 | The complete works of N.P. Willis |  |
2. ACT II.
SCENE I.
[The square of Milan. The front of the cathedral on the
right. People kneeling round the steps, and the organ
heard within. Enter Pasquali and Fiametta in haste.]
Fiametta.
Now, Master Pasquali! said I not we should
be too late?
Pasquali.
Truly, there seems no room!
Fiametta.
And I her first serving-woman! If it were
my own wedding I should not grieve more to have missed it.
You would keep scribbling, scribbling, and I knew it was
past twelve.
Pasquali.
Consider, Mistress Fiametta! I had no news
of this marriage till the chimes began; and the epithalamium
must be writ! I were shamed else, being the bard
of Milan.
Fiametta.
The what, of Milan?
Pasquali.
The bard, I say! Come aside, and thou
shalt be consoled. I'll read thee my epithalamium.
Fiametta.
Is it something to ask money of the bridegroom?
Pasquali.
Dost thou think I would beg?
Fiametta.
Nay, thou'rt very poor!
Pasquali.
Look thee, Mistress Fiametta! that's a
vulgar error, thou hadst best be rid of. I, whom thou
callest poor, am richer than the duke.
Fiametta.
Now if thou'rt not out of thy ten senses, the
Virgin bless us.
Pasquali.
I'll prove it even to thy dull apprehension.
Answer me truly. How many meals eats the duke in a
day?
Fiametta.
Three, I think, if he be well.
Pasquali.
So does Pasquali! How much covering has
he?
Fiametta.
Nay — what keeps him warm.
Pasquali.
So has Pasquali! How much money carries
he on his person.
Fiametta.
None, I think. He is a duke, and needs
none.
Pasquali.
Even so Pasquali! He is a poet, and needs
none. What good does him the gold in his treasury?
Fiametta.
He thinks of it.
Pasquali.
So can Pasquali! What pleasure hath he in
his soldiers?
Fiametta.
They keep him safe in his palace.
Pasquali.
So they do Pasquali in his chamber. Thus
far, thou'lt allow, my state is as good as his — and better —
for I can think of his gold, and sleep safe by his soldiers,
yet have no care of them.
Fiametta.
I warrant he has troubled thoughts.
Pasquali.
Thou sayst well. Answer me once more,
and I'll prove to thee in what I am richer. Thou'st ne'er
heard, I dare swear, of imagination.
Fiametta.
Is't pagan nation or a Christian?
Pasquali.
Stay — I'll convey it to thee by a figure.
What were the value of thy red stockings over black; if it
were always night?
Fiametta.
None.
Pasquali.
What were beauty if it were always dark?
Fiametta.
The same as none.
Pasquali.
What were green leaves better than brown —
diamonds better than pebbles — gold better than brass — if it
were always dark?
Fiametta.
No better, truly.
Pasquali.
Then the shining of the sun, in a manner,
dies your stockings, creates beauty, makes gold and
diamonds, and paints the leaves green?
Fiametta.
I think it doth.
Pasquali.
Now mark! There be gems in the earth,
qualities in the flowers, creatures in the air, the duke ne'er
dreams of. There be treasuries of gold and silver, temples
and palaces of glorious work, rapturous music, and feasts
the gods sit at — and all seen only by a sun, which, to the
duke, is black as Erebus.
Fiametta.
Lord! Lord! Where is it, Master Pasquali!
Pasquali.
In my head. (Fiametta discovers signs of
fear.)
All these gems, treasuries, palaces, and fairy harmonies
I see by the imagination I spoke of. Am I not
richer now?
Fiametta (retreating from him).
The Virgin help us!
He thinks there's a sun in his head! I thought to have
married him, but he's mad.
[She falls to weeping.
[The cathedral is flung open, and the organ plays louder.
The bridal procession comes out of church and passes
across the stage. As they pass Pasquali, he offers his
epithalamium to Sforza.]
Sforza.
What have we here — petitions?
Bianca.
Pasquali's not a beggar. You shall read
Something inventive here! He's a clear fancy,
And sings your praises well. Good chamberlain!
Bring him with honor to the palace! Please you,
My lord, wilt on!
Page
(to Pasquali).
We'll sit together, and have songs and stories,
And keep the merriest end on't!
[As the procession passes off, Sarpellione plucks Pasquali by
by the sleeve, and retains him.]
Sarpellione.
A fair bride, sir!
Pasquali.
What would you, noble count?
Sarpellione.
Should be a poet, like yourself, to know
The worth of such a jewel!
Pasquali.
But we are staying from the marriage feast —
Sarpellione.
One word! (Pulls him aside.)
Have
you ambition?
Pasquali.
Upon a marble cherub — always spread,
But fastened to a body of such weight
'Twill never rise till doomsday. I would drink
Sooner than talk of it! — Come on! my lord!
Sarpellione.
For a shrewd, rapid wit. As one who looks
Oft on the sun, there needs no tedious care
Lest the light break too suddenly upon you.
Is it not so?
Pasquali.
Say on!
Sarpellione.
Has over it a sky all poetry.
I know it well.
Sarpellione.
