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| 1. | ACT I. |
| 2. |
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 | The complete works of N.P. Willis |  |
1. ACT I.
SCENE I.
[A drawing-room in Tortesa's house. Servant discovered
reading the bill of a tradesman, who is in attendance.]
Servant
(reading).
“Silk hose, doublet of white satin,
twelve shirts of lawn.” He'll not pay it to-day, good
mercer!
Tradesman.
How, master Gaspar? When I was
assured of the gold on delivery? If it be a credit account,
look you, there must be a new bill. The charge is for
ready money.
Servant.
Tut — tut — man, you know not whom you serve.
My master is as likely to overpay you if you are civil, as to
keep you a year out of your money if you push him when
he is crossed.
Tradesman.
Why, this is the humor of a spendthrift,
not the careful way of a usurer.
Servant.
Usurer! humph. Well, it may be he is — to
the rich! But the heart of the Signor Tortesa, let me tell
you, is like the bird's wing — the dark side is turned upward.
To those who look up to him he shows neither
spot nor stain! Hark! I hear his wheels in the court.
Step to the ante-room — for he has that on his hands to-day
which may make him impatient. Quick! Give way!
I'll bring you to him if I can find a time.
Tortesa
(speaking without).
What ho! Gaspar!
Servant.
Signor!
Tortesa.
My keys! Bring me my keys!
[Enter Tortesa, followed by Count Falcone.]
Come in, count.
Falcone.You're well lodged.
Tortesa.
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 betrothed, sir, to you!
Tortesa.
A free transaction, see you! — for you're paid,
And I'm but promised!
Falcone.
To give my daughter to! My daughter? Psha!
I'll think but of my lands, my precious lands!)
Sir, the duke sets forth —
Tortesa.
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 yours again — 'tis understood
so.
Tortesa.
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?
Falcone.
You shall control my door, sir, and my daughter!
Farewell now! [Exit Falcone.
Tortesa.
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 — dressed thus — looking thus —
The same in all — save money in my purse —
He would have scorned 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 —
Not with religion — scarcely with the grave —
But like a mist, with money!
[Enter a Servant.]
Servant.
A tradesman waits to see you!
Tortesa.
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 harped on that
Till my lord winced! “My bargain!” still “my bargain!”
Naught of my bride! Ha! ha! 'Twas excellent!
[Enter Tradesman.]
Tradesman.
Ten ducats, please your lordship!
Tortesa.
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?
Servant.
The glover's daughter, please you, sir!
[Enter Zippa.]
Tortesa.
My pretty neighbor! What! my bridal gloves!
Are they brought home?
Zippa.
He's well served.
Tortesa.
And yet, my pretty one, the words were sweeter
In any mouth than yours!
Zippa.
That's easy true!
Not money, Zippa, sweet! (She presents her parcel to him, with a meaning air.)
Zippa.
Your bridal gloves, sir!
Tortesa.
And will be thrown aside when worn a little.
Zippa.
What then, sir!
Tortesa.
And may be thrown aside, when worn a little!
Zippa.
You mock me now!
Tortesa.
And lands, here, by Fiesole? 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.
The thing I give my money for — no more!
Zippa.
You mean to love her?
Tortesa.
'Twas not in the bargain!
Zippa.
Have you no heart?
Tortesa.
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.
I'd sooner 'twere the devil!
Tortesa.
But for the burning fever that I have
To pluck at their proud blood.
Zippa.
Can not have harmed you!
Tortesa.
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 passed 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?
Zippa.
Why, this is moonstruck madness.
Tortesa.
Just as they've worshipped her at court — my slave!
They've mewed her breath up in their silken beds —
Blanched her with baths — fed her on delicate food —
Guarded the unsunned 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.
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).
This devil at my heart, thou shouldst have wedded
The richest commoner in Florence, Zippa!
Tell me thou wouldst!
Zippa.
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,
Whom, from my soul, I pity! Nay, I will!)
Signor Tortesa!
Tortesa.
How you would brave it in your lady-gear;
Was't not so?
Zippa.
No!
Tortesa.
What then?
Zippa.
If I dare speak it.
Tortesa.
Nay, nay, speak it out!
Zippa.
How lost you were!
