University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene.—The same. A Room in Zenora's House.
Basso.

As if there were not work enough already
for a man in my condition, here must needs come
a stranger with his lean, lazy vagabond of a servant,
who doubtless will leave his master's work to sweeten
my own. It is a blessing if I have not to wait on
the knave himself too.

Enter Guido.
Guido.

Kind sir.

Basso.

Kind sir.

Guido.

Honoured sir.

Basso.

Honoured sir— (aside)
why, is this a barber
or a dancing master?—your highness.

Guido.

I perceive you are an accomplished gentleman.
May I presume you are the gentleman in
waiting upon the gentleman, your master, Signor
Raolfo?

Basso.

The same, at your service. What a fool
is this!

Guido.

Pray, sir, have you ever been at the French
court?

Basso.

Why?

Guido.

I perceive you have, so to speak, the same
polish of manner as I myself learnt there. It is, indeed,
the only school of true chivalry and knighthood.

Basso.

Why, is it the custom there for every knave
of a serving-man to address his fellow as sir,—kind
sir,—honoured sir,—are you the gentleman in waiting
upon the gentleman your master?

Guido.

Why, where else could you have learned
this courtesy?

Basso.

Of you.

Guido.

Of me? Come now, you have not known
me long enough and closely enough to mould your
graciousness on my model.

Basso.

Have you learnt so little at the French
court that you know not when one is making a jape
of you?

Guido.

Nay, sir, but I can afford to pass over such
things. My courage is undoubted, and I would think
shame to soil my ruffles chastising an unmannerly
menial.

Basso.

Oh!

[Exit Basso.

Guido.

The plebeian porpoise! The untamed
elephant!

Enter Raolfo and Ilario.
Ilario.
What do you here, sir? Go, prepare my chamber.

Guido.
Sir, on the moment.
[Exit Guido.

Ilario.
Now, my gentle host,
For you are son of my kind hostess, and
My mother's friend, we should be better known,
Since you denied me privilege at Paris,
And never sought me out at the King's court.

Raolfo.
My hours were little mine.

Ilario.
Ah yes, you studied.
'Twas a strange freak in one so shaped by nature
For better things.—Your pardon, though.

Raolfo.
Of course.
I understand.

Ilario.
The chase, the tilt, the dance,
Tennis, and fencing should have been your books.
You know what frolic parties were made up.
You must have seen us go forth many times
Into the country with our steeds and dogs.
Why, had you come, I should have made you known
To all the other pages, and the dames
Who made our life so merry.

Raolfo.
Like to like.
I should not much have loved them, nor they me.

Ilario.
Why, you are prone to sadness. Give it up;
It is a bad companion; and make use
Of all life's seasons in their fitting way.
I mean to take to grief, and books, and gout
When I am fifty, if I live so long,
Which is not like to happen, if I spare
My health no more than some time past I have.

Raolfo.
And herein would you have me copy you,
Or live my time out?

Ilario.
Why, to wear a skin
Like an eared field with furrows, or a tunic
Ill cut that hangs in bags, or a dried snake?
To totter and to shamble to and fro,
And drivel folly with a slobbering tongue,
While all diseases harbour in your flesh?

Raolfo.
This is the life you run some risk to bear,
If death upon the threshold of old age
Should play the jilt and leave you in the lurch.
But I look forward to another sort
Free of disease and ripe in wisdom's fruit.

Ilario.
Give me the flowers of May.

Raolfo.
Well, as you will.
Tastes vary.

Ilario
(aside).
Now, was ever such a youth?
He might change places with his grandmother,
And she grow older and he more a man!
Well, sir, I am no match for you, I see,
In strifes of bickering wit; but let us meet
At some fit time with two good bowls between,
And frothing burgundy for argument,
Who swallows more to be the better man,
And I will match you.

Raolfo.
Ay, no doubt, no doubt.

