University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

[A sumptuous Drawing-room in the Falcone Palace. Guests assembled for the bridal. Lords and ladies promenading, and a band of musicians in a gallery at the side of the stage.]
1st. LORD.
Are we before the hour? or does the bridegroom
Affect this tardiness?

2d. LORD.
We're bid at twelve.

1st. LORD.
'Tis now past one. At least we should have music
To wile the time. (To the musicians.)
Strike up, good fellows!

2d. LORD.
Why,
A man who's only drest on holidays
Makes a long toilet. Now, I'll warrant, he
Has vex'd his tailor since the break of day,
Hoping to look a gentleman. D'ye know him?

1st. LORD.
I've never had occasion!

2d. LORD.
Poor Falcone!
He'd give the best blood in his veins, I think,
To say as much!

1st. LORD.
How's this! I see no stir
Among the instruments. Will they not play?

2d. LORD.
Not they! I ask'd before you, and they're bid
To strike up when they hear Tortesa's horses
Prance thro' the gateway—not a note till then!

(Music plays.)
1st. LORD.
He comes!

(Enter Tortesa, dressed over-richly.)
TORTESA.
Good day, my lords!

1st. LORD.
Good day!

2d. LORD.
The sky
Smiles on you, Signor! 'Tis a happy omen
They say, to wed in sunshine.

TORTESA.
Why, I think
The sun is not displeased that I should wed.

1st. LORD.
We're happy, sir, to have you one of us.

TORTESA.
What have I been till now! I was a man
Before I saw your faces! Where's the change?
Have I a tail since? Am I grown a monkey?
(Lords whisper together, and walk from him.)
Oh for a mint to coin the world again
And melt the mark of gentleman from clowns!
It puts me out of patience! Here's a fellow
That, by much rubbing against better men,
Has, like a penny in a Jew's close pocket,
Stolen the color of a worthier coin,
And thinks he rings like sterling courtesy!
Yet look! he cannot phrase you a good morrow,
Or say he's sad, or glad, at any thing,
But close beneath it, rank as verdigrease,
Lies an insulting rudeness! He was “happy”
That I should now be one of them. Now! Now!
As if, till now, I'd been a dunghill grub,
And was but just turn'd butterfly!

(A Lady advances.)
LADY.
Fair sir,
I must take leave to say, were you my brother,
You've made the choice that would have pleased me best!
Your bride's as good as fair.

TORTESA.
I thank you, Madam!
To be your friend, she should be—good and fair!
(The Lady turns, and walks up the stage.)
How like a drop of oil upon the sea
Falls the apt word of woman! So! her “brother!”
Why, there could be no contumely there!
I might, for all I look have been her brother,
Else her first thought had never coupled us.
I'll pluck some self-contentment out of that!
(Enter suddenly the Count's Secretary.)
How now!

SECRETARY.
I'm sent, sir, with unwelcome tidings.

TORTESA.
Deliver them the quicker!

SECRETARY.
I shall be
Too sudden at the slowest.

TORTESA.
Pshaw! what is't?
I'm not a girl! Out with your news at once!
Are my ships lost?

SECRETARY,
(hesitatingly.)
The lady Isabella—

TORTESA.
What? run away!

SECRETARY.
Alas, good sir! she's dead!

TORTESA.
Bah! just as dead as I! Why, thou dull blockhead!
Cannot a lady faint, but there must be
A trumpeter like thee to make a tale on't?

SECRETARY.
Pardon me, Signor, but—

TORTESA.
Who sent you hither!

SECRETARY.
My lord the Count.

TORTESA,
(turning quickly aside.)
He put it in the bond,
That if by any humour of my own,
Or accident that sprang not from himself,
Or from his daughter's will, the match were marr'd,
His tenure stood intact. If she were dead—
I don't believe she is—but if she were,
By one of those strange chances that do happen—
If she were dead, I say, the silly fish
That swims with safety among hungry sharks
To run upon the pin-hook of a boy,
Might teach me wisdom!
(The Secretary comes forward, narrating eagerly to the company.)
Now, what says this jackdaw?

SECRETARY.
She had refused to let her bridesmaids in—

LADY.
And died alone?

SECRETARY.
A trusty serving maid
Was with her, and none else. She dropp'd away,
The girl said, in a kind of weary sleep.

FIRST LORD.
Was no one told of it?

SECRETARY.
The girl watch'd by her,
And thought she slept still; till, the music sounding,
She shook her by the sleeve, but got no answer;
And so the truth broke on her!

TORTESA,
(aside.)
(Oh indeed!
The plot is something shallow!)

SECOND LORD.
Might we go
And see her as she lies?

SECRETARY.
The holy father
Who should have married her, has check'd all comers,
And staying for no shroud but bridal dress,
He bears her presently to lie in state
In the Falcone chapel.

TORTESA,
(aside.)
(Worse and worse—
They take me for a fool!)

FIRST LORD.
But why such haste?

SECRETARY.
I know not.

ALL
Let us to the chapel!

TORTESA.
(Drawing his sword, and stepping between them and the door.)
Hold!
Let no one try to pass!

FIRST LORD.
What mean you, sir!

TORTESA.
To keep you here till you have got your story
Pat to the tongue—the truth on't, and no more!

LADY.
Have you a doubt the bride is dead, good Signor?

TORTESA.
A palace, see you, has a tricky air!
When I am told a tradesman's daughter's dead,
I know the coffin holds an honest corse,
Sped, in sad earnest, to eternity.
But were I stranger in the streets to-day,
And heard that an ambitious usurer,
With lands and money having bought a lady
High-born and fair, she died before the bridal,
I would lay odds with him that told me of it
She'd rise again—before the resurrection.
So stand back all! If I'm to fill to-day
The pricking ears of Florence with a lie,
The bridal guests shall tell the tale so truly,
And mournfully, from eyesight of the corse,
That ev'n the shrewdest listener shall believe,
And I myself have no misgiving of it.
Look! where they come!
(Door opens to funereal music, and the body of Isabella is borne in, preceded by a Monk, and followed by Falcone and mourners. Tortesa confronts the Monk.)
What's this you bear away?

MONK.
Follow the funeral, but stay it not.

TORTESA.
If thereon lie the lady Isabella,
I ask to see her face before she pass!

MONK.
Stand from the way, my son, it cannot be!

TORTESA.
What right have you to take me for a stone?
See what you do! I stand a bridegroom here.
A moment since the joyous music playing
Which promised me a fair and blushing bride.
The flowers are fragrant, and the guests made welcome;
And while my heart beats at the opening door,
And eagerly I look to see her come,—
There enters in her stead a covered corse!
And when I ask to look upon her face—
One look, before my bride is gone for ever,—
You find it in your hearts to say me nay!—
Shame! Shame!

FALCONE,
(fiercely.)
Lead on!

TORTESA.
My lord, by covenant—
By contract writ and seal'd—by value rendered—
By her own promise—nay, by all, save taking,
This body's mine! I'll have it set down here
And wait my pleasure! See it done, my lord,
Or I will, for you!

MONK,
(to the bearers.)
Set the body down!

TORTESA,
(takes the veil from the face.)
Come hither all! Nay, father, look not black!
If o'er the azure temper of this blade
There come no mist, when laid upon her lips,
I'll do a penance for irreverence,
And fill your sack with penitential gold!
Look well!
(Puts his sword blade to Isabella's lips, and after watching it with intense interest a moment, drops on his knees beside the bier.)
She's dead indeed! Lead on!

(The procession starts again to funereal music, and Tortesa follows last.)