Tortesa.
How lost?
Zippa.
Which far outweigh your treasure, thrown away
On one who does not love you!
Tortesa.
Thrown away?
Zippa.
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.
'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.
I think you may be honest!
Zippa.
In all points lofty, like a gentleman!
(Aside — That last must choke him!)
Tortesa.
That makes me wonder at you! We are both
Above our breeding — I have often thought so —
And loved 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.
You're a brave signor, but against two women
You'll find your wits all wanted!)
Tortesa.
I must look on my bargain! my good bargain!
Ha! ha! my bargain! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
[The painter's studio. Angelo painting. Tomaso in the
foreground, arranging a meager repast.]
Tomaso.
A thrice-picked bone, a stale crust, and — excellent
water! Will you to breakfast, Master Angelo?
Angelo.
Look on this touch, good Tomaso, if it be not
life itself — (draws him before his easel)
. Now, what
thinkest thou?
Tomaso.
Um — fair! fair enough!
Angelo.
No more?
Tomaso.
Till it mend my breakfast, I will never praise
it! Fill me up that outline, Master Angelo! (Takes up
the naked bone.)
Color me that water! To what end dost
thou dabble there?
Angelo.
I am weary of telling thee to what end. Have
patience, Tomaso!
Tomaso
(coaxingly).
Wouldst thou but paint the goldsmith
a sign, now, in good fair letters!
Angelo.
Have I no genius for the art, thinkst thou?
Tomaso.
Thou! ha! ha!
Angelo.
By thy laughing, thou wouldst say no!
Tomaso.
Thou a genius! Look! Master Angelo! Have
I not seen thee every day since thou wert no bigger than
thy pencil?
Angelo.
And if thou hast?
Tomaso.
Do I not know thee from crown to heel? Dost
thou not come in at that door as I do? sit down in that
chair as I do? eat, drink, and sleep, as I do? Dost thou
not call me Tomaso, and I thee Angelo?
Angelo.
Well!
Tomaso.
Then how canst thou have genius? Are there
no marks? Would I clap thee on the back, and say good
morrow? Nay, look thee! would I stand here telling thee
in my wisdom what thou art, if thou wert a genius? Go
to, Master Angelo! I love thee well, but thou art comprehensible!
Angelo.
But thinkst thou never of my works, Tomaso?
Thy works! Do I not grind thy paints? Do
I not see thee take up thy palette, place thy foot thus, and
dab here, dab there? I tell thee thou hast never done
stroke yet, I could not take the same brush and do after
thee. Thy works, truly!
Angelo.
How thinkst thou would Donatello paint, if he
were here?
Tomaso.
Donatello! I will endeavor to show thee!
(Takes the palette and brush with a mysterious air.)
The
picture should be there! His pencil (throws down Angelo's
pencil, and seizes a broom)
, his pencil should be as long as
this broom! He should raise it thus — with his eyes rolling
thus — and with his body thrown back thus!
Angelo.
What then?
Tomaso.
Then he should see something in the air — a
sort of a hm — ha — r — r — rrrr — (you understand). And he
first strides off here and looks at it — then he strides off
there and looks at it — then he looks at his long brush — then
he makes a dab! dash! flash! (Makes three strokes across
Angelo's picture.)
Angelo.
Villain, my picture! Tomaso! (Seizes his
sword.)
With thy cursed broom thou hast spoiled a picture Donatello could ne'er have painted! Say thy prayers,
for, by the Virgin! —
Tomaso.
Murder! murder! help! Oh, my good master!
Oh, my kind master!
Angelo.
Wilt say thy prayers, or die a sinner? Quick!
or thou'rt dead ere 'tis thought on!
Tomaso.
Help! help! mercy! oh, mercy!
[Enter the duke hastily, followed by Falcone and attendants.]
Duke.
Disarm him! Now what mad-cap youth art thou? (To Angelo.)
To fright this peaceful artist from his toil?
Rise up, sir! (To Tomaso.)
Angelo.
(Aside
— Could my luckless star have brought
The duke here at no other time!)
Duke
(looking round on the pictures).
Matter worth stumbling on! By Jove, a picture
Of admirable work! Look here, Falcone!