Cherished Bocaccio and Petrarch there,
And 'tis the quality of the air they breathed —
Alphonso feels it! Brief and to the point!
My royal master sends for you. He'd have
A galaxy around him!
Pasquali.
Noble count!
[Enter Page.]
Page.
I'm sent to bid you to the feast, sirs!
Sarpellione.
We'll follow straight. [Exit Page.
This leaden-headed soldier
Slights you, I see — He took you for a beggar!
Pasquali.
Humph! 'tis his wedding day, and I forgive
him!
Sarpellione.
You're used to wrong, I knew.
Pasquali.
I'm bent upon a feast — wake not a devil
To mar my appettie!
Sarpellione.
This brainless spear-head would be duke of Milan.
Pasquali.
What! while the duke lives!
Sarpellione.
For there is one — I'll prove it when you will —
And he will murder him to take his crown.
Pasquali.
How know you that?
Sarpellione.
Would have this usurpation and this murder
In time prevented.
Pasquali.
How!
Sarpellione.
There's no way else — but 'tis a dangerous theme
To talk on here — come out o' the way a little,
And you shall have such reasons for the deed —
Pasquali
(flings him from him with contempt).
My lord! I'm poor. I have a thirst for honors
Such as you offered me but now, that burns
Like fire upon my lips — I could be tortured
Through twenty deaths to leave a name behind me.
But nay, I prate — I'll turn not out to thee
The golden inside of a soul of honor —
(Leaving him.) When next you want a hand for a bad deed,
Look to your equals — there are those beneath you
Who, from their darkling wells, see guiding-stars
Far o'er your head, my lord! [Exit.
Sarpellione.
Do not betray e'en villains! I shall find
Another and a fitter. To the feast now!
And watch my time and means. [Exit.
SCENE II.
[An ante-room, with a feast seen beyond. Enter Sforza and Rossano.]
Rossano.
Invented here by the duke's armorer;
Will you walk forth?
Sforza.
My helmet!
[Enter Bianca.]
Bianca.
You would not go abroad?
[She takes the helmet from the page as he brings it in.]
Sforza.
To look at some new arms.
Bianca.
Will do as well. Here are some loving verses
Writ on your marriage!
Rossano.
Your father gave me at the siege of Parma.
The rags wave yet!
Sforza.
Than feast a hundred years!
Bianca.
Come in, and hear the verses? There's a wine
You did not taste, grown on Vesuvius;
Pray you come in!
Rossano.
Your father plucked from a retreating soldier
To head the fight at Pisa. 'Tis well hacked!
Sforza.
(To Bianca.) Nay, sweet! by your leave
(Takes his helmet.)
Betimes at supper. Keep the revels toward!
We'll taste your wine anon. Come, brave Rossano!
[They go out. Bianca looks after them thoughtfully a few
moments, and then walks back slowly to the banquetting
room.]
SCENE III.
[The ramparts at night. Enter-Sforza and Rossano.]
Rossano.
Seemed grieved when you came forth!
Sforza.
But that I had some private information
She loved another!
Rossano.
You're perhaps abused!
Sforza.
To my meridian, see you! — a rough soldier —
Who never learned the courtly phrase of love.
And she — the simplest maiden in a cot,
Is not more tender-eyed, nor has a heart
Apter to know love's lesson ere 'tis time.
She's loved ere now, Rossano!
Rossano.
Yet be not rude too rashly.
Sforza.
This forced link that policy puts on her
Loose as a smoke-curl! She shall know no master,
And be no slave for me!
Rossano.
You'll not neglect her!
Sforza.
When that sun sets, if no unpitying cloud
Trouble her sky, there rises oftentimes
A crescent moon of memory, whose light
Makes the dark pathway clear again. Bianca's
May have gone down for me! I'll be no cloud
To mar the moon as well.
Rossano.
A footfall this way. (They stand aside.)
[Enter Pasquali hiccupping, and talking to himself.]
Pasquali.
That wine was grown on Vesuvius. That's
the reason it makes such an eruption. If it breaks out o'
the top o' my head how — as I think it will — for it gets hotter
and hotter — I shall know if wit be in the brains or the
belly.
Rossano.
(Aside
— Stay — my lord! This is Pasquali,
whose verses Bianca sometimes sings to her lute. Ten to
one now but you may gather from his drunkenness if Bianca
loves another.) (Rossano comes forward.) Good even,
Master Pasquali.
Pasquali.
That's an everyday phrase — this is holyday!
Rossano.
A merry good even then!
Pasquali.
Ay, that's better! For we're all merry —
except the bride. And that's the way of it.
Rossano.
What's the way of it?
Pasquali.
See here! Who is it that never weeps at a
funeral?
Rossano.
You shall tell me.
Pasquali.
The dead man, that hath most cause.
Rossano.
And what hath that to do with a bridal?
Pasquali.
A great deal. Of all people at a bridal,
who should be most merry? Why, the bride! now I have
just left a bride that is sad enough for a funeral.
Rossano.
For what cause, think you?
Pasquali.
There are some things which can have but
one cause. There's but one cause for drunkenness, and
there's but one grief on a wedding-day.
