University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

[An Apartment in the Falcone Palace. Tortesa alone waiting the return of the Count.]
TORTESA,
(musing.)
There are some luxuries too rich for purchase.
Your soul, 'tis said, will buy them, of the devil—
Money's too poor! What would I not give, now,
That I could scorn what I can hate and ruin!
Scorn is the priceless luxury! In heaven,
The angels pity. They are blest to do so;
For, pitying, they look down. We do't by scorn!
There lies the privilege of noble birth!—
The jewel of that bloated toad is scorn!
You may take all else from him. You—being mean—
May get his palaces—may wed his daughter—
Sleep in his bed—have all his peacock menials
Watching your least glance, as they did “my lord's;”
And, well-possess'd thus, you may pass him by
On his own horse; and while the vulgar crowd
Gape at your trappings, and scarce look on him—
He in his rags, and starving for a crust—
You'll feel his scorn, through twenty coats of mail,
Hot as a sun-stroke! Yet there's something for us!
Th' archangel fiend, when driven forth from heaven,
Put on the serpent, and found sweet revenge
Trailing his slime through Eden! So will I!

[Enter Falcone, booted and spurred.]
FALCONE.
Good morrow, signor,

TORTESA.
Well-arrived, my lord!
How sped your riding?

FALCONE.
Fairly! Has my daughter
Left you alone?

TORTESA.
She knows that I am here.
Nay—she'll come presently! A word in private,
Since we're alone, my lord!

FALCONE.
I listen, signor!

TORTESA.
Your honor, as I think, outweighs a bond?

FALCONE.
'Twas never questioned.

TORTESA.
On your simple word,
And such more weight as hangs upon the troth
Of a capricious woman, I gave up
A deed of lands to you.

FALCONE.
You did.

TORTESA.
To be
Forfeit, and mine again—the match not made?

FALCONE.
How if you marr'd it?

TORTESA.
I? I'm not a boy!
What I would yesterday, I will to-day!
I'm not a lover—

FALCONE.
How? So near your bridal,
And not a lover? Shame, sir!

TORTESA.
My lord count,
You take me for a fool!

FALCONE.
Is't like a fool
To love a high-born lady, and your bride?

TORTESA.
Yes; a thrice-sodden fool—if it were I!
I'm not a mate for her—you know I am not!
You know that, in her heart, your haughty daughter
Scorns me—ineffably!

FALCONE.
You seek occasion
To slight her, signor!

TORTESA.
No! I'll marry her
If all the pride that cast down Lucifer
Lie in her bridal-ring! But, mark me still!
I'm not one of your humble citizens,
To bring my money-bags and make you rich—
That, when we walk together, I may take
Your shadow for my own! These limbs are clay—
Poor, common clay, my lord! And she that weds me
Comes down to my estate.

FALCONE.
By this you mean not
To shut her from her friends?

TORTESA.
You'll see your daughter
By coming to my house—not else! D'ye think
I'll have a carriage to convey my wife
Where she will hear me laughed at?—buy fine horses
To prance a measure to the mocking jeers
Of fools that ride with her? Nay—keep a table
Where I'm the skeleton that mars the feast?
No, no—no, no!

FALCONE,
(aside.)
(With half the provocation,
I would, ere now, have struck an emperor!
But baser pangs make this endurable.
I'm poor—so patience!) What was it beside
You would have said to me?

TORTESA.
But this: Your daughter
Has, in your absence, covered me with scorn!
We'll not talk of it—if the match goes on,
I care not to remember it! (Aside.)
(She shall—
And bitterly!)

FALCONE,
(aside.)
(My poor, poor Isabella!
The task was too much!)

TORTESA.
There's a cost of feeling—
You may not think it much—I reckon it
A thousand pounds per day—in playing thus
The suitor to a lady cramm'd with pride!
I've writ you out a bond to pay me for it!
See here!—to pay me for my shame and pains,
If I should lose your daughter for a wife,
A thousand pounds per day—dog cheap at that!
Sign it, my lord, or give me back my deeds,
And traffic cease between us!

FALCONE.
Is this earnest,
Or are you mad or trifling? Do I not
Give you my daughter with an open hand?
Are you betroth'd or no?
[Enter a Servant.]
Who's this?

SERVANT.
A page
Sent from the Duke

FALCONE.
Admit him.

[Enter Page with a letter.]
PAGE.
For my Lord,
The Count Falcone.

TORTESA,
(aside.)
(In a moment more
I would have had a bond of such assurance
Her father on his knees should bid me take her.
(Looking at Falcone, who smiles as he reads.)
What glads him now?)

FALCONE.
You shall not have the bond!

TORTESA.
No? (aside.)
(Here's a change! What hint from Duke or devil
Stirs him to this?) My lord, 'twere best the bridal
Took place upon the instant. Is your daughter
Ready within?

FALCONE.
You'll never wed my daughter!

[Enter Isabella.]
TORTESA.
My Lord!

FALCONE.
She's fitlier mated! Here she comes!
My lofty Isabella! My fair child!
How dost thou, sweet?

ISABELLA,
(embracing him.)
Come home, and I not know it!
Art well? I see thou art! Hast ridden hard!
My dear, dear father!

