University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The House of Juranio. Enter Juranio and Salvatore.
Salvatore.
Cheer up, Juranio! Do not hug your grief;
All that is lovable in you is wasting
Before its sickly drought. Remember, man,
You are supported by a deity.
The blind brat, Love, despite his want of eyes,
Will find you out a way to win at last.
Trust your own idol. Shame upon despair!

Juranio.
You talk, to cheer me, with a cheerless heart;
Between your words, your face is sad as mine.
Salves for a mortal wound, drugs for the dead,
Hopes for the hopeless!

Sal.
Every thought 's astray.
Why, all things are merely as we behold them,
Taking such qualities as we bestow.
One only looks at the bright side of things;
And he 's your gull, the prey of all mankind.
Another gloats upon the darker side,
Pleasing himself with self-inflicted pain;
And he 's your misanthrope. Another scans
Both bright and dark, with a calm, equal eye;
Lo! your philosopher. But then—now mark—
Comes up the happy soul who looks at nothing,
Yet turns whatever is to present pleasure;
Tastes Fiascone in thin Pavian wine;
Wallows in down upon a bed of straw;
Smells roses in a swine-yard; hears sweet tones
From the harsh, grating rasps of puffing smiths;
Beholds the sunshine glorify the flower,
And change all nature to one merry hue,
Beneath the duskest sky of bare December.
Here 's your true liver, kinsman mine! A man
Who neither fools, nor frowns, nor calculates,
But dreams away this aching thing called life:
Make him your model. If your lady frown,
Why, look up one who smiles.

Ju.
Dear Salvatore,
'T is but a vain attempt to reason down
Our smallest feeling. The mind's snow may lie
A dreary winter on the torpid heart,
Yet never kill it. Slack the rigor once,
And, like a violet that leans its cheek
In mockery against some melting drift,
Up springs the heart, more fruitful for its rest.

(Enter Pulti, singing.)
Pulti.
So the devil was wroth
At the gentlemen both,
Though no one could fathom his matters;
And he dashed around hell,
Like a dog tailed with bell,
And tore all his dwelling to tatters!

Sal.
Well, Pulti, well?

Pul.
Signore, it is not well.
I am beaten to a cripple; I must leave;
I cannot stand your service longer.

Sal.
Why?

Pul.
Marsio is mad. Would you could see him now!
He foams and rages round his frighted house
Like a bear newly caged. He 's full of curses,
Full of dire threats against some hapless foes;
And every time he passes me—O Lord!—
My humble manner seems to prick him so—
He takes compassion on his enemies,
And deals me half their vengeance. See me, sir!
I am basted like a piece of English beef:
I had just strength to crawl here, and no more.

Sal.
Who has enraged him?

Pul.
That I cannot tell.
Two gentlemen, I judge, by what I hear:
By what I feel, I judge these gentlemen
Must bear a striking likeness to myself.

Sal.
Can he suspect?

Ju.
What is there to suspect?
The length that I can enter in his thoughts
Would be a comfort to him. As for you,
Doubtless he has forgotten you ere met:
These merchants have no care for points of honor.

Sal.
But—

(Enter a Servant.)
Servant.
Signore Marsio.

Sal.
What, what?

Pul.
The devil!
O, could I clamber to the frozen moon,
And cut away my ladder!

Ju.
How is this?

Sal.
What said you, sirrah?

Serv.
Signore Marsio waits.

Ju.
Admit him.

[Exit Servant.]
Pul.
O, I beg you, sir—

Sal.
Here, Pulti,
Into this room.

Pul.
Avaunt! A priest, a priest!

[Exit.]
Sal.
What can this mean?

Ju.
Marsio will tell us that.

(Enter Marsio.)
Marsio.
Am I intrusive?

Ju.
O no; welcome, sir!

Mar.
A good-day to you, signore Salvatore!
We have met once before.

Sal.
Good-day to you!
He claims acquaintance on strange introductions.