Didst think there was a hand unknown in Florence
Could lay on color with a skill like this!
Tomaso
(Aside to Angelo).
Didst thou hear that?
(Duke and Falcone admire the pictures in dumb show.)
Angelo.
Swear 'tis thy work!)
Tomaso.
Mine, master?
Angelo.
The shadow of my fault will fall upon it
While I stand here a culprit? The duke loves thee
As one whom he has chanced to serve at need,
And kindness mends the light upon a picture,
I know that well!
Falcone
(to Tomaso).
The duke would know your
name, sir!
Tomaso
(as Angelo pulls him by the sleeve).
Tom —
Angelo, my lord!
Duke
(to Falcone).
Upon a treasure!
Falcone.
That led you in, my lord!
Duke.
That I might ne'er have found such excellence
But for a chance cry thus! Yet now 'tis found
I'll cherish it, believe me.
Falcone.
Your grace is never slow to,
Duke.
If you'll consent to it?
Falcone.
My gracious liege!
Duke.
Loves your fair daughter. Not as maid of honor
Lost to our service, but as parting child,
We grieve to lose her.
Falcone.
My good lord!
Duke.
She is betrothed now, and you needs must wed her!
My thought was, to surprise my grieving dutchess
With a resemblance of your daughter, done
By this rare hand, here. 'Tis a thought well found,
You'll say it is!
Falcone
(hesitating).
On a brief journey. Were't not best put off
Till our return?
Duke
(laughing).
The sun shine on your rosebud till she bloom
Fairly in wedlock. But this painter, see you
Is an old man, of a poor, timid bearing,
And may be trusted to look close upon her.
Come, come! I'll have my way! Good Angelo, (To Tomaso.)
A pen and ink! And you, my lord Falcone!
Write a brief missive to your gentle daughter
T' admit him privately.
Falcone.
I will, duke. [Writes.
Angelo
Shall I go back or forward? If he writes
Admit this Angelo, why I am he,
And that rare phœnix, hidden from the world,
Sits to my burning pencil. She's a beauty
Without a parallel, they say in Florence.
Her picture 'll be remembered! Let the duke
Rend me with horses, it shall ne'er be said
I dared not pluck at Fortune!)
Tomaso
(Aside to Angelo).
Signor!
Angelo.
(Hush!
Betray me, and I'll kill thee!)
Duke.
Angelo!
Angelo
(Aside to Tomaso).
Speak, or thou diest.
Tomaso
(to the duke).
My lord!
Duke.
In the attainment of an excellence
Well worth thy time and study. The clear touch,
Won only by the patient toil of years,
Is on your fair works yonder.
Tomaso
(astonished).
Those, my lord!
Duke.
But here's a new beginning. Take this missive
From Count Falcone to his peerless daughter.
I'd have a picture of her for my palace.
Paint me her beauty as I know you can,
And as you do it well, my favor to you
Shall make up for the past.
Tomaso
(as Angelo pulls his sleeve),.
Your grace is
kind!
Duke.
His sword was drawn upon an unarmed man.
He shall be fined, or, as you please, imprisoned.
Speak!
Tomaso.
If your grace would bid him pay —
Duke.
What sum?
Tomaso.
If it so please you. 'Tis a thriftless servant
I keep for love I bore to his dead father.
But all his faults are nothing to a thirst
That sucks my cellar dry!
Duke.
Write out a bond to pay of your first gains
The twenty flasks!
Angelo.
Most willingly, my liege. [Writes.
Duke
(to Tomaso).
Are you content?
Tomaso.
Your grace, I am!
Duke.
Once more to horse! Nay, nay, man, look not black!
Unless your daughter were a wine flask, trust me
There's no fear of the painter!
Falcone.
And you shall rule me. 'Tis the roughest shell
Hides the good pearl. Adieu, sir! (to Tomaso.)
[Exeunt duke and Falcone.
(Angelo seizes the missive from Tomaso, and strides up and
down the stage, reading it exultingly. After looking at
him a moment, Tomaso does the same with the bond for
the twenty flasks.
Angelo.
Oh, here is golden opportunity —
The ladder at my foot, the prize above,
And angels beckoning upward. I will paint
Shall live like loving daylight. They shall cease
To praise it for the constant glory of it.
