 | Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti |  |
SCENE I.
[A drawing-room in Tortesa's house.][Enter Tortesa, followed by Count Falcone.]
TORTESA.
Come in, Count.
FALCONE.
You're well lodged.
TORTESA.
The Duke waits for you
To get to horse. So, briefly, there's the deed!
You have your lands back, and your daughter's mine—
So ran the bargain!
FALCONE,
(coldly.)
She's betroth'd, sir, to you!
TORTESA.
Not a half hour since, and you hold the parchment!
2
And I'm but promised!
FALCONE,
(aside.)
(What a slave is this,
To give my daughter to! My daughter! Psha!
I'll think but of my lands, my precious lands!)
Sir, the Duke sets forth—
TORTESA.
Use no ceremony!
Yet stay! A word! Our nuptials follow quick
On your return?
FALCONE.
That hour, if it so please you!
TORTESA.
And what's the bargain if her humor change?
FALCONE.
The lands are your's again—'tis understood so.
TORTESA.
Yet, still a word! You leave her with her maids.
I have a right in her by this betrothal.
Seal your door up till you come back again!
I'd have no foplings tampering with my wife!
None of your painted jackdaws from the court,
Sneering and pitying her! My lord Falcone!
Shall she be private?
3
(aside.)
(Patience! for my lands!)
You shall control my door, sir, and my daughter!
Farewell now!
[Exit Falcone.
TORTESA.
Oh, omnipotence of money!
Ha! ha! Why, there's the haughtiest nobleman
That walks in Florence. He!—whom I have bearded—
Checked—made conditions to—shut up his daughter—
And all with money! They should pull down churches
And worship it! Had I been poor, that man
Would see me rot ere give his hand to me.
I—as I stand here—dress'd thus—looking thus—
The same in all—save money in my purse—
He would have scorn'd to let me come so near
That I could breathe on him! Yet, that were little—
For pride sometimes outdoes humility;
And your great man will please to be familiar,
To show how he can stoop. But halt you there!
He has a jewel that you may not name!
His wife's above you! You're no company
For his most noble daughter! You are brave—
Tis nothing! comely—nothing! honorable—
You are a phœnix of all human virtues—
But, while your blood's mean, there's a frozen bar
Betwixt you and a lady, that will melt—
4
But like a mist, with money!
[Enter a Servant.]
SERVANT.
Please you, sir!
A tradesman waits to see you!
TORTESA.
Let him in!
[Exit Servant.
What need have I of forty generations
To build my name up? I have bought with money
The fairest daughter of their haughtiest line!
Bought her! Falcone's daughter for so much!
No wooing in't! Ha! ha! I harp'd on that
Till my lord winced! “My bargain!” still “my bargain!”
Nought of my bride! Ha! ha! 'Twas excellent!
[Enter Tradesman.]
What's thy demand?
TRADESMAN.
Ten ducats, please your lordship!
TORTESA.
Out on “your lordship!” There are twelve for ten?
Does a lord pay like that? Learn some name sweeter
To my ears than “Your lordship!” I'm no lord!
Give me thy quittance! Now, begone! Who waits?
5
The Glover's daughter, please you, sir!
[Enter Zippa.]
TORTESA.
Come in,
My pretty neighbor! What! my bridal gloves!
Are they brought home?
ZIPPA.
The signor pays so well,
He's well served.
TORTESA.
Um! why, pertinently answered!
And yet, my pretty one, the words were sweeter
In any mouth than yours!
ZIPPA.
That's easy true!
TORTESA.
I would 'twere liking that had spurr'd your service—
Not money, Zippa, sweet! (She presents her parcel to him, with a meaning air.)
ZIPPA.
Your bridal gloves, sir!
TORTESA,
(aside.)
(What a fair shrew it is!) My gloves are paid for!
And will be thrown aside when worn a little.
6
What then, sir!
TORTESA.
Why, the bride is paid for, too!
And may be thrown aside, when worn a little!
ZIPPA.
You mock me now!
TORTESA.
You know Falcone's palace,
And lands, here, by Fiesolè? I bought them
For so much money of his creditors,
And gave them to him, in a plain, round bargain,
For his proud daughter! What think you of that?