Ilario.
Or I will fly a hawk, or back a steed,
Or make a song and set it to a tune,
Upon the cithern or the mandolin,
Or run a tilt, or hit a mark—

Raolfo.
Or boast.
In all these things I yield pre-eminence.

Ilario.
Sir—but no matter. Let us e'en be friends.
For I would love you well if you would let me.

Raolfo.
None hinders. Love and friendship must go free.

Ilario.
But who comes here? You never told me, friend,
What angels make your house a paradise.
Your sister, pray?

Raolfo.
No, but my mother's friend,
One of our family.

Ilario.
So ho!

Raolfo.
Excuse me.
I will go tell my mother you are come.
[Exit Raolfo.

Enter Teresa.
Teresa.
Your pardon, sir, I had not seen you.

Ilario.
Nay,
Go not, fair lady; hold me, as I am,
But nothing, and o'erlook my presence; or,
Since I must be a guest here for some space,
And you must bear with me till by main wont
You learn my sufferance, pray begin at once.
Raolfo is but gone to seek his mother;
She will be here anon.

Teresa.
I thank you, sir;
I came but for these broideries, and now
Must go, for which I beg you pardon me.
(Aside)
Pray Heaven he may not let me!

Ilario.
Broideries!
I have some skill in these things. May I see?
A good device, and admirably wrought!
By you of course?

Teresa.
Ay, sir, the work is mine.

Ilario.
I have some such the labour of a countess.
You shall have all to copy if you will.

Teresa.
How can I thank you fully?

Ilario.
Nay, for that,
They shall be honoured by your touch for me,
And henceforth so possess a double worth.

Teresa.
Half for the giver, half—

Ilario.
For thee? Not so:
I said not so; but half for thy sake, half
For a friend's sake, the giver's only son.
Nay, I will alter that, and hold them dear
An hundred times for thee, and once for him.

Teresa.
You flatter me too much.

Ilario.
Where anything
Cannot be done, it cannot be too much.

Teresa.
Why, worse and worse.

Ilario.
You mean, my gracious one,
That I draw near and nearer to the truth.

Teresa.
Nay, further from the truth, in drawing near
To merit I possess not.

Ilario.
Why, then, truth
And goodness are not one.

Teresa.
I miss your drift,
But only see you mean more flattery;
But they stay long. Permit me lead you, sir,
Into your hostess' presence.

Ilario.
Joyfully.
And blessèd is the way when angels lead.

Teresa.
Oh, fie!

[Exeunt Ilario and Teresa.
Enter Nita on one side, Guido on the other. He pursues her.
Guido.
Sweet lady, shun me not, I pray.

Nita.

Why, he is almost as fine a young gentleman
as his master, let alone as ours, who is
more beautiful in his person than engaging in his
speech.

Guido.

Sweet lady.

Nita.

Well, sir?

Guido.

Be not so coy. Fold not thyself up in
bashfulness as the flower at night-fall, or as the
oyster closeth up his shells at shadow of the pearl-diver!

Nita.

How beautiful!

Guido.

Yes, my words are beautiful. I and my
master are both poets.

Nita.

Not your words, but your hair. Who curled
it?

Guido.

Why, it was last curled by a countess.
What think you of that? (Aside)
I shall soon be
as good a liar as my master. I heard him—the
rogue.

Nita.

Give me that beautiful handkerchief.

Guido.

It is hard to part with it, for a duchess
bestowed it upon me. There is another for you.
But let me first weep a few tears on it, and I will
then present it to you.

Nita.

Do not blubber on it, if it is to be
mine.

Guido.

Pretty untrained rose, thou shouldst have
said, “I will kiss thy tears from it, and restore it
to thee.” And then I would have said, “It shall

now be ever doubly dear to me.” And thou
shouldst have made reply, “What! half for me,
and half for the giver?” But now you have spoilt
it all.

Nita.

How well you follow your master!

Guido.

What! were you listening too?

Nita.

