natures:—I am sick
Of this dull round:—that fair one whom I saw
Would give new zest unto my luxuries,
Quicken the lazy current of my blood,
And rouse my soul to energetic action.
I cannot live in apathy, and crawl
Unheeded and unknown; this vaulting spirit
Fate never form'd to animate a worm.
Enter Lodovico and Gentlemen.
Good morrow, friends.

Lodovico.
We rise to greet you, sir,
And pay the tribute of our wond'ring homage
To the artificer of last night's glories.

Raffaelle.
Nay, my dear friend,—

1 Gent.
No ducal pageant more
Shall ever hold regard in Mantua.

Raffaelle.
You're pleasant, sir.

2 Gent.
'Tis far short of the truth:
Nature was shamed with art's magnificence.

Raffaelle.
Nay, pray you—

Lodovico.
And the lady de Commenes
Grac'd well the hand of Mantua's prime lord.

Raffaelle.
The lady de Commenes—I knew her not—

Lodovico.
The beauteous lady honor'd by your favour:

Raffaelle.
This is worth hearing;—she has beauty truly.

1 Gent.
Mantua waits but your award to say so.

Raffaelle.
Her wealth and influence are great in Mantua.

Lodovico.
Next to my lord's.

Raffaelle.
Her wit is well enough.

Lodovico.
'Tis counted rare.

Raffaelle.
And I suppose—to end
This list of her perfections—she has suitors,
A regiment or so.

Lodovico.
They are not few, sir,
Alphonso—and the noble Claudio—
He indeed is most favoured.

Raffaelle.
Claudio!
My friend whose life's in danger; is't not he?

Lodovico.
The same, my lord.

Raffaelle,
He's worthy of her hand;
And when the world gives out too that she loves him,
Perchance, tho' she ne'er thought of it before,
It may be that she'll marry him;—how think you?

Lodovico.
To-day, I guess, my lord—will prove the truth.

Raffaelle.
To-day?

Lodovico.
His cause to day the duke will judge;
At noon the court will meet.

Raffaelle.
I will attend it:
Faith I should feel an interest in their union;
'Tis very soon, yet 'twill be time enough.
(Aside.)
How stands he, think you?

Lodovico.
By the evidence
Of lord Lorenzo he will sure be cleared.

Raffaelle.
(Aside)
Not if a dagger's found in Mantua:
Waits Julio there?

Servant.
He does, my lord.

Raffaelle.
'Tis well;
Perchance I may have need of him directly
On urgent business. Then Lorenzo saw
Vincentio attack him?

Lodovico.
So he says, sir,

Raffaelle.
I'm glad his life rests on so sure a cause;
I would I were his judge; and yet I doubt not
The duke will deal as nobly by him as I should:
I would do much to serve him in his suit,
Knew I the means—there was no other witness,
Save this Lorenzo?

Lodovico.
None, my lord.

Raffaelle.
Nor needs there;
I think that is his villa near the road,
Where this encounter happened.

Lodovico.
Aye, my lord,—

Raffaelle.
It is a sweet retreat, and were it mine
I should prefer it to the city—he,
I think, is seldom from it?

Lodovico.
Very rarely;
To-day he comes here to attend the trial.

Raffaelle.
'Tis fortunate indeed, he is the witness:
My friends, now I bethink me I have need
Of a few minutes leisure, you will walk
Into my gardens; last night's sports are gone;
But there is yet some poor amusement for you:
Open the doors there.

(Folding doors are opened in the back ground and discover a natural and beautiful garden with rural seats, &c.)
Lodovico.
The pageant's gone:

1 Gent.
'Tis wonder upon wonder!

Raffaelle.
Nay, nay, a trifle: I'd not have the ruin
Of a fool's sport remain to mock my poverty
When 'tis gone by a year; nay, pray you walk,
I conjure not by day-light.
(They go out very obsequiously, and with much wonder on their countenances.)
Louisa de Commenes! the vaunt of Mantua!
The pride of Italy! she's not for Claudio—
Lorenzo shall not save him,—Julio!
Enter Julio.
Her wealth, her influence, 'bove all her beauty,
Should grace no less than Raffaelle Cimaro—
Curs are no mates for lions: Claudio!
Beware my greater nature! little men
Are but the cyphers that make up my sum
Of power and greatness. Julio!

