University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Another Chamber in the Palace.
Enter Ferrardo.
Fer.
His heart is in my power as 'twere a thing,
Which in my hand I held and I could crush
With a grasp! Nor can it 'scape my power! her name—
That flower of woman's pride, which ta'en away,
From a bright paragon she turns a thing
For basest eyes to look askant upon—
Is blasted past the power of friend or lover
To bring it to its pristine hue again.
Now for St. Pierre—He also must, to-night,
Take leave of Mantua. [Unlocks door.]
Come forth, my friend!
Enter St. Pierre.
Dost thou not know me? What an air is this?
A king could not a loftier assume
At high offence! 'Twas thus with thee last night.
Nothing but moody looks, until the count
With much persuasion woo'd you to our feast.
I wonder'd at thee!

St. P.
Are we alone?

Fer.
How's this?

St. P.
Are we alone?—Where are the craven minions
That overpower'd me in the corridor,
And at thy bidding dragg'd me hither?

Fer.
Pshaw!
Art thou no wiser than to heed them? know'st not
'Twas done on my instruction—mine—thy friend's?

St. P.
Are we alone?

Fer.
We are alone.

St. P.
Art sure
That door is unattended? that no minions
Watch it without?

Fer.
I am.

St. P.
Wilt lock it?

Fer.
[Locking it and returning.]
There!

St. P.
[Springing upon him.]
Villain!

Fer.
What means this violence?

St. P.
You struck me!
When I contended with the recreants—
Who smite this moment what the one before
They fawn'd upon!—across their arms you struck,
And fell'd me with the blow!—Now take it back!

Fer.
Stop! you'll repent it if you strike!

St. P.
I tell thee,
I ne'er received a blow from mortal man
But 'twas return'd with interest!—One by one
I have parted—thanks to thee!—with all those virtues
Which wise and holy men inculcate! Not
One grace I now am master of, save one
That ever was my own! That single grace
Remains—the growth of nature—the true shoot
Abuse could not eradicate, and leave
The trunk and root alive!—that virtue—manhood!
Still lives, within my heart, disdain of threat,
Defiance of aggression, and revenge
For contumely.—Come!—You struck me!—Come!
I must have blow for blow!

Fer.
[Drawing his dagger.]
Let fall thy hand
Upon my person—lo, my dagger's free,
And I shall sheathe it in thy heart!

St. P.
I care not,
So I die quits with thee!

Fer.
I would not kill thee,
So don't advance thy hand! Nay, listen first,
And then, if thou wilt, strike me!—Strike!—abuse
Thy friend, who, when he struck thee, was thy friend
As much as he is now, or ever was;
Who struck thee, but that he might seem thy foe,
To hide how much, indeed, he was thy friend!
Nay, if the lack of quittance for a blow
Which but in show was one—for the intent
Establishes the act—must make us foes,
My dagger's up!—Now give a blow, indeed,
For one that seem'd but one.

St. P.
I take't, in thought,
And let thy person unprofanéd go!

Fer.
No animal, so wild, it will not tame,
Save man! Come, calm thyself!—Sit down!—As yet
Thou know'st not whether to caress thy friend
Or tear him! Shouldst thou tear him? Come, sit down.
There's not a man in Italy save thee
Would fret, and he the master, all at once,
Of good ten thousand ducats! Still a brow!
Odd's man, be merry!—Rub thy hands and laugh!
Thou art rich!—look there!

[Showing a casket.
St. P.
How came I yesternight
To sleep in the chamber of the duke? And why
This morning when I left the ante-room
Was I assaulted by thy minions?

Fer.
Pshaw!
Enough, thou slepst where thou didst sleep, next chamber
To the duke's wife, and thereby madest thy fortune.
For every ducat of the sum I named
Is thine—but render me one service more!

St. P.
Name it.

Fer.
Just write for me in boasting vein,
Confession thou didst pillow yesternight
There, where the honour of the duke forbids
That head save his should lie.
Why do you gaze? 'Tis easily done!

St. P.
It is.

Fer.
It takes but pen and ink, and here they are;
Make use of time! The hour that is not used
Is lost, and might have been the luckiest,
Converted to account. What ponder'st thou?

St. P.
The manner best to execute thy wish.
I'm hardly in the vein! 'Twould put me into't
Wouldst thou relate the means whereby I came
To lie in the duke's chamber?

Fer.
'Twould retard thee!

St. P.
No! It will rather help me. When I write,
Ofttimes I miss the thought, too much intent
On finding it,—looking at something else,
Lo, there it stands before me of itself!
How came I in the chamber of the duke?

Fer.
You supp'd, you may remember, with the count
And me?

St. P.
I do.

Fer.
'Twas plann'd between us.

St. P.
Well?

Fer.
And for our end we kept the revel up—
I mean the count and I—for, as I said
Before, thou wast not in the joyous vein,—
Till all the palace had retired to rest.

St. P.
My lord, may't please you stop—My thought has come.
[Writes.
A fair commencement! excellent! most fair!
You see how much you help me!—There!—Go on!
You revell'd till the palace was at rest—
What then?

Fer.
Why, then, finding thee jealous still
Of the kindly grape, we drugg'd your cup; and, when
The potion work'd, convey'd you in your sleep,—
To sound or stir, profound as that of death,—
Into the chamber of the duke—of the key
Of which I keep a duplicate—and there
We laid you in his bed.

St. P.
Break off again
[Writes.
While I go on!—You see, my lord, how great
A help you are to me! It comes as fast
As though I were inditing what your grace
Rehearses to me.—So!—Most excellent!
And now proceed again!

Fer.
Where left I off?

St. P.
How can I tell, intent on what's on hand,
I list to you; but 'tis abstractedly,
A man will sing and work; but more he heeds
His work than song!—And yet I think, your grace,
When you left off, was putting me—somewhere—
To bed—

Fer.
You're right!—in the duke's bed! Thou slepst there,
With a partition, only, 'twixt his wife
And thee—and that made frailer by a door,—
The lock of which I from its use absolved;
And casting, 'neath her highness' couch, thy scarf,
As proof of closer neighbourhood to her,
Withdrew to feast on foretaste of revenge.

St. P.
Enough!

Fer.
Enough?

St. P.
Tut, tut! I only meant
Your highness to break off, while I resume.
My thoughts flow on, again—Better and better!
Your grace,—a hundred ducats, I have done
Almost as soon as you— [Writes and stops, again.]
—Go on—What end
Proposed your highness to yourself by this?

Fer.
To blast her name, and in the death of that
Involve my cousin's life! Accordingly,
By my direction wert thou watch'd and seized,
And hither brought, as partner in a crime,
Whose penalty is death!—which thou shalt 'scape!—
'Scape with enrichéd life—so ne'er again
Thou show'st thy face in Mantua, and keep'st
Thy counsel.

St. P.
[Writing.]
Have you done?

Fer.
I have.

St. P.
And so
Have I. [Peruses the writing.]
A fair commencement! better far
Continuation! and the winding up
The fairest of the whole! Howe'er, of that
Your highness must be judge. [Hands the writing, but suddenly checks himself.]
'Sdeath! here's a word
I did not mean to write, for one I wanted!
I needs must take it out,—I pray your highness
Lend me a knife.

Fer.
I have not one.

St. P.
Well then
Your dagger—if the edge of it is sharp.

Fer.
There 'tis.

St. P.
And there is the confession, duke;
Sign it.

Fer.
Why this is my confession!

St. P.
Ay!
Indeed! your highness.

Fer.
Word for word.

St. P.
You'll own
I'm something of a clerk—I hardly hoped
It would have pleased your highness! My lord duke,
Sign the confession!

Fer.
Why?

St. P.
It pleases me.
If that contents thee not, I'm in thy power,
And I'd have thee in mine! Your highness sees
I'm frank with you.

Fer.
Can it be you, St. Pierre?

St. P.
No—It is you!—and not the peasant lad,
Whom fifteen years ago, in evil hour,
You chanced to cross upon his native hills,—
In whose quick eye you saw the subtle spirit
Which suited you, and tempted it; who took
Your hint, and follow'd you to Mantua
Without his father's knowledge—his old father!
Who, thinking that he had a prop in him
Man could not rob him of, and Heaven would spare;
Bless'd him one night, ere he laid down to sleep,
And waking in the morning found him gone!
[Ferrardo attempts to rise.
Move not, or I shall move!—You know me!

Fer.
Nay,
I'll keep my seat. St. Pierre, I train'd thee like
A cavalier!

St. P.
You did—You gave me masters,
And their instructions quickly I took up
As they could lay them down! I got the start
Of my contemporaries!—not a youth
Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapon,
Or rule a horse, with me!—You gave me all—
All the equipments of a man of honour,—
But soon you found a use for me, and made
A slave, a profligate, and pander of me!
[Ferrardo about to rise.
I charge you keep your seat!

Fer.
You see I do!
St. Pierre, be reasonable!—you forget.
There are ten thousand ducats.

St. P.
Give me, duke,
The eyes that look'd upon my father's face!
The hands that help'd my father to his wish!
The feet that flew to do my father's will!
The heart that bounded at my father's voice!
And say that Mantua were built of ducats,
And I could be its duke at cost of these,
I would not give them for it! Mark me, duke!
I saw a new-made grave in Mantua,
And on the head-stone read my father's name:—
To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come—
To seek the child that had deserted him—
And died here, ere I knew it. Heaven, alone,
Can tell how far he stray'd in search of me!
Upon that grave I knelt an alter'd man;
And rising thence, I fled, nor had return'd,
But tyrant hunger drove me back again
To thee—to thee!—My body to relieve
At cost of my dear soul! I have done thy work,
Do mine! and sign me that confession straight.
I'm in thy power, and I'll have thee in mine!

Fer.
Art thou indeed in earnest?

St. P.
Look in my eyes.

Fer.
St. Pierre, perhaps I have underpaid thee?

St. P.
Sign!

Fer.
I'll double the amount!

St. P.
Come, sign!

Fer.
St. Pierre,
Will forty thousand ducats please thee?

St. P.
There's
The dial, and the sun is shining on it—
The shadow on the very point of twelve—
My case is desperate! Your signature
Of moment is most vital to my peace!
My eye is on the dial! Pass the shadow
The point of noon, the breadth of but a hair
As can my eye discern—and, that unsign'd,
The steel is in thy heart—I speak no more!

Fer.
Saint Pierre!—Not speak—Saint Pierre!

St. P.
Is it sign'd?

Fer.
[Writing hurriedly.]
It is.

St. P.
Your signet, as a proof that I'm at large.
Now take my station in that closet—No
Attempt at an alarm—In, in, I say!
Hold wind we'll make the port.
[Opens the chamber-door—seems to recognise some one without, makes a profound bow, as though to the duke.
I thank your highness!

[Goes out.