For what do you take me? Behind this
door.

Guido.

And I behind that. Was it not an
enchanting pastoral? On this side gallantry, on
that simplicity; court ease, and home-bred bashfulness;
elegance and native decorousness;—he
learnt it all from me. I taught him upon what
principle to make love. Hence the resemblance.
He is a good pupil, a fair pupil.

Nita.

What! Have you but one way?

Guido.

Why yes, usually. When versatility is
needless, why put yourself about to invent new
stratagems?

Nita.

Then Basso could instruct thee.

Guido.

What! the fat serving-man?

Nita.

The same. He makes love every time a
new way, and each time worse than the last.

Guido.

Makes love! To whom?

Nita.

To me.

Guido.

To you! I will challenge him, and spit
him like a fat ox.

Nita.

You may spare yourself the pains. I like you
better.

Guido
(aside).

How rapid my conquests are, to be
sure!—Come, a kiss.

Nita.
Here is my mistress. Let us away.

[Exeunt Guido and Nita.
Enter Zenora, Ilario, and Fausta.
Zenora.
Now I will leave you until dinner-time:
And you, dear niece, shall entertain our guest,
Since poor Teresa, who should help you here,
Is taken with some sudden bashful fit
(She calls it illness) and withdrawn from sight
Into her chamber, and my strange dear boy
Pleads he hath business of such pressing call
It may not be waved off or put aside.
Farewell.
[Exit Zenora.

Ilario.
Sweet lady, if I trouble thee,
I prithee tell me.

Fausta.
Sir, I shall as well
As courtesy permits.

Ilario.
Your cousin, lady,
Is very strange and distant.

Fausta.
It were strange
If he should seem not strange to you.

Ilario.
Indeed,
Court life so customs all the palate's touch
To nicety, that this you say is fact;
Yet I could e'en put by fastidiousness,
Nor quarrel with strong wine if it be sharp,
In this case; and it numbs me thus the more
That the deep friendship I had felt for him
At first sight, should meet such November welcome.

Fausta.
I said 'twere strange if he should not seem strange
To you, but it is stranger you can love him.

Ilario.
It may seem so; but 'neath the rugged rind
Of rude harsh bearing and unsoftened manner
I seem to see that lurking, so to speak,
Which bids us look for mellower fruit anon.

Fausta.
Indeed.

Ilario.
Indeed I do. Believe me, lady,
I am sincere. A week at court or so
Would mend him and would make him.

Fausta.
Such as you?
I think not.

Ilario.
Nay, perhaps not: but you flatter.

Fausta.
'Tis the first time.

Ilario.
That makes the flattery
Too flattering.

Fausta.
Pray ease your mind on that.

Ilario.
I will, and when I go again to Paris,
Will tell the duchess how a lady here
Could give a compliment as graceful turn
As any at the court.

Fausta.
And add to it
That the receiver had a shrewder scent
To catch the perfume of the folded words,
And so extract the quintessence of praise
Thrice cohobated and reclarified,
As bees find honey hidden in the flower,
Than any courtier: though they lack not wit
If e'en their wittiest have this superflux.

Ilario.
You are my match, in truth you are my match,
And bandy courtesies with equal fence.

Fausta.
Nay, I disclaim the equality.

Ilario.
Not so.
Pray, draw the game, believing me sincere
When I confess my loss as great as thine.
Tiros, sweet lady, have beat veterans
In their first battle.

Fausta.
Nay, I yield the ground,
And draw my rude recruits out of the field.
The prize I cannot win, which, if I might,
Would suit me ill.

Ilario.
And what is this fair prize?
But here, see back your cousin in good time.

Enter Raolfo.
Raolfo.
My mother sent me here to walk with you
And show the beauties of our native town
(If you approve) till dinner.

Ilario.
Willingly:
But, sir, this lady and myself have been
Contesting hotly with our keenest wit,
And leave the event disputed: but the prize
She, as the strong should still be merciful,
Hath yielded me. Farewell awhile, sweet foe,
I'll wear the wreath.

[Exit Ilario with Raolfo.
Fausta.
Of folly; 'twill become thee.
Had ever vanity till now such power
As so transform a man not quite a fool,
But with a kind of vulgar craft and cunning,
Into a downright credulous idiot,
To take all satire down in compliment
With greedy gulp, as a fish sucks the hook in.
Enter Teresa.
Why, how now, girl? your sudden fit of vapours
Has robbed you of a treat.

Teresa.
What treat?

Fausta.
The sight
Of the most complete puppy littered yet.

Teresa.
Whom point you at?

Fausta.
Whom but our new-come guest.

Teresa.
Indeed, I think you wrong him much.

Fausta.
So, then,
You know him.

Teresa.
I have seen him.

Fausta.
Since he came?

Teresa.
A short while since.

Fausta.
Why, then, you must be deaf
Or blind.

Teresa.
Why?

Fausta.
Had you known him years agone
And deemed him not a fool, then had I deemed
That either he had changed or you forgot.
But now—

Teresa.
Well now?

Fausta.
I know not what to think.

Teresa.
Think yourself right, and me, as ever, wrong.

Fausta.
Here's sudden mischief. Now, if he could know
You fought his battles thus, I dare be sworn
He would enlarge his conquests with your name,
The fellow is so vain.

Teresa.
Well, say your will.

Fausta.
So now the tempest rises, it grows hot,
The air is sulphurous, and the clouds blush red.

Teresa.
Now, truly, you presume too far.

Fausta.
Presume!
'Tis a new word. I like it on your lips.
You never were but tame until this hour.
Let me commend the change, and thank the cause
When he returns.

Teresa.
I say you go too far.
I will not sit with you.

Fausta.
Nay, as you will.
Yet stay a moment. I have words for you.
Have you that hardihood, that effrontery
To flout Raolfo under all our eyes,
And turn on us who give but things their names
In matter of this youth? Will you, on whom
His love stooped downward, having brushed it off,
Grope in the gutter for this mite of manhood,
This filthy brass thing, soiled from hand to hand;
This lady's man, this curled effeminate fop,
His velvet bonnet on his empty pate;
This swaggering bravo with the well-oiled tongue
That clatters in his mouth like a bell-hammer
With empty jargon, bare unmeaning noise?

Teresa.
Now I have heard you to the end. I hold
This bravo better than your pedagogue,
His jargon less unmeaning than the other's.
Keep to your choice, and let the world choose too.
When I make mine, I shall not envy yours,
Nor use detraction, envy's instrument.
Farewell!
[Exit Teresa.

Fausta.
Yesterday's drudge is empress of to-day.
Pride is a mushroom grows up in a night,
And quickliest ever in the foulest soil.
Well, we may thank God, beauty and true wealth,
Worth in a friend, and happiness in life,
The fairest art, the noblest of deeds done
Bear difference to different men. So all
Have scope and running, where if all agreed
We should have small agreement else, I wot,
But one man be the sought of womankind
And torn to pieces in their rivalry,
While now, who flouts at a philosopher,
Your lady, may go marry with her cook,
And the sage make requital of the loss
With the cook's cast-off scullion love, and each
Shall deem that choice the nobler. Be it so.
Enter Raolfo.
Most welcome cousin, I have news for you.

Raolfo.
Nay, you have none. There is no news for them
Who have made peace with hope and with despair.
Such men dwell in a dim enchanted wood
Of broken moonlight, shut out from the world,
Where round and through their life's main memories,
Like trees, their circling windy thoughts make moan;
Trees fixed they see mid ever-eddying air,
They only hear the rushing of the wind;
And the all-vital things of healthsome men,
Who live and hope, these in their sanctuary
Hear like dim noises of the outer world,
Faint buzzings of the far-off murmuring town,
Dull dreary boomings of the distant sea,
All meaning lost by distance.

Fausta.
You make hope
Too cheap to barter it at second hand
Ere it be worn out: and you rest it on
Too weak foundation, building it on love,
Or on the shifting sand of maid's caprice.

Raolfo.
Chide me not, cousin. Let me have your news.

Fausta.
My news is—that a horse brought forth a hare;
An eagle left his paths of soaring strife
To strut gold-feathered at the homestead door;
A lion, weary of ranging after prey,
Came fawning on the hands of men for food;
The wild ox bowed his horned head 'neath the yoke
Of his own will, and drew the plough for hire.

Raolfo.
Tell me no fables. I am sick at heart.
Speak plainly.

Fausta.
Then a man put off his manhood,
And bowed him to a woman, and became
Such as the many who have nought of man
Saving the outward shape and counterfeit.

Raolfo.
You speak of me?

Fausta.
Indeed, good friend, I do;
Choose whom you will to make your duteous wife,
And feel no shame for honest passion's cause,
But be no sickly lover, for God's grace.
Leave that to us poor women.

Raolfo.
You hit hard,
And on the unshielded side between the plates.

Fausta.
Pluck out the steel. Set Reason on her throne,
And make desire her footstool. Root out pity
For others or thyself. Give thought her food,
And turn the forces of thy life that way,
So shall there be none left to feed disease;
For love is but a canker of the soul,
That eats up all her honest nutriment,
And yields no recompense, a spongy weed
That sucks the juices from the thirsting flowers,
And leaves them choked with drought.

Raolfo.
You speak but fact.
I am ashamed.

Fausta.
And I ashamed for thee,
And pitiful.

Raolfo.
Why pitiful?

Fausta.
For this.
Thou hast so fallen for nought. Teresa loves.

Raolfo.
For nothing, and she loves?

Fausta.
She loves not thee.
If I may speak, not as an eye-witness
Of how they met, but guessing by clear signs,
Scarce had her eyes, which ofttimes turned from yours
(How wearily indifferent!), as men,
Born blind to beauty, turn from peerless art,
Or from brief gazing on a sunset sky,
Lit on the stanger, the pert courtling imp,
Than like two bees they ransacked all his face
For honey, and she drew nectar from his lips
To treasure in the hive of memory.
Her breath was bated while she spake, her cheek
Red as of one who talks with loftier souls,
Abashed and reverent her mien and gesture.
What, jealous! Be this rather but thy cure,
Learning how deep a spirit hath thy love,
How keen perception ground and whetted on,
How stern self-judgment to how fine an edge
For probing others, how high sense of truth,
Of reason, virtue, manhood, modesty,
True breeding.

Raolfo.
Peace! You burn, and chafe the sore—
First lay me low, then trample on my pride,
Harrow with heavy censure that sown sneers
May strike more root. You speak you know not what
In jealousy.

Fausta.
What of Teresa, sir?
Envy comes not to greater hearts from less,
And jealousy to great minds not at all.

Raolfo.
You speak in hatred then. Your tale, forsooth,
Rings credible of those but met an hour!
A sole short hour! I do not trust it, no,
Not in a single word.

Fausta.
In brief, I lie!
Flatter thee not, friend, that for love of one
Thrice truer than thou art, nay, even wast
Before this folly, I could learn to lie.
Whom measure you me by? Is it yourself,
Or your Teresa? Go to her and see
If this I say be fact. Meanwhile farewell.
[Exit Fausta.

Raolfo.
Malignant woman, treacherous, traitorous, false!
What is a man's hate for his brother man
Beside a woman's for her sister frail?
As well a judge might vouch the witnessing
Of one who testifies against a foe,
As I believe this partial satirist.
Yet it disturbs my peace, as, whiles, the word
Of a known liar somewhat moves deep faith
In provèd innocence. The doubt I'll clear—
But dread the truth more than to keep my fear.