 | Plays and Poems |  |
SCENE IV.
The Park. Enter Costanza and Juranio.Costanza.
Where are our friends?
Juranio.
They have deserted us.
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Let us return to them.—Why came you here?
Ju.
To be a guest at your betrothal-feast.
Cos.
But was that kindly done?
Ju.
I cannot say:
One, more or less, can make small difference.
Cos.
Sir, you dissemble with me.
Ju.
Do I, lady?
Who taught the lesson?
Cos.
Is it manly in you
To seek so poor a victory over me?
Perchance, you thought to see my features pale,
My eyes swim blindly, and my limbs give way,
When you approached me first.—You did not, sir!
Perchance you think when, at the festival,
They toast my union with Marsio,
To see me falter, nay, to faint outright—
A crowning triumph for your vanity.—
You shall not, sir! O! Count Juranio,
This is unworthy a less man than you!
Ju.
As you behold it; but you wrong me much.
Why have you ever held me in contempt?
Why have you sought the motives of my acts
Among the lowest heaven allows the base?
Why have you turned my honest love aside
With irony? I never wronged you, lady,—
No, by my soul, neither in word nor thought!
I never wished to tempt you into ill,
With the bare modest offering of my love.
Why do you fly a gentleman's regard,
And fix you on this loveless Marsio?
Cos.
These are strange questions, Count Juranio.
After to-day, our paths lie far apart;
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And I will answer.—Nay; my fate is fixed.
Ju.
You will not understand me: your ill thoughts
Stretch to futurity, and hint at things
Beyond my heart's conception. I would rather,
Far rather, know your holy chastity
Were pining in a dungeon—dying—dead—
Than clasp your blighted beauty in my arms,
With Helen's charms joined to it!
Cos.
Gentle sir,
You misconceive me. I would spare the pangs,
The fearful struggles, which our love—
Ju.
“Our love!”
Cos.
Ay, ay! I love you, love you, love you!
I tell it to you with a breaking heart:
I must speak once, though ruin follow it.
A little while, and this still agony
Shall vanish from existence; yes, the sod
Will rest as quietly above my grave
As o'er a yearling infant's.
Ju.
Happiness!
Costanza, dearest,—turn not from me now:
I am all yours. O! I have loved you long:
I'll spend my life in telling you how much.
Do not allow cold fancies to tread down
These buds of joyous promise. There is naught
Between us and the fulness of our hopes,
Save feeble Marsio.
Cos.
A giant!
Ju.
No;
A very pigmy. Dearest, do not shun me.
Cos.
I pray you, Count, remove your hands from me—
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Away, sir, I am sacred!
Ju.
Spurned again!
Do you act thus to torture me? O! answer!
Is cruelty your practice, grief your sport?
You walk in mystery; every deed is blank
And purposeless to me.
Cos.
Forbear, forbear!
You should not taunt me thus. My destiny
Tramples on love, and overrules my life.
O! tempt me not!
Ju.
Explain, explain yourself.
I would not think unworthily of you.
Cos.
You know my father's poverty—
Ju.
Yes, yes;
And to enrich him—for his sake alone—
Am I not right?—you marry Marsio.
Cos.
Quite right. But my betrothal was performed
Ere—ere—
Ju.
You loved me. But what hinders now?
Cos.
My father's debts were large, strewn here and there,
The wide accumulation of old dues
Gathered for ages round our sinking house.
Marsio knew this, and bought the scattered claims
For a bare trifle; though the full amount
Would beggar a state's revenue to pay.
He held these debts—alas! that I can say it
Of one to whom I must be linked for life!—
Above my father's helpless head, and swore
Either to wed me, or to send my father—
Think of it, signore, an infirm old man,
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Yes, to send him—chained, coupled, mixed with thieves—
Even to the galleys!
Ju.
The outrageous wretch!
I'll bury him in gold!
Cos.
Too late, too late!
Though you held all the Indies in your fee.
Upon the threat—from which no prayers could move him—
I promised Marsio, most solemnly,
To keep my marriage-plight.
Ju.
Alas! I mourn
More for your fate than for the loss of you.
(Enter, behind, Marsio and Pietro Rogo, observing them.)
Is there no way? Yes, yes; the Duke—
Cos.
The Duke!
The holy Pope, himself, is naught to me
Before my promise.
Ju.
Lady, do but think
Of the long life of weary misery
That lies before you.
Cos.
I have thought of that.
Will you attend the feast now?
Ju.
I am bound,
Almost by oath, to Marsio.
Cos.
Indeed!—
Ju.
After the feast—O heaven! have mercy on me!
I cannot, cannot yield you. Chance, nay, heaven
Has thrown me in your way to succor you.
I slighted women till the day we met:
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In lavish wastefulness, upon your sex,
I have stored up to tender you alone.
Shall all be lost? Ah! lady—
[Kneels.]
Cos.
Count, be strong!
Life 's but an atom of eternity.
Ju.
But love makes life immortal.
Cos.
'T is in vain;
You must not strive to weaken my resolve.
Farewell!
Ju.
So be it, then. (Rising.)
Yet, ere you go,
Leave some remembrance—ay, that golden cross
Is a fit emblem of my martyred love.
Cos.
No, no; forget me. It were weakness, sir,
To pamper memory with a toy like this.
Yet when a thought of me will come to you,
Judge me not harshly—as of one who died,
Rich in rare gifts, bequeathing you no part—
But as a poor, poor friend, who, dying, left
All she possessed, her blessing.—May God bless you!
