 | The Wife |  |
SCENE III.
—The Vestibule before the Ducal Palace.Enter St. Pierre.
St. P.
Here be my seat upon the palace-steps,
Although they hang me from the portico!
Have a heart, Poverty, thou hast nought to lose,—
Nor land, nor mansion, nor habiliments,
That thou shouldst play the craven! That thou call'st
Thy life—what is it?—Hunger!—Nakedness!
A lodging 'neath the eaves! ten scornful looks
For one of pity; and that one a proof
That thou'rt an anguish to the sight of men!
Then what carest thou for cuffs? Nay, cuff again,
That they may fall the heavier!—satisfied
That he who brains thee, does thee, Poverty,
A thousand times the good, he does thee ill!—
Come—keep the portal of the mighty duke,
Who made thee what thou art; nor let him pass
Till from his fear thou wring'st an alms, or else
A quick release obtainest from his wrath!
Fer.
[without].
Be sure thou keep'st the hour.
St. P.
Talk of the fiend,
They say, and here he comes! Here comes the duke.
Fer.
[Entering.]
Hoa!—Clear the vestibule!
St. P.
Great duke, descend!
No retinue impedes your gracious way!
Here is no throng,—for Poverty sits here
Craving a foot of your fair palace-steps,
For lack of better resting-place.
Fer.
Who are you?
What do you here!
St. P.
Wait, mighty duke, an alms!
I could not ask the humble craftsman one,
I used to cuff him;—nor the tradesman one,
I used to make him doff his cap to me;—
Nor yet the merchant one, he gave me way,
Or I gave him my shoulder;—nor the courtier,
My hilt I handled soon as he touch'd his;—
In brief, I pass'd by all degrees of men,
To beg an alms of the most gracious duke!
310
Here!
St. P.
What! a florin? give it to the street,
For the abaséd eye of vagrantry!
I make no livelihood of raggedness!
Fer.
Scorn'st thou my gift?
St. P.
Thy gift and thee, great duke!
Nay, frown not! Choler will disturb digestion,
And mar thy pleasant afternoon's repast;
Leave wrath to me, who have not tasted food
Since Wednesday last,—nor look for meal to-day.
Fer.
Why, that would buy thee five!
St. P.
What were five meals—
To starve anew! I should not light on thee
A second time to beg another alms!
Thou wouldst take care to shun me! Better starve
Outright,—for, saving thee, most gracious duke,
There's not a man in Mantua I'd stoop
To ask a ducat of.
Fer.
Well, there's a ducat.
St. P.
It will not do!
Fer.
What hoa there!
St. P.
Softly, duke!
Hush! better far that we confer alone,
For thy sake! mark!—for thy sake, gracious duke!
Fer.
What means the villain?
St. P.
Right, duke, that's my name!
What do I mean? I'll tell thee what I mean.
My wardrobe wants replenishing; if puffs
The wind, my hat is like to lose its crown;
My robe is all the covering I have;
My shoes are minus nearly all the soles!
And, then, I fain would change my lodgings, duke—
Which, sooth to say, is e'en the open street—
Less spacious would content me; last of all
I would be master of a larder, duke,
Would serve me, at the shortest, good a month,
That I might live so long at ease, and see
If aught turn'd up would make it worth my while
To shake a hand with the fair world again,
And live on terms with it.—Most gracious duke,
Give me a hundred ducats!
Fer.
Dost thou think
To rob me at the palace-gates!
St. P.
Who robs,
Provides him weapons. I have none, great duke,
Nor pistol, rapier, poniard,—not a knife:
I parted with them, one by one, for food!
For weeks have they been provender to me!
Think upon that, great duke, that at a meal
Spend'st twenty times their produce; and, so please you,
Give me a hundred ducats!
Fer.
Thou art mad!
311
No, by St. Jago!—Try me! I have the use
Of my wits. I'll neither leap into a flood,
Nor run into a fire! I can tell
The day of the week, the month of the year, the year;
I'll name you which are fast-days, which are not—
But that's no wonder, I have kept so many—
To balance this, I'll name you feast-days too!
I'll write and cipher for you;—finally,
I'll give you all the fractions to a jot,
That lie in a hundred ducats!
Servants enter from the Palace.
Fer.
Seize him!
St. P.
Stop
[Menacing the servants, who pause.
Till you have learn'd my name! Imports you much
To know it! 'Tis affix'd, most gracious duke,
To certain documents which only wait
Your leave to see the light.
Fer.
What documents?
St. P.
Shall these o'erhear, or private be our speech?
Fer.
[To Servants.]
You may withdraw a pace or two.
St. P.
You see,
Great duke, I am not mad!
Fer.
What documents?
St. P.
One memorandum for a hundred crowns,
For whipping one that dared offend your grace.
I paid me with the pleasure of the task,
Nor ask'd the hire, but kept the document.
Another, for enticing to a haunt
Of interdicted play, a wealthy heir.
I scorn'd the hire for that,—though shame to say it,
I did not scorn to earn it—but I kept
The document.—A third—
Fer.
Enough—St. Pierre!
St. P.
Aha! you know me now?
Fer.
How changed thou art,—
I ne'er had known thee!
St. P.
It were strange if want
Look'd like abundance—which was never yet
Akin to it.
Fer.
Here take my purse!
St. P.
'Tis rich—
Holds it a hundred ducats?
Fer.
Twice the sum—
I want thee—that suffice!
St. P.
That does suffice.
Fer.
Get thee habiliments more rich than these,—
Appointments, too, fit to consort with them;
And come thou to mine ancient mansion straight.
St. P.
I must dine first.
Fer.
Eat sparingly.
312
Indeed!
I see thou want'st me then—I'll go and dine.
Fer.
Thy tears are not a pledge for continence.
St. P.
I'll dine upon a crust! Nay, fear me not—
What time am I to take in all?—Two hours?
Fer.
The half might serve thee.
St. P.
Well; we'll say the half,—
The quarter shall suffice me, if thou wilt!
Fer.
Make it as brief as may be.
St. P.
Work that's sweet
Is quickly done!—I'll come in half an hour.
[Goes out.
Fer.
That which had been my bane, an hour ago,
Is now my medicine! This fellow owns
A quick and subtle wit; a reckless daring;
And hath a winning tongue, withal, and 'haviour.
Easy of conscience, too—yet, still, contrived
To keep some credit with the court. I know
The use of him. He has been mine, and mine
He needs must be again. So!—Suddenly
He quitted Mantua, and left with none
A clue to find the cause,—nor lack'd he then
Wardrobe or ducat! Misery has changed him;—
Her work abundance quickly shall undo!
I know the use of him, and I will use him.
Enter Count Florio.
Now, count, what brings you hither?
Florio.
News, my lord,
That's sure of welcome! A brief honeymoon
Hath fate decreed your cousin! Scarce he takes
The seat were fitter yours, and weds his bride,
Ere comes advice the states must take the field
Against the power of France.
Fer.
Good news indeed!
Florio.
Forthwith he hies to Rome—
Fer.
Most welcome news!
Florio.
And by entreaty of his council, you—
As next in rank and lineage—are appointed
Our regent in his absence.
Fer.
That's the best news.
Florio.
His heart—that was against you—softened
Or by prosperity, or your ready yielding,
Or giving way on sudden exigence;
He offers reconcilement, by your friends,
And, straight, you are invited to his presence.
Fer.
I come!—Great news!—I thank you!—Glorious news!
[They go out.
| The Wife | |