ZIPPA.
What else but that you loved her!
TORTESA.
As I love
The thing I give my money for—no more!
ZIPPA.
You mean to love her?
TORTESA.
'Twas not in the bargain!
ZIPPA.
Why, what a monster do you make yourself!
Have you no heart?
7
A loving one, for you!
Nay, never frown! I marry this lord's daughter
To please a devil that inhabits me!
But there's an angel in me—not so strong—
And this last loves you!
ZIPPA.
Thanks for your weak ‘angel’!
I'd sooner 'twere the ‘devil’!
TORTESA.
Both were yours!
But for the burning fever that I have
To pluck at their proud blood.
ZIPPA.
Why, this poor lady
Cannot have harm'd you!
TORTESA.
Forty thousand times!
She's noble-born—there's one wrong in her cradle!
She's proud—why, that makes every pulse an insult—
Sixty a minute! She's profuse in smiles
On those who are, to me, as stars to glow-worms—
So I'm disparaged! I have pass'd her by,
Summer and winter, and she ne'er looked on me!
Her youth has been one tissue of contempt!
Her lovers, and her tutors, and her heart,
Taught her to scorn the low-born—that am I!
Would you have more?
8
Why, this is moon-struck madness.
TORTESA.
I'd have her mine, for all this—jewell'd, perfumed—
Just as they've worshipped her at court—my slave!
They've mewed her breath up in their silken beds—
Blanch'd her with baths—fed her on delicate food—
Guarded the unsunn'd dew upon her skin—
For some lord's pleasure! If I could not get her;
There's a contempt in that, would make my forehead
Hot in my grave!
ZIPPA,
(aside.)
(Now Heaven forbid my fingers
Should make your bridal gloves!) Forgive me, Signor!
I'll take these back, so please you! (Takes up the parcel again.)
TORTESA,
(not listening to her.)
But for this—
This devil at my heart, thou should'st have wedded
The richest commoner in Florence, Zippa!
Tell me thou wouldst!
ZIPPA,
(aside.)
(Stay! stay! A thought! If I
Could feign to love him, and so work on him
To put this match off, and at last to break it—
'Tis possible—and so befriend this lady,
9
Signor Tortesa!
TORTESA.
You've been dreaming now,
How you would brave it it in your lady-gear;
Was't not so?
ZIPPA.
No!
TORTESA.
What then?
ZIPPA.
I had a thought,
If I dare speak it.
TORTESA.
Nay, nay, speak it out!
ZIPPA.
I had forgot your riches, and I thought
How lost you were!
TORTESA.
How lost?
ZIPPA.
Your qualities,
Which far outweigh your treasure, thrown away
On one who does not love you!
TORTESA.
Thrown away?
10
Is it not so to have a gallant shape,
And no eye to be proud on't—to be full
Of all that makes men dangerous to women,
And marry where you're scorned?
TORTESA.
There's reason there!
ZIPPA.
You're wise in meaner riches! You have gold,
'Tis out at interest!—lands, palaces,
They bring in rent. The gifts of nature only,
Worth to you, Signor, more than all your gold,
Lie profitless and idle. Your fine stature—
TORTESA.
Why—so, so!
ZIPPA.
Speaking eyes—
TORTESA.
Ay—passable.
ZIPPA.
Your voice, uncommon musical—
TORTESA.
Nay, there,
I think you may be honest!
ZIPPA.
And your look,
11
(Aside)
(That last must choke him!)
TORTESA.
Youv'e a judgment, Zippa,
That makes me wonder at you! We are both
Above our breeding—I have often thought so—
And lov'd you—but to-day so more than ever,
That my revenge must have drunk up my life,
To still sweep over it. But when I think
Upon that proud lord and his scornful daughter—
I say not you're forgot—myself am lost—
And love and memory with me! I must go
And visit her! I'll see you to the door—
Come, Zippa, come!
ZIPPA,
(aside.)
(I, too, will visit her!
You're a brave Signor, but against two women
You'll find your wits all wanted!)
TORTESA.
Come away!
I must look on my bargain! my good bargain!
Ha! ha! my bargain!
[Exeunt.
| Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti | |