University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Park of the Marquis di Tiburzzi. Enter Juranio and Salvatore.
Juranio.
Whose grounds are these?

Salvatore.
The Marquis di Tiburzzi's—
A sorry sequel to an ancient stock,
Whose wide dominion once outstretched our sight.
Alas! for him, poor man, malicious fortune
Threw all the choicest of her random smiles
Upon the wrong end of his famous race,
And now mocks him with what his fathers were.

Ju.
A pretty place! Some heritage of beauty
Yet harbors here. Mark how the clustered blossoms
Star the dark back-ground of yon shady wood.

Sal.
O! yes; but mark how jealous avarice
Has shorn the chiefest saplings to the root.

Ju.
Yet spared us every flower. Praise be to Heaven!
Their beauty is not marketable. See,
A living bower, a bower of growing vines,
All carpeted with last year's fallen leaves!

Sal.
A thrifty thought! The very dead are used.
That hint was stolen from Egypt, where they burn
Their spicy ancestors. 'T were a proud thing,
To sit down at a fire of Ptolemies,
With Cleopatra for a back-log.

Ju.
Ugh!
You would put out the harmony of heaven
With your great sprawling jokes. The hand of taste,
Making best use of few materials,
Is here.

Sal.
The hand of woman.

Ju.
Worse and worse!
I'll fly you, shortly.

Sal.
'T would confess your devil,
To fly at holy names. Why do you shun
These dainty blossoms of humanity
With such stern care?—So ho! run, run for life!
There go two maids—two full-blown, dangerous maids—
Hide you, sir modesty!

Ju.
You know them maids?

Sal.
I take them so on credit.

Ju.
Save you, save you!
Good lady-broker, you will one day fail
From such long credits.

Sal.
See, they make this way.
Here comes the goddess of your living bower.

Ju.
Which one?

Sal.
The shorter.

Ju.
No; the taller one.

Sal.
How know you that?

Ju.
I trace her little fingers
In the soft curvings of each vine.

Sal.
Ho! ho!

(Laughing.)
Ju.
I'll bet my Arab—saddle, spurs, and all—
Against your empty laugh, those cunning girls
Are plotting to ensnare some luckless man:
I see such malice in your small one's eyes.

Sal.
Done!

Ju.
Done!—Come hide.

Sal.
A mere excuse for running,
You arrant fly-frock!

Ju.
Here, behind the bower.

[They secrete themselves.]
(Enter Costanza and Filippia.)
Costanza.
Press me no more; my motives are my own.
You grant me judgment?

Filippia.
More than you grant me.
You have some cloudy fancy in your brain,
That needs but airing,—some weak, flimsy notion,
That common reason would dry up at once.

Cos.
You rate me poorly, cousin.

Fil.
There again!
You would be off. Stick to the text, Costanza.
Do you love Marsio?

Cos.
Would I wed him else?

Fil.
You dare not answer strictly.

Cos.
Why then ask?

Fil.
I know you do not. 'T is not in your nature
To fall so meanly. O! be warned in time.
The twin-born heart to whom you owe allegiance,
To whom, perforce, you must surrender love,
Will track you out at last. How fearful, then,
To perish piecemeal with a smothered passion,
Or—I will not repeat it: 't was a story
Old at the flood.

Cos.
Here I dare answer strictly.
If you will not allow me Marsio,
At least, I love no other.

Fil.
But you will—
Nay, never raise your brows—you will, I say,
Fall in a frenzy of outrageous love
With some stern, mulish creature, like yourself,
Who swears he'll wed the blackest blackamoor,
And will—that will he!—though the heavens should fall!
Tell me, Costanza,—tell me, darling cousin,—
What are your motives in this strange affair?

Cos.
Then will you cease your torments?

Fil.
Ay; and vow
To keep good counsel.

Cos.
Nor by word or deed
Again oppose my purpose?

Fil.
Yes, to that;
But 't is a bitter contract.

Cos.
Let us walk:
The story is a long one.

[They walk up the stage.]
Ju.
Salvatore,
This eavesdropping is scarcely honorable.