There's not a stone built in the palace wall
But shall let through the light of it, and Florence
Shall be a place of pilgrimage for ever
To see the work of low-born Angelo.
Oh that the world were made without a night,
That I could toil while in my fingers play
This dexterous lightning, wasted so in sleep.
I'll out, and muse how I shall paint this beauty,
So, wile the night away.
[Exit.
Tomaso
(coming forward with his bond).
Prejudice aside, that is a pleasant-looking piece of paper! (Holds it
off, and regards it with a pleased air.)
Your bond to pay,
now is an ill-visaged rascal — you would know him across a
church — nay — with the wind fair, smell him a good league!
But this has, in some sort, a smile. It is not like other paper.
It reads mellifluously. Your name is in the right end
of it for music. Let me dwell upon it! (Unfolds it and
reads)
“I, Tomaso, promise to pay” — stay! “I, Tomaso —
I, Tomaso, promise to pay to Angelo, my master, twenty
flasks of wine!” (Rubs his eyes, and turns the note over
and over.)
There's a demnable twist in it that spoils all. “I Tomaso” — why that's I. And “I promise to pay” —
Now, I promise no such thing! (Turns it upside down, and
after trying in vain to alter the reading, tears it in two.)
There are some men that can not write ten words in their
own language without a blunder. Out, filthy scraps. If
the glover's daughter have not compassion upon me, I die
of thirst! I'll seek her out! A pest on ignorance!
(Pulls his hat sulkily over his eyes, and walks off.)
SCENE III.
[An apartment in the Falcone Palace. Angelo discovered
listening.]
Angelo.
In my impatience for this lovely wonder!
That window's to the north! The light falls cool.
I'll set my easel here, and sketch her — Stay!
How shall I do that? Is she proud or sweet?
Will she sit silent, or converse and smile?
Will she be vexed or pleased to have a stranger
Pry through her beauty for the soul that's in it?
Nay, then I heard a footstep — she is here!
(Enter Isabella, reading her father's missive.)
Isabella.
Done by this rude man, Angelo! Receive him
With modest privacy, and let your kindness
Be measured by his merit, not his garb.”
Angelo.
Fair lady!
Isabella.
Who speaks?
Angelo.
Angelo!
Isabella.
To paint a dull face, trust me!
Angelo.
(Aside
— Beautiful,
Beyond all dreaming!)
Isabella.
Not ev'n a mock one! Shall I sit?
Angelo.
I'll steal your beauty while you move, as well!
So you but breathe, the air still brings to me
That which outdoes all pencilling.
Isabella
(walking apart).
Is not a rude one. What a fate is mine,
When ev'n the chance words on a poor youth's tongue,
Contrasted with the voice which I should love,
Seems rich and musical!
Angelo
(to himself as he draws).
Drooping his small head to a lily-cup,
She curves that neck of pliant ivory!
I'll paint her thus!
Isabella.
He thinks aloud. This is, perhaps, the rudeness
My father feared might anger me.)
Angelo.
Can match the clear red of those glorious lips?
Say it were possible to trace the arches,
Shaped like the drawn bow of the god of love —
How teint them, after?
Isabella.
But murmurs to his picture. 'Twere sweet praise,
Were it a lover whispering it. I'll listen,
As I walk, still.
Angelo.
Hangs ever at the crystal-gate of heaven,
To bar the issue of its blinding glory,
So droop those silken lashes to an eye
Mortal could never paint!
Isabella.
Would draw down angels!
Angelo.
Can mock the rose and lily of her cheek!
I must look closer on't! (Advancing.) Fair lady, please you,
I'll venture to your side.
Isabella.
Sir!
Angelo
(examining her cheek).
Of white and red here, that defeats my skill.
If you'll forgive me, I'll observe an instant,
How the bright blood and the transparent pearl
Melt to each other!
Isabella
(receding from him).
You're too free, sir.
Angelo
(with surprise).
Madam!
Isabella.
To paint it well.)
Angelo.
Pray you, turn to me! In my study, here,
I've tried to fancy how that ivory shoulder
Leads the white light off from your arching neck,
But can not, for the envious sleeve that hides it.
Please you, displace it!