[Exit.]
Ju.
O! fate! what I have lost!
Rogo.
How think you now?
Marsio.
That Count Juranio is my best of friends.
He proved my wife the soul of constancy.
I'll love him from this day. Why, Pietro,
I do not see you laughing at me—ha!
Rogo.
Be quiet, man; my laugh may come at last.
Juranio will make a famous friend,
After your marriage. Just the youth, I think,
To show your lady to a masquerade—
To hand her shawl—to read her fiery poems—
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Which you are slow at.—Ha! friend Marsio?
Mar.
Poor fellow! Pietro, I almost fear
The hapless youth will pine himself to death
Ere I am married—though I'll stir for him—
I fear so, Pietro. Why, look you now,
He has a dying face; so strangely pale!
Doubtless, there is some fatal sickness nigh,
Which this sad interview has hastened on.
Poor, crest-fallen lover! Let us speak to him.
[They advance.]
Ho! Count Juranio! What, you are alone!
Where has the lady gone I charged you with?
O! faithless guardian! On my honor, Count,
I'll never trust her to your care again.—
Would you, friend Pietro?
Ju.
She just departed.
Some duty called her to the castle.
Mar.
Ah!
Some duty past persuasion; or no doubt—
So high I value sweet Costanza's charms—
You 'd have detained her.—Ha! Count? Now, a youth,
Of your fair person, should have ample power
To hold a restive maiden.
Rogo.
How he rubs him!
[Aside.]
Ju.
I did not urge her stay.
Mar.
Indeed! Well, well,
You lack my feelings;—but I cannot hope
That all the world will look through lovers' eyes.
Here 's signore Salvatore, and alone!
Fair maids are in discredit. Save you, sir!
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Salvatore.
A moment with my kinsman.
Mar.
Ask a thousand.
[Juranio and Salvatore talk apart.]
Rogo.
The devil take me, if you have a heart!
I would not worry these poor boys so much,
To sway the dukedom.
Mar.
Yes, I have a heart—
A heart which these poor boys would trample on,
Did I not wear a head to second it.
Even now they scheme to compass me.
See, the plot opens.
Sal.
Signore Marsio,
You are a merchant, traffic is your trade,
You look on all things under heaven as worth
Just so much money.—
Mar.
Mark you, Pietro,
Here 's the ideal merchant. Well said, signore;
A golden measure is a certain thing
To gauge the world with.
Sal.
Hold you anything
You have not measured with this golden rule?
Have you aught priceless?
Mar.
Nothing—let me think.
No; there is naught I know of.
Sal.
Frankly, then;
What is Costanza's value?
Mar.
Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
You are the maddest dog in Christendom!
Perchance, you are serious? Signore, if you are?—
Rogo.
Zounds! Marsio, you are a mean, tame fool,
To brook this insolence!
[Apart to Marsio.]
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Bear with me, friend.
[Apart to Rogo.]
Sal.
My words were plain enough.
Mar.
Well—let me see—
I should receive—I put her low to you—
At least ten million ducats. I will give
A warranty for kindness, soundness, age;—
She has no tricks,—you may put trust in her.
Is this fair dealing, Pietro?
Rogo.
Pshaw! pshaw!
Sal.
You jest with me.
Mar.
Faith, I am serious.
Ten million are a serious thing. I wish
To fit some argosies. Ten million ducats!
Within a year I 'd nearly double them.
I want ten million.
Ju.
Take them, in heaven's name!
I still shall have my little villa left
Among the vineyards.
Mar.
But I want that villa.
Can you not throw it in?
Ju.
Most gladly, signore,
Yet be your debtor. I have arms to work.
Mar.
Now, should I wish a limb or so?—
Sal.
Take mine;
Leave my trunk bare. One limb of mine is worth
All yonder puny fellow's.
Mar.
Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
Could you unbowel earth of all its gold—
Cover the globe with vineyards, and sow villas
Thicker than sands upon the roaring beach,
Amid the vine-sticks—were mankind unlimbed,
The whole race at my mercy—these would make
No atom of the sum I hold her at!
'Sblood! will you flout me?
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Well, well, I have lost.
Mar.
Ay, lost—How lost?
Sal.
Forgive the liberty.
I made a sportive wager with the Count,
That I could purchase anything you owned:
He named your lady.—As I live, Juranio,
You scarcely used me fairly.
Mar.
Ah! a jest.
Sal.
A jest that lifts a trader's character
Above my former thinking.
Mar.
Pietro,
If I should put this jesting home again,
They could not murmur?
Rogo.
No, forsooth.
Sal.
No, no;
'T is give and take.
Mar.
Why, signore Salvatore,
I half believed you meant it. Well done, faith!
How did you keep your countenance? 'T was rare!
Costanza must know this. So, merry men,
On, to the castle! Count Juranio,
You played well too. You must feel lively, Count,
With such a flood of spirits.
Sal.
Curse the brute!
He cuts Juranio with a two-edged sword.
[Aside.]
Mar.
Now forward, sirs! We must break even yet.
I'll plan some joke; but, when 't is working hard,
You must not flinch, if it be something rude.
Forward, mad boys! We are all jesters now:
For want of bells, we'll shake our empty heads!
[Exeunt, on one side, Marsio, Juranio, and Salvatore; on the other, Pietro Rogo.]
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