University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Enter Mentevole.
[Duke.]
Know you, my lord,
Why we assemble here?

MENTEVOLE.
Yes. Clamour's throat
Has roar'd it in our streets. I pass'd along
Through files of obloquy. Our sapient rabble
Reverse the order of the magistracy,
And, ere they hear, condemn us.

DUKE.
Then, my lord,
As you regard your honour, and your life,
Touch'd by suspicion to the quick, this instant
Account for your possession of that picture.
That lady there, dead Claudio's mother, swears,
It was her son's, and worn around his neck
The day he disappear'd. Behold, do you know it?
Do you allow you dropp'd it?

MENTEVOLE.
Yes; but not
That it was Claudio's. Yet, I cannot wonder,
Two objects so alike, should seem the same.

FULVIA.
Should seem the same!

DUKE.
Have patience, gentle lady.

MENTEVOLE.
I say, should seem; for it is barely seeming.
From that which Claudio own'd, (the artist's boast,)
Myself, not meanly in the science skill'd,
Painted this picture; love, my pencil's guide;
And, from the image in my heart engrav'd,
Assisted by the model, such I made it,
That not the most discerning, nicest eye
From the first beauteous draught could know that copy.

FULVIA.
And had you skill to paint those jewels too,
Those jewels in the round? their hue and lustre
So singular, and bright? By every power,
These were my son's.

MENTEVOLE.
No. Give me hearing, madam.
Those too I purchas'd from the very merchant
Who furnish'd Claudio. All who hear me, know
The name of Manoa; his services
To this ungrateful state; his flight, his death;
Which I lament, since living, he could witness,
And strike you dumb, that by my special order
He chose these precious gems, in form and colour
So like to Claudio's, none could mark distinction.
To pay their value, my estate was strain'd;
But had their estimation been twice doubled,
A crown imperial deem'd the mighty price,
Rather than yield him preference in aught
Might seem a test of my extravagant love,
I would have grasp'd at it; and so remain'd
The ruin'd, happy lord of that sole treasure.
Now learn from hence, how wisdom should demur
To found a sentence on appearances.
Your grace is satisfied.

[Here Durazzo whispers Camillo, who goes out.
DUKE.
I own, to me,
(No proof appearing to the contrary,)
If this be so, your honour seems acquitted.

FULVIA.
But not to me. O, undiscerning lord!
Is this your inquisition, this your justice?
I am not satisfied; my heart still tells me,
That picture was my son's; so reason tells me;
Nor should a voucher from the yawning grave
Shake my conviction.—That good Manoa
Did sell these jewels to my slaughter'd son;
And he, 'tis true, conveniently is dead:
But he had heirs and kindred; summon them;
A treasure such as this, could not be sold
Without their knowledge; instantly convene them,
And act through shame, as if you sought for truth;
Else, your grave robes will be the jest of boys,
And my son's blood will cry till death against you.

MENTEVOLE.
Do not suppose I scoff at this grave presence,
When thus I smile in my security.
Produce such witnesses, what could they prove?
Their ignorance perhaps in what you ask them;
But we have clear and positive laws to guard us.

JULIA.
So long I have said little, fearful ever
To give offence, where all my care has been
To manifest respect, esteem, and honour,
Even with a daughter's duteous humbleness.
But thus much let me add: I here disclaim
(As most abhorrent to my thoughts, and nature,)
All common interest, union, and accord,
With him, for whom I suffer in the censure
Of that ungentle lady; and believe,
Firmly, like her, that picture was her son's,
And there, before you, stands his murderer.

MENTEVOLE.
Why stay I here? My lord, if you have power
To give me reparation for the stain
Cast on my honour by this foolish process,
Pronounce it straight; if not, thus I withdraw
From those vex'd eyes which glare with fury on me.

DURAZZO.
Soft you a while; for lo you, who comes here,
Even to your wish, to make all clear for you.