Rossano.
And what's that?
Pasquali.
Wine — causes drunkenness!
Rossano.
And what causes grief in a bride?
Pasquali.
Want of love for the bridegroom.
Rossano.
How know you that, sir?
“When first young Lionel did catch mine eye,
“Sforza, the valiant, passed unheeded by!”
Rossano.
Villain! these are thine own lying verses!
Pasquali
(pulling out his sword).
The figures of speech
are lies of verse. But if thou sayest that it is a lie that
Bianca loves Lionel best, thou liest in prose, and so, come
on! (Attacks Rossano, and Sforza comes foward, and
strikes up their swords.)
Sforza.
He writes what's palatable, and but echoes
That which is rung at court. She loved this prince —
Sarpellione told me so before.
We'll to the field and our old mistress, glory.
Come on — we'll talk of battles and forget her.
[Exeunt.
Pasquali.
Fighting's not my vocation; but I have an
itching that way, and I'll after him. Halloo! Were there
two men? I think there were two. The last man called
me a drunkard! That's no offence! a poet may be a
drunkard! But “villain!” that's incompatible, and must
be pricked back. Halloo! [Exit.
SCENE IV.
[Bianca's chamber at midnight. She sits on a couch in a
white undress, and Sforza beside her in his armor.]
Bianca.
Dost think this ring a pretty one, my lord?
Sforza.
Marancio gave me — Giacomo Marancio.
The ring his wife sent — but you've heard the story?
Bianca.
I think I never heard it.
Sforza.
The heart grows but to speak of. She was held
A hostage by the Milanese (I pray you
Pardon the mention), when, twixt them and me
Marancio held a pass. Her life was threatened
If by his means I crossed the Adige. She —
(Brave heart! I warm to speak of her!) found means
To send to him this ring; wherein is writ
“He who loves most, loves honor best.” You'll see it
Here o' the inside.
Bianca.
Did you see this lady?
Sforza.
With perilous odds, only to bring her off —
And would have sold my life for't.
Bianca.
Did you see her?
Sforza.
The ring of him.
Bianca.
Of any other woman?
Sforza
(rising and taking his helmet).
There are some qualities that women have
Which are less worthy, but which warm us more
Than speaking of their virtues. I remember
The fair Giovanna in her pride at Naples.
Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left
Little to shine in history — but her beauty
Was of that order that the universe
Seemed governed by her motion. Men looked on her
As if her next step would arrest the world;
And as the sea-bird seems to rule the wave
He rides so buoyantly, all things around her —
The glittering army, the spred gonfalon
The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven —
Seemed glorious by her leave.
Bianca
(rising and going to the window).
Of such sweet praise, my lord! Did you not hear
The faint note of a nightingale?
Sforza.
A far-heard clarion, methought! They change
The sentinels perchance. 'Tis time Rossano
Awaits me on the ramparts.
Bianca.
Go not abroad again to-night, my lord!
Sforza.
To gossip of the fields he's lost and won,
And I, no less, to listen. Get to bed!
I'll follow you anon.
[Exit Sforza.
Bianca.
I never dreamed of this! To be his bride
Was all the heaven I looked for! Not to love me
When I have been ten years affianced to him! —
When I have lived for him — shut up my heart,
With every pulse and hope, for his use only —
Worshipped — oh God! idolatrously loved him!
Why has he sought to marry me? Why still
Renew the broken pledge my father made him?
Why, for ten years, with war and policy,
Strive for my poor alliance?..........
............... He must love me,
Or I shall break my heart! I never had
One other hope in life! I never linked
One thought, but to this chain! I have no blood —
No breath — no being — separate from Sforza!
Nothing has any other name! The sun
Shined like his smile — the lightning was his glory —
The night his sleep, and the hushed moon watched o'er him; —
Stars writ his name — his breath hung on the flowers —
Music had no voice but to say I love him,
And life no future, but his love for me!
Whom does he love? Marancio's wife? He praised
Only her courage! Queen Giovanna's beauty?
'Tis dust these many years! There is no sign
He loves another; and report said ever
His glory was his mistress. Can he love?
Shame on the doubt! 'Twas written in the ring
“He who loves most, loves honor best” — and Sforza
Is made too like a god to lack a heart.
And so, I breathe again! To make him love me
Is all my life now! to pry through his nature,
And find his heart out. That's wrapt in his glory!
I'll feed his glory then! He praised Giovanna
That she was royal and magnificent —
Ay — that's well thought on, too! How should an eye,
Dazzled with war and warlike pomp, like Sforza's,
Find pleasure in simplicity like mine!
(Looks at her dress.)
Unlock my jewels and my costly robes,
And while I keep his show-struck eye upon me,
Watch for a golden opportunity
To build up his renown!..........
............. And so farewell
The gentle world I've lived in! Farewell all
My visions of a world for two hearts only —
Sforza's and mine! If I outlive this change,
So brief and yet so violent within me,
I'll come back in my dreams, oh, childish world!
If not — a broken heart blots out remembrance.
[Exit into her bridal chamber, which is seen beyond on
opening the door.]
| The complete works of N.P. Willis | |