University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Antonio's House.
Enter Antonio and Pietro.
Ant.
What lacks it now of noon?

Piet.
An hour or more.

Ant.
No chance of his arrival!—This delay
Perplexes me! Is it neglect?—I thought
His answer would have been his presence here,
Prompt as my summons; yet he neither comes
Nor sends excuse. 'Tis very strange! She holds
The same sedate, collected carriage still?

Piet.
She does, and native seems it to the maid
As her fair brow, wherefrom it calmly looks,
As from its custom'd and assuréd seat—
A gentleness that smiles without a smile—
For 'tis the sweetness, not of cheek, or lip
Alone; but every feature—every act—
Delights the heart that's near her. Silence is
Her favourite mood, yet ne'er repels she converse,
While every theme hath one unvaried close—
A blessing on your reverence.

Ant.
Poor girl!
She owes me nought. Why do I serve my Master,
If not to do his bidding? Is it but
To hold the crook? Nay, but to use the crook!
To be, indeed, the shepherd of the flock—
Wakeful and watchful—pitiful and faithful—
My charitable life, and not my title,
The badge and warrant of my sacred calling!
She was afflicted, persecuted, and
I succour'd her!—I, standing at the altar!
Beneath my Master's roof! His livery,
Blazon'd, as ne'er was earthly king's, upon me!
What could I less?

Piet.
Fails he to come, for whom
Your reverence looks, to plead the damsel's cause;
Must it perforce go on?

Ant.
It must; and I
Myself will be her advocate, before
The haughty duke! For problems of deep law,
Will give him axioms of plain truth; and paint
Her thrilling grievance—to the life; with tears,
Which, Pity seeing, shall to every heart
That owns its influence, her cause commend,
And gather tears to aid them!

Enter Stephano.
Ste.
May it please you,
Two strangers, craving audience, wait below.

Ant.
Admit them! 'Tis my nephew! Worthy Pietro,
Have all in readiness, that we appear
Before the duke when cited.
[Pietro goes out.
Enter Leonardo Gonzaga and Lorenzo.
So, Lorenzo!

Lor.
Save you, my reverend uncle!

Ant.
Now a week
I've look'd for you—but waive we explanations.
Thou'rt come!—and to the business that has brought thee:—
I have possess'd thee of the damsel's cause
In all its bearings—Art prepared to plead it?

Lor.
I am, so please your reverence;—but, with us,
That evidence is best which is direct.
That the Count Florio seeks the damsel's hand,—
That wills her guardian she bestow it on him,—
That she resists her uncle and the count,—
I know; but not the cause of her dissent.
Children to guardians should obedience pay;
A match, so lofty, warrants some enforcement,
Which, not on slight grounds, should the maid resist.

Ant.
Ground know I none, save strong aversion.

Lor.
Pray you
Vouchsafe us conference with the maid herself.
Her deposition shall this gentleman
That's come with me—my trusty clerk—set down.

Ant.
I'll bring her to you;—but, I charge you, boy,
You keep in mind you are her advocate;
For she, indeed, of those rare things of earth,
Which of the debt that's due to it, rob Heaven,
That men set earth before it, is the rarest!
Then guard thee, nephew!—rather with thine ears
And tongue discourse with her, than with thine eyes,
Lest thou forget it was her cause, not she,
That summon'd thee to Mantua!

Lor.
Fear me not!

[Antonio goes out.
Leon.
A service of some danger, it should seem,
Your reverend uncle has engaged you in;
And, by his pardon, for your safety, uses
Means which your peril more enhance than lessen.
The soldier that is taught to fear his foe,
Is half o'ercome before he takes the field.

Lor.
Is't from your own misgivings you doubt me!

Leon.
No!—As I said before, my heart is safe—
Love-proof, with love!—which, if it be not, signor,
A passion that can only once be felt—
Hath but one object—lives and dies with us—
And, while it lives, remains itself, while all
Attachments else keep changing—it is nothing!
I used to laugh at love, and deem it fancy.
My heart would choose its mistress by mine eyes;
Whom scarce they found before I sought a new one.
I wooed not then the beauty of the soul—
The passing loveliness which lodgeth there—
A world beyond the charm of face or form!
I found it! When or where—for weal or woe—
It matters not! I found it!—wedded it!
Never to be divorced from that true love
Which taught me love, indeed!

Lor.
You wedded it?—
Then was your passion blest?

Leon.
No, Signor, no!
Question no further, prithee! Here's your uncle!

Enter Antonio and Mariana.
Ant.
Lo, nephew! here's the maid,
To answer for herself!

Lor.
[To Leonardo.]
She's fair, indeed!
Description ne'er could give her out the thing,
One only glance avows her!—Prithee, look!

Leon.
Show her to him who has not seen the fairest!
Remember, signor, Time's no gazer, but
A traveller, whose eye is on his road,
And feet in motion, ever! Noon's at hand!

Lor.
I thank you. Note my questions—her replies.
Your guardian—Is he your relation too?

Mari.
No.—Would he were! That stay had needs be strong,
Which failing, we've none other left, to cling to.

Leon.
Oh, music!—

Lor.
What's the matter?

Leon.
'Twas a bird!—
Whose throat, for sweetness, beggars all the grove!
Yea, of its rich and faméd minstrel makes
A poor and common chorister!

Lor.
Hear her!
You'll have no ear for any other bird:
Look at her, and you'll have no ear for her,
Your trancéd vision every other sense
Absorbing!—Gave you promise to the count?

Mari.
None!

Lor.
Nor encouragement?

Mari.
Such as aversion
Gives to the thing it loathes!

