University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

The Studio. Ribera and Annicca.
ANNICCA.
Has he come often?

RIBERA.
Nay, I caught the trick
Of his fair face in some half-dozen sittings.
His is a bold and shapely head—it pleased me.
I like the lad; the work upon his portrait
Was pastime—'t is already nigh complete.

ANNICCA.
And has Maria sat here while you worked?

RIBERA
(sharply).
Why not? What would'st thou say? Speak, fret me not
With ticklish fears. Is she not by my side,
For work or rest?

ANNICCA.
Surely, I meant no harm.
Father, how quick you are! I had but asked
If she, being here, had seen the work progress,
And found it his true counterpart.

RIBERA.
Annicca,
There is something in your thought you hold from me.
Have the lewd, prying eyes, the slanderous mind
Of public envy, spied herein some mischief?
What hast thou heard? By heaven, if one foul word
Have darkened the fair fame of my white dove,
Naples shall rue it. Let them not forget
The chapel of Saint Januarius!

ANNICCA
(aside).
Tommaso judged aright. I dare not tell him.
Dear father, listen. Pray, be calm. Sit down;
Your own hot rage engenders in my mind
Thoughts, fears, suspicions.

RIBERA
(seating himself).
You are right, Annicca.
I am foolish, hasty; but it makes me mad.
Listen to me. Here sits the Prince before me;
We talk, we laugh. We have discussed all themes,
From the great Angelo's divinity,
Down to the pest of flies that fret us here
At the day's hottest. Sometimes he will pace
The studio—such young blood is seldom still.
He brought me once his mandoline, and drew
Eloquent music thence. I study thus
The changeful play of soul. I catch the spirit
Behind the veil, and burn it on the plate.
Maria comes and goes—will sit awhile
Over her broidery, then will haste away
And serve us with a dish of golden fruit.
That is for me; she knows the sweet, cool juice,
After long hours of work, refreshes me
More than strong wine. She meets his Royal Highness
As the Ribera's child should meet a Prince—
Nor overbold, nor timid; one would think
Their rank was equal, and that neither sprang
From less than royal lineage.

ANNICCA.
Why, I know it.
Here is no need to excuse or justify.
Speak rather of your work—is the plate finished?

RIBERA.
So nigh, that were Don John to leave to-morrow,
It might go with him.

ANNICCA.
What! he leaves Naples?

RIBERA.
Yea, but I know not when; he seems to wait
Momently, orders from his Majesty
To travel onward.

ANNICCA
(aside).
Would he were well away!

RIBERA.
What do you mutter? I grow deaf this side.

ANNICCA.
I spake not, father. I regret with you
The Prince should leave us; you have more enjoyed
His young companionship than any stranger's
These many years.

RIBERA.
Well, well, enough of him.
He hath a winning air—so far, so good.
I know not that I place more trust in him
Than in another. 'T is a lying world;
I am too old now to be duped or dazzled
By fair externals.

Enter Maria, carrying a kirtle full of flowers.
MARIA.
Father, see! my roses
Have blossomed over night; I bring you some
To prank your study. Sister, Don Tommaso
Seeks you below.

ANNICCA
(rising).
I will go meet him. Father,
Until to-morrow.

[Embraces Ribera and exit.
[Maria sits by her father's side and displays her flowers.
RIBERA.
Truly, a gorgeous show!
Pink, yellow, crimson, white—which is the fairest?
Those with the deepest blush should best become you—
Nay, they accord not with your hair's red gold;
The white ones suit you best—pale, innocent,
So flowers too can lie! Is not that strange?
[Maria looks at him in mingled wonder and affright. He roughly brushes aside all the flowers upon the floors, then picks one up and carefully plucks it to pieces.
I think not highly of your flowers, girl;
I have plucked this leaf by leaf; it has no heart.
See there!

[He laughs contemptuously.
MARIA.
What have I done? Alas! what mean you?
Have you then lost your reason?

RIBERA.
Nay, but found it.
I, who was dull of wit, am keen at last.
“Don John is comely,” and “Don John is kind;”
“A wonderful musician is Don John,”
“A princely artist”—and then, meek of mien,
You enter in his presence, modest, simple.
And who beneath that kitten grace had spied
The claws of mischief? Who! Why, all the world,
Save the fond, wrinkled, hoary fool, thy father.
Out, girl, for shame! He will be here anon;
Hence to your room—he shall not find you here.
Thank God, thank God! no evil hath been wrought
That may not be repaired. I have sat by
At all your meetings. You shall have no more;
Myself will look to that. Away, away!

[Exit Maria.
RIBERA
(looks after her).
As one who has received a deadly hurt,
She walks. What if my doubts be false? The terror
Of an unlooked-for blow, a treacherous thrust
When least expected—that is all she showed.
On a false charge, myself had acted thus.
She had been moved far otherwise if guilty;
She had wept, protested, begged—she had not left
With such a proud and speechless show of grief.
I was too harsh, too quick on slight suspicion.
What did Annicca say? Why, she said naught.
'T was her grave air, her sudden reticence,
Her ill-assumed indifference. They play on me;
They know me not. They dread my violent passions,
Not guessing what a firm and constant bridle
I hold them with. On just cause to be angered,
Is merely human. Yet they sound my temper;
They try to lead me like some half-tamed beast,
That must be coaxed. Well, I may laugh thereat.
But I am not myself to-day; strange pains
Shoot through my head and limbs and vex my spirit.
Oh, I have wronged my child! Return, Maria!

[Exit, calling.