FALCONE.
Give me breath to tell thee
Some better news, my lov'd one!

ISABELLA.
Nay, the joy
To see you back again 's enough for now.
There can be no news better, and for this
Let's keep a holiday twixt this and sunset!
Shut up your letter, and come see my flowers,
And hear my birds sing, will you?

FALCONE.
Look, my darling,
Upon this first! (Holds up the letter.)


ISABELLA.
No! you shall tell me all
You and the Duke did—where you slept, where ate,
Whether you dream'd of me—and, now I think on't,
Found you no wild-flow'rs as you cross'd the mountain?

FALCONE.
My own bright child! (Looks fondly upon her.)


TORTESA,
(aside.)
('Twill mar your joy, my lord!
To see the Glover's daughter in your palace,
And your proud daughter houseless!)

FALCONE,
(to Isabella.)
You'll not hear
The news I have for you!

TORTESA,
(advancing.)
Before you tell it,
I'll take my own again!

ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(Tortesa here!) (curtseys.)

I crave your pardon, sir; I saw you not!
(Oh hateful monster!) (aside.)


FALCONE.
Listen to my news,
Signor Tortesa! It concerns you, trust me!

ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(More of this hateful marriage!)

TORTESA.
Tell it briefly,
My time is precious!

FALCONE.
Sir I'll sum it up
In twenty words. The Duke has information,
By what means yet I know not, that my need
Spurs me to marry an unwilling daughter.
He bars the match!—redeems my lands and palace,
And has enrich'd the young Count Julian,
For whom he bids me keep my daughter's hand!
Kind, royal master! (Reads the note to himself.)


ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(Never!)

TORTESA,
(aside, with suppressed rage.)
('Tis a lie!
He's mad, or plays some trick to gain the time—
Or there's a woman hatching deviltry!
We'll see.) (Looks at Isabella.)


ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(I'll die first! Sold and taken back,
Then thrust upon a husband paid to take me!
To save my father I have weigh'd myself,
Heart, hand, and honour, against so much land!—
I—Isabella! I'm nor hawk nor hound,
And, if I change my master, I will choose him!)

TORTESA,
(aside.)
She seems not over-pleased!

PAGE.
Your pardon, Count!
I wait your answer to the Duke!

FALCONE.
My daughter
Shall give it you herself. What sweet phrase have you,
Grateful and eloquent, to bear your thanks?
Speak, Isabella!

ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(There's but one way left!
Courage, poor heart, and think on Angelo!
(Advances suddenly to Tortesa.)
Signor Tortesa!

TORTESA.
Madam!

ISABELLA.
There's my hand!
Is't yours, or no?

TORTESA.
There was a troth between us!

ISABELLA.
It's broke?

TORTESA.
I have not broke it!

ISABELLA.
Then why stand you
Mute as a statue, when 'tis struck asunder
Without our wish or knowledge? Would you be
Half so indifferent had you lost a horse?
Am I worth having?

TORTESA.
Is my life worth having?

ISABELLA.
Then are you robb'd! Look to it!

FALCONE.
Is she mad!

TORTESA.
You'll marry me?

ISABELLA.
I will!

FALCONE.
By heaven you shall not!
What, shall my daughter wed a leprosy—
A bloated money-canker? Leave her hand!
Stand from him, Isabella!

ISABELLA.
Sir! you gave me
This “leper” for a husband, three days gone;
I did not ask my heart if I could love him!
I took him with the meekness of a child,
Trusting my father! I was shut up for him—
Forc'd to receive no other company—
My wedding-clothes made, and the match proclaim'd
Through Florence!

FALCONE.
Do you love him?—tell me quickly!

ISABELLA.
You never ask'd me that when I was bid
To wed him!

FALCONE.
I am dumb!

TORTESA.
Ha! ha!! well put!
At him again, 'Bel! Well! I've had misgivings
That there was food in me for ladies' liking.
I've been too modest!

ISABELLA,
(aside.)
(Monster of disgust!)

FALCONE.
My daughter! I would speak with you in private!
Signor! you'll pardon me.

ISABELLA.
Go you, dear father!
I'll follow straight.

[Exit Falcone.
TORTESA,
(aside.)
(She loiters for a kiss!
They're all alike! The same trick woos them all!)
Come to me, 'Bel!

ISABELLA,
(coldly)
To morrow at this hour
You'll find the priest here, and the bridesmaids waiting.
Till then, adieu!

[Exit.
TORTESA
Hola! what, gone? Why, Bella!
Sweetheart, I say! So! She would coy it with me!
Well, well, to-morrow! 'Tis not long, and kisses
Pay interest by seconds! There's a leg!
As she stood there, the calf shewed handsomely.
Faith 'tis a shapely one! I wonder now,
Which of my points she finds most admirable!
Something I never thought on, like as not.
We do not see ourselves as others see us.
'Twould not surprise me now, if 'twere my beard—
My forehead! I've a hand indifferent white!
Nay, I've been told my waist was neatly turn'd.
We do not see ourselves as others see us!
How goes the hour? I'll home and fit my hose
To tie trim for the morrow. (Going out.)
Hem! the door's
Lofty. I like that! I will have mine raised.
Your low door makes one stoop!

[Exit.