[Aside.]
Mar.
You wonder at my coming, gentlemen.
I am but agent for my lord, the Marquis.
He honors my betrothal to his daughter
With a small feast to-night. We want but guests.
Knowing a sadly-broken intercourse
Had once existed 'twixt your name and his,
I volunteered to bear my lord's respects
And humble wishes to you. May we hope?

Sal.
Why, signore—

Ju.
We will come.

Sal.
How, Count?

Ju.
We'll come.
I rage with thirst; the sweet I cannot taste,
I'll drain the bitter to the very lees,
And she shall see it!

[Aside.]
Mar.
Further, gentlemen—
Though I am trenching on fair courtesy—
Could you not pass the day—'t is early yet—
With the good Marquis? So preparing you,
By slow degrees of interchanged regard,
For more familiar greetings at the feast.
I push your kindness; but my lord's content,
And a desire for your unfrozen ease,
Is my sole object.

Ju.
Yes! by all the gods!

Mar.
Ha! why this energy? (Aside.)
You shame my thanks
By more than noble courtesy. Farewell!
Within an hour my horses will be round.

Ju.
Expect to meet us.

Mar.
Lo! the trap is set.
Look how you tread, my courtly innocents,
Or Herod's bloody day shall come again!

[Aside. Exit.]
Sal.
A strange request: I think him honest, though.

Ju.
I care not what he be.

Sal.
The saints protect us!
You 're roaring drunk with love and jealousy,
Blind and incapable.

Ju.
I'd reach the worst.
To be forever baited by my passions
Is more than I can bear. My hopes and fears
Tear me to pieces. I am man enough
To toss despair into the grave of love;
But these sweet tortures of insidious hope
Oppose no front to arméd fortitude.

Sal.
Now you talk sanely. When you come to blows—
To strangling passion, burying despair,
And setting up a commonwealth of reason—
My heart fights with you. You shall have your way.
Ho! for Tiburzzi!

(Reënter Pulti.)
Pulti.
Signore Salvatore,
[Sings.]
O! pray what said the devil,
With his cloven tongue of evil,
As he drew his hoof under his gown?
Why, to them he said sweetly,
Sweet gentlemen, I greet ye!
But he wished they might hang, starve, and drown.

Sal.
Whate'er he wished, he spoke us fairly, Pulti.

Pul.
I heard it all. Beware of Marsio!
You know him not, as I do. I suspect
You are the gentlemen who woke his wrath.

Ju.
Pish! how?

Pul.
Do we not often fall to hating
For the same cause we mostly fall to loving—
Simply, for none at all? Perhaps your cloak
Is of a hateful dye in Marsio's eyes;
You grow moustaches, but he loathes a beard;
Your dress is much too dandified; your hat
Worn too much on one side; your cheeks
Hint of the roses, and he scorns a rose;
Your hair is raven black,—“Out upon black!”
Says Marsio; “black hairs thatch empty heads.”
Here is enough to raise a riot, sirs,
And overturn a state. Why will you go?
I am sure he means you ill.

Sal.
Why think you so?

Pul.
I cannot tell; I have no reason for it;
My mind jumped to that end.

Ju.
We waste time, kinsman.

Pul.
O! do not, do not go!

Ju.
Peace, sirrah, peace!

Pul.
I have more interest in you, gentlemen,
Than your best gold can buy. You are the first,
For many a weary day, who've made me feel
The simple worth and dignity of man.
I've hidden my heart under outrageous mirth—
O, heaven! how sad it beat there!—till my jests
Became a natural language. I have lived
To sneer, and to be beaten; all content
If my poor wit were sharper than the blows.
I love you for your kindness.—Hear me, sirs—
I'd rather see this fair world torn to shreds,
Than harm befall you.

Ju.
I respect your grief;
And were my life not centred in this thing,
Your single wish should sway me. Salvatore—
What, you hold off!

Sal.
You know for whom I do it.

Pul.
If Marsio escape my eyes to-day,
May I want eyes to see him on the morrow!

[Aside.]
Ju.
I'll go alone. You cannot balk me thus.
Were Marsio the devil Pulti sings,
I would confront him. Ere the night set in,
I shall be free; or—Down, ye maddening hopes!
O! were your whispers certain prophecy!

[Exeunt]