Lor.
Have you a vow
Or promise to another?—That were a plea
To justify rejection. You are silent.
And yet you speak—if blushes speak—and all
Confess they do. Come, come, I know you love!
Tell me, I pray, the story of your love!
That, thereon, I may found my proper plea
To show your opposition not a thing
Of fantasy, caprice, or frowardness;
But such as all men should commend you for.
Prove it the joint result of heart and reason,
Each other's act approving. Was't in Mantua
You met?

Mari.
No, signor, in my native land!

Lor.
And that is—

Mari.
Switzerland!

Lor.
His country too?

Mari.
No, signor, he belong'd to Mantua.

Lor.
That's right!—You are collected and direct
In your replies. I dare be sworn your passion
Was such a thing, as by its neighbourhood
Made even piety and virtue richer
Than e'er they were before. How grew it? Come,
Thou know'st thy heart! Look calmly into it,
And see how innocent a thing it is
Thou fear'st so much to show.—I wait your answer.
How grew your passion?

Mari.
As my stature grew,
Which rose without my noting it, until
They said I was a woman. I kept watch
Beside what seem'd his death-bed. From beneath
An avalanche my father rescued him,
The sole survivor of a company
Who wander'd through our mountains. A long time
His life was doubtful, signor, and he call'd
For help, whence help alone could come, which I,
Morning and night, invoked along with him.—
Thus 'gan our souls to mingle!

Lor.
I perceive.
You mingled souls until you mingled hearts?
You loved at last.—Was't not the sequel, maid?

Mari.
I loved indeed! If I but nursed a flower
Which, to the ground, the rain and wind had beaten,
That flower of all our garden was my pride!
What then was he to me, for whom I thought
To make a shroud; when, tending on him, still,
With hope, that, baffled still, still lost not heart,
I saw at last the ruddy dawn of health
Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,
And glow—and glow—till forth at last it burst
Into confirméd, broad, and glorious day!

Lor.
You loved, and were beloved?

Mari.
To say I was,
Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouch'd,
What many an action testified—and yet—
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved—it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction—now a start—anon
A pacing to and fro—anon, a stillness,
As nought remain'd of life, save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion, were extinct!
Then all again was action!—disinclined
To converse, save he held it with himself;
Which oft he did, in gloomy mood discoursing,
And ever and anon invoking Honour—
As some high contest there were pending, 'twixt
Himself and him, wherein her aid he needed.

Lor.
This spoke impediment! Or he was bound,
By promise, to another; or had friends
Whom it behoved him to consult, and doubted;
Or 'twixt you lay disparity, too wide
For love itself to leap.

Mari.
I saw a struggle,
But knew not what it was!—I wonder'd, still,
That what to me was all content, to him
Was all disturbance; but my turn arrived.
At length he talk'd of leaving us! At length,
He fix'd the parting day!—but kept it not—
How my heart bounded!—then I knew how low
It had been sinking. Deeper still it sank
When next he fix'd the day to go; and, then,
It sank, to bound no more! He went, indeed!

Lor.
To follow him, you came to Mantua?

Mari.
What could I do but follow him, with whom
My heart had gone; and, with it, everything—
Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood,
Lake, sky, and mountain—e'en my father, signor,—
Could I remain behind? That father found
His child was not at home; he loved me, signor,
And ask'd me, one day, whither we should go?
I said, “To Mantua.” I follow'd him
To Mantua!—to breathe the air he breathed,
To walk upon the ground he walk'd upon,
To look upon the things he look'd upon,
To look, perchance, on him! perchance to hear him,
To touch him!—never to be known to him,
Till he was told, perhaps, I died, his love.

Lor.
I pray you, signor, how do you get on?
I see you play the woman well as I!
And, sooth to say, the eye were stone itself,
From which her story could not call a tear!
How get you on? indite you word for word
As she delivers it? How's this!—The page
As blank as first you found it!—All our pains
Have gone to lose our time!

Leon.
I have a gift
Of memory, signor, which belongs to few.
What once I hear, stands as a written page
Before me; which, if question'd, I could read
Letter for letter.—You shall have anon
The proof of this. I have a friend or two
I fain would snatch a word with—That despatch'd,
I'll meet you at the duke's, and bring with me
The damsel's story, word for word set down,
And win your full content; or give you leave
To brand me an impostor, or aught else
A man should blush to pass for! Will you trust me?

Lor.
I will.

Leon.
You may, for you shall ne'er repent you.
I'll bring you aid you little count upon. [Aside.]


[Goes out.
Ant.
Nay, nephew, urge your friend to stay. A space
You have for brief refreshment; and, in sooth,
You want it, who, from travel just alighted,
Must needs to business go.

Lor.
Detain not him!
Some needful avocations call him hence.
I wait your pleasure, uncle.

Ant.
Daughter, come.
Some effort has it cost to tell your story,
But profit comes of it. Your cause is strong.
Your vows, which virtually are another's,
Heaven doth itself forbid you give the count!
Is't not so, nephew?

Lor.
There I'll found the plea,
Which to the conscience of the duke I'll put.
Knows he, whom, at his death—which I'm advised
Took place in Mantua—your father named
Your guardian—knows the commissary this,
Which thou hast now related?

Mari.
Not from me.
My father's death was sudden.—Long time since!
He and the commissary were mere acquaintance.
What pass'd between them, save the testament
Which left me ward unto the commissary,
I am a stranger to.

Lor.
Since you came hither
Him have you seen, for sake of whom you came?

Mari.
No!

Lor.
Nor hast clue direct, or indirect,
To find him out?

Mari.
No, signor.

Lor.
And how long
Have you sojourn'd in Mantua?

Mari.
Two years.

Lor.
And is your love the same?

Mari.
Am I the same?

Lor.
Such constancy should win a blessing.

Ant.
Yes!
And strange as 'tis, what seems to us affliction
Is oft the hand that helps us to our wish.
So may it fall with thee—if Heaven approves!

[They go out.