Julio.
My lord:

Raffaelle.
A beggar feed upon such royal cates!
Julio, ere noon I must have one dispatch'd;
Lorenzo—on his evidence depends
The safety of my dear friend Claudio;
And I would find some fearless evidence
To swear that Claudio attacked Vincentio,
And speak of other matters, which kind fortune
Has giv'n me knowledge of. I saw Vincentio
At lord Alphonso's on the very day,
Where he conceal'd himself, and from that somewhat.—
The needy monk I yesterday relieved
Seek and bring to me. Hold! I must begone
To the lady de Commenes—within a half-hour
Call with him at her palace; but beware
She sees him not. Here's money for the hand
That takes Lorenzo's life—about it straight.
Stay—if thou find'st another that may serve
To fix his death on Claudio—bring him to me—
Lorenzo will be passing from his palace—
(Exit Julio.)
She must be mine; with her I should outstep
The ducal pomp; I'd pass on pleasure's wing
The wildest flights of fancy; to my will
All nature should be chain'd: methinks already
I swell with the intoxicating thought.
Come, for the means.—Oh! this indeed is power
In its full use—to pile, and pile,—and heap,
Till the proud temple, rising to the clouds,
Leaves e'en the artificer in joyous wonder.
I see—I see—ha! ha! when I have doted
Awhile in waking dreams on the idea
I'll rise and form it to reality.

(Exit.)

SCENE II.

—AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE DE COMMENES.
Enter Louisa and Maria.
Louisa.
'Tis near the time, Maria.

Maria.
It is, lady,

Louisa.
Oh this suspence! this tedious chasm of being,
That so destroys our present faculties,
And wraps them in the future.—
This feast of yesternight was brighter far
Than aught within my memory.

Maria.
Aye, madam,
So noble and so brave a company,
The music and the glorious temple.—

Louisa.
Peace!
I think there is no doubt of Claudio's safety;
Why dost not answer me? there can be none.

Maria.
I hope not, madam, nay, I'm sure there is none.

Louisa.
That's a kind word. Even flattery sometimes
Is dear to us, although we know it is so,
And yet, I trust, in this 'tis but the truth.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
Madam, the count Cimaro.

Louisa.
I am sick,
I'll not be spoken with; yet stay, I know not,
His countenance were great to save my Claudio,
I wait his pleasure. (Ex. Servant)
He should be right noble,
And fond of such a spirit as my Claudio.

Enter Raffaelle.
Raffaelle.
A fair good morrow to you, gentle lady;
Your beauties do not fly the sun's quick beam,
But shew like flowers, that, wond'rous as I thought them,
But droop by night—and meet the brighter day
With tenfold fairness.

Louisa.
You are jocund still, sir.

Raffaelle.
Sadness dwelt not in Paradise—and here,
Eden's restored to me—beneath that smile
Grief can no more exist than pow'rs of evil
Within the light celestial.

Louisa.
You prove your wit, lord Raffaelle, not your truth.

Raffaelle.
Nay, that can never be, if saws be true,
A lover's heart feels deeply, and his tongue
Gives utterance to matter, more than words.

Louisa.
Your mirth's your love, Cimaro.

Raffaelle.
Not so, lady,
Albeit I am not of that whining tribe,
Who, having no other fortune than their words,
Mete them out dolefully to a nasal tune,
And strangle joy in their contorted faces.
Lady, we both are revelling in the morn
Of fair and sportive youth; on both of us
Fortune has shed abundance; in our grasp
Lie all 'neath sov'reign honours; we are plac'd
So far above the underlings o' the world,
Common events to us may be disport,
And while the tide of fortune sweeps down fools,
We stand the barriers of the puny flood,
And overpeer its rage.