(Raises his hand to the sleeve.)
Isabella.
Sir, you are too bold!
Angelo.
Should be beyond your hiding, or my praise!
Were you less marvellous, I were too bold;
But there's a pure divinity in beauty,
Which the true eye of art looks on with reverence,
Though, like the angels, it were all unclad!
You have no right to hide it!
Isabella.
How? No right!
Angelo.
That, by oft looking on the type divine
In which we first were moulded, men remember
The heaven they're born to! You've an errand here,
To show how look the angels. But, as Vestals
Cherish the sacred fire, yet let the priest
Light his lamp at it for a thousand altars,
So is your beauty unassoiled, though I
Ravish a copy for the shut-out world!
Isabella.
Bold, yet respectful — free, yet full of honor!
I never saw a youth with gentler eyes;
I never heard a voice that pleased me more;
Let me look on him?)
(Enter Tortesa, unperceived.)
Angelo.
All parts are perfect, madam! yet, unseen,
Impossible to fancy. With your leave
I'll see your hand ungloved.
Isabella
(removing her glove).
To keep it from you, signor! There it is!
Angelo
(taking it in his own).
Inimitably perfect! Let me look
Close on the tracery of these azure veins!
With what a delicate and fragile thread
They weave their subtle mesh beneath the skin,
And meet, all blushing, in these rosy nails!
How soft the texture of these tapering fingers!
How exquisite the wrist! How perfect all!
(Tortesa rushes forward.)
Tortesa.
To palm the hand of my betrothed bride
With this licentious freedom?
(Angelo turns composedly to his work.)
With a first troth scarce cold upon your lips —
Is this your chastity?
Isabella.
Is over me! I'm not your wife!
Tortesa.
The wedding toward — have I no right in you?
Your father, at my wish, bade you be private;
Is this obedience?
Isabella.
Has, to his daughter, ever been a law;
This, in prosperity — and now, when chance
Frowns on his broken fortunes, I were dead
To love and pity, were not soul and body
Spent for his smallest need! I did consent
To wed his ruthless creditor for this!
I would have sprung into the sea, the grave,
As questionless and soon! My troth is yours!
But I'm not wedded yet, and, till I am,
The hallowed honor that protects a maid
Is round me, like a circle of bright fire!
A savage would not cross it — nor shall you!
I'm mistress of my presence. Leave me, sir!
Tortesa.
Sold to Falcene for that lily hand!
The deed's delivered, and the hand's my own!
I'll see that no man looks on't.
Isabella.
Bid you begone twice?
Tortesa.
Twenty times, if't please you!
(She looks at Angelo, who continues tranquilly painting.)
Isabella.
That he can hear this man heap insult on me,
And ne'er fall on him?
Tortesa.
I have a touch to give this picture, here,
But want no model for't. Come, come.
(Offers to take her by the arm.)
Isabella.
Now, will he see this wretch lay hands on me,
And never speak? He can not be a coward!
No, no! some other reason — not a coward!
I could not love a coward!
Tortesa.
Stay where you're better missed — 'tis at your pleasure;
I'll hew your kisses from the saucy lips
Of this bold painter — look on't, if you will!
And first, to mar his picture!
(He strikes at the canvass, when Angelo suddenly draws,
attacks and disarms him.)
Angelo.
Fool! madman! dog! What wouldst thou with my picture?
Speak! — But thy life would not bring back a ray
Of precious daylight, and I can not waste it!
Begone! begone!
(Throws Tortesa's sword from the window, and returns to
his picture.)
'Twas this touch that he marred! So! fair again!
Tortesa
(going out).
And, madam, you! or Count Falcone for you,
Shall rue this scorn!
[Exit.
Isabella
(looking at Angelo).
I shall be jealous of my very picture!
Yet one who can forget his passions so —
Peril his life, and, losing scarce a breath,
Turn to his high, ambitious toil again —
Must have a heart for whose belated waking
Queens might keep vigil!
Angelo.
I must give o'er! Pray Heaven, the downy wing
Of its most loving angel guard your beauty!
Good night!
(Goes out with a low reverence.)
Isabella.
Good night!
(She looks after him a moment, and then walks thoughtfully
off the stage.)
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