Sal.
What a fine moral sense! Just as you lose
The last faint whisper of their pretty talk,
Up starts indignant honor.

Ju.
Ah! her voice
Held honor spell-bound. Did you mark, with me,
How the low music trickled from her lips?
All heaven was listening to her, why not we?

Sal.
Which one set heaven agog?

Ju.
The taller one.

Sal.
The small one spoke the more.

Ju.
More, but less valued.
The other's phrases served to bind together,
As baser metal solders sovereign gold,
The broken links of her harmonious thoughts.

Sal.
Zounds! are you mad?

Ju.
I know not what I am:
I am something I was not an hour ago.

Sal.
Unhappy idiot!

Ju.
See, see, she walks!

Sal.
A wonderful exploit!

Ju.
I must address her.

Sal.
Fellow, there are two. To my unbiassed eyes,
The smaller is the fairer. Let us leave,
As partial penance for our vulgar fault.
Will you not come?

Ju.
No; I must speak to her.

Sal.
That were ill-bred.

Ju.
I'll frame new codes of manners.
Fair lady, by your leave—

[Advancing to Costanza.]
Sal.
Nay, be not startled.
'T is but a simple kinsman of my own,
A poor brain-darkened lunatic; but harmless,
Quite harmless to a lady. Pray you know him;
The Count Juranio—once a wiser man.

[Juranio bows.]
Ju.
And here his cousin, signore Salvatore,
[Salvatore bows.]
A world-wide jester, a professed buffoon;
The globe 's his bauble, all mankind his mark;
Each word of his a jest, or meant for such.
A cunning ferret after doubtful phrases,
A subtle reasoner upon groundless proofs,
A deep inquirer into shallowness,
A dangerous friend, a harmless enemy;
His own best jest, oftener laughed at than with.
Weigh well your words, give him no cavilling point,
And you are safe.

Fil.
Two weighty characters!

Cos.
What mean you, gentlemen?—You should be such
By dress, if not by manners.

Ju.
We—I—I—
What would we, Salvatore?

Sal.
We would know
The way to town.

Fil.
Why, all the steeples stare
Above yon hill.

Sal.
Ah! yes.—True—true, indeed—
I see—What would we, Count Juranio?
There is an awful mystery here, which I
Would fain explain, if we might meet again.

[Apart to Filippia.]
Fil.
A mystery! How, meet me? I cannot tell
But I may often ramble hereabout.

[Apart to Salvatore.]
Sal.
Our ways are doubtful: odder things have been
Than two chance meetings.

[Apart to Filippia.]
Ju.
Has my tongue strayed off?
[Aside.]
Lady, from that small spring, the human heart,
Arise a thousand swelling impulses,
Each one a mystery to the sober brain:
'T were vain to ask why we do thus and thus,
Why crush that good intent, and rear this wrong,
While the poor reason, that would fain inquire,
Is impotent to rule. 'T was such an impulse
Drove me to what I did; which, being done,
I forge no false excuse, but simply beg
Your gentlest censure.

Cos.
Sir, a fault confessed
Pardons itself one half. I will not grudge
A full forgiveness, if you ask it of me.

Ju.
I do, most humbly. It is not my wont
To sue for breach of manners.

Sal.
That I swear!
He was the flower of distant etiquette
To all things feminine.

Cos.
Nor are my manners
Of the sour, formal cast that freezes back
The generous feelings of o'erflowing nature,
And bars the way between our hearts and lips;
Nor—nor—Indeed I know not what I say—
I talk at random. Pray you, leave me, sir:
You trifle with me.

Ju.
Lady, are you just?

Cos.
O, heaven! I am not; neither to myself,
Nor those who own my duty. Say no more;
But leave me, leave me!

Ju.
I obey; how sadly!
May we not meet once more?

Cos.
No; never, never!

[Exit with Filippia.]
Sal.
Gods! we are all mad together!

Ju.
“Never, never!”

Sal.
You lost your Arab.

Ju.
Did I?—“Never, never!”

Sal.
Ay; but you did.

Ju.
'T is granted.—“Never, never!”

[Exit. Salvatore following him amazedly.]