Louisa.
Life's accidents,
If they harm not ourselves, may yet have power
Upon our friends; and in their fate we feel
The ills of being.

Raffaelle.
Why should we then link
Our greatness to their frailty? nature shews
In this, we should be faithful to ourselves.
He who would save a drowning friend from death
May topple headlong in, and die himself.
Great minds with great should join—and wealth with wealth—
And pow'r with pow'r—and all things with their equals.
In this, I still am speaking 'gainst myself;
For you, being peerless, never could be mine.
You smile, dear lady, might I hope that smile
Assur'd me favour in my bold attempt,
I should then dare to say, that all unworthy,
And poor, as I may seem, compared with you—
Though those bright beauties, resting in these arms,
Would shew as brilliant as the lustrous moon,
On the deep vested bosom of still night—
Though none can equal that all heav'nly sweetness,
Second to none beneath yourself;—in Mantua,
The richest, and most potent, as I am,
I lay my love most humbly at your feet,
And wait in hope your soft and gentle kindness
To place it in your heart, to rest for aye.

Louisa.
Good words, well put together, lord Cimaro.

Raffaelle.
Say—a good meaning from an open heart;
But will you deign an answer to them, lady?

Louisa.
I've not the wit to jest, as you have done—

Raffaelle.
But to be serious as I have been.

Louisa.
Oh! that were to say nothing.

Raffaelle.
Trust me, lady,
I've said no more than my full heart has prompted;
And ask from you a like sincerity.

Louisa.
Then, not to wrong your openness, beseech you
Believe at once that I can ne'er be your's;
And from all further suit—I do entreat
You will refrain.

Raffaelle.
This is a lady's “nay,”
And therefore I am bound to disbelieve it.

Louisa.
My lord Cimaro, 'tis no idle thought
Makes me refuse you, if you love me truly
You'll speak no more of this.

Raffaelle.
(Aside.)
Is't so, 'tis well,
Ha!—ha!—I'll try:—I would not, trust me, lady,
Urge you beyond the deep respect I owe you;
Yet, for your honour, may I tell you this,
Injurious as I doubt not you will deem it,
'Tis said you will espouse the felon Claudio.
(She endeavours to speak.)
O! trust me—I could not give ear to it
Beyond the observance of a smile—I see—
I knew it must be false.—

Louisa.
No more, I pray you.—

Raffalle.
Nay, I, perchance, should not have spoken of it,
But feeling a deep interest here to serve you,
I would not that the slightest taint should rest
One moment on your fame; and though I scorn'd
Even to repel the foolish calumny.—

Louisa.
My lord Cimaro!

Raffaelle.
I would pursue the sland'rer to the death,
If you but wish it:—'twas a sacrilege
To join that spotless name with such reproach.

Louisa.
And why reproach? Cimaro.

(Hesitatingly)
Raffaelle.
(Aside.)
Yes, she loves him:
Claudio thou diest: heav'n has no pow'r to save thee.
Oh! t'was the very madness of their malice
To link imperial blood with a murderer's.

Louisa.
A murderer's!—he is no murderer.

Raffaelle.
Nay, I know not—the duke will be his judge—
No more of him—let us to sprightlier subjects.

Louisa.
I pray you pardon me—I am not well.

Raffaelle.
I'm sorry that I mentioned this report,
But I am guiltless of belief in it.

Louisa.
Leave me, I pray you.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
My lord, you are enquired for.

Raffaelle.
'Tis well:
Madam I'll leave you—trust me I am grieved—
Much grieved I spoke of it—farewell—farewell—
This scene will change 'ere night—'tis done—he's dead.
(Aside.)
As I return from court I'll wait on you:
He's not the first kill'd by a woman's kindness.

(Aside.)
(Exit.)
Louisa.
Come, come, Maria; come, my gentle girl,
Lead me into my chamber—Oh! my heart
It leaps into my throat, cruel Cimaro!
Love him! oh Claudio!

(Exeunt.)