University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in Roberto's House.
Enter Roberto.
Rob.
A dukedom for my daughter, and myself
Gonfalonier of Florence:—this bedwarfs
The very giants of ambition's dream.
Enter Berto.
Ha! Berto, comes my friend?

Berto.
On the instant, signor.

Rob.
Now will I make Ernesto's critic frown
Unwrinkle to a smooth applausive smile.
Berto!—Berto, with all thy wilful ways,
Thou'rt true as apt, and lov'st my house and me.
Now tell me;—for thy greedy eyes devour
What 't is not meant that stranger looks should feed on—
Tell me, if 'mong the burnished cavaliers,
Who make my old walls laugh with their young talk,
There's one whose absence Cecil quickest marks,
Whose voice to her is singly musical,
Whose brow her eye becrowns with lingering looks.
Thou understandst;—

Berto.
Signor, not one, not one.
Florence, rich as she is in men, is yet
Too poor, too poor.

Rob.
And Leonora. Seldom
Doth now grief's shadow rest upon her cheek;
And then so briefly, that 'tis scarcely seen.
My poor son is more dead to her than me.

Berto.
Grief feeds on want: its crib is emptiness.
A child's loss leaves a void, wherein for ever
Grief thrusts his pallid fingers for his food.
A husband gone, there too's a void; but that,
Hope to the young soon fills with bearded visions,
Looking at which the blushing mourner's eyes
Forget, or with a new warmth dry, their tears.
Young widows, signor—

Rob.
'Tis well. Here comes Ernesto.
Enter Ernesto.
[Exit Berto.
I know, Ernesto, that a friend's success
Can pour no selfish wormwood in your cup.
Be glad then with me at my pregnant prospects.

Ern.
A false friend or an enemy might be that.
Prospects are sirens, heard through knavish mists,
Singing us ofttimes from a founded safety
To shoreless wastes;—a disembodied voice,
Grudging the bodied sounds of present joy.

Rob.
Art thou already past the age of hope?

Ern.
Ay; and now starve upon its promises.
But, tell me, what new feather tickles you?

Rob.
The Duke Fernando asks me for my daughter.

Ern.
Ha! Cecilia, Cecilia! Fernando!
Cold, proud, self-loving. He a husband for—
Oh! can you, can you, but in fleetest thought,
In twinkling fancy, hold such too conjoined?
Roberto, pardon me; your child you love,
Love as a parent only loves: the woman,
Who is your child, you see not on her height.

Rob.
Nay, I would lift her to the jewelled height,
Endowed for her pre-excellence. Than she
Who will sit easier on a ducal seat?

Ern.
No seat is easy when the heart doth ache.
But, dear Roberto, your old friend of Padua;
The bond with him has been a two-fold joy,
A memory and a hope;—

Rob.
By him dissolved.
His boy, he says, shall mate himself. He'll send him
To Florence; and no tidings thence, more ripe
To gladden him, than that my child and his
By mutual preference have resealed our contract.

Ern.
Blest in his father is that son, and back
Rebounds the blessing from his heart; for I,
Knowing this pledge, by deputy have watched
His unsoiled growth. His parts are firmed by truth;
And so far as the unwrit book of manhood
Can in the preface of frank youth be read,
His life is dedicate to worthiness.
When comes he?

Rob.
I know not, and when he comes
Shall welcome him as my friend's son; no more.

Ern.
But should he ratify his father's pledge.

Rob.
His father has revoked that ancient pledge.
I'm free to bind my child in other ties.

Ern.
You will not force or thwart her dispositions.

Rob.
So passive and obedient is her nature,
Her duties forge her will. Her joys run fullest
In channels scooped by other's predilections.

Ern.
The affections live on self-selected food:
Free choice is parcel of their very life;
That balked, they fester.

Rob.
In this town, Ernesto,
There are how many thousands married pairs.
Is there in every pair some special fitness,
Whereby, from each distinct duality,
Is born a happiness not else potential?
Or, can we not believe, that most or all
Of the components of these many pairs,
Coupled to others, had still reaped a good
Equal to what they now have compassed?
Outward conditions oftenest rule in matching.
The laborer mates him with his like; the trader
A trader's daughter weds; wealth marries wealth;
The courtier seeks his bride among the great.
Interest, ambition, accident, caprice,
Control or guide affection's bent; and thus,
Chance more than choice picks out the wedded mate.

Ern.
Thus is deep Nature's order contravened,
And th' inward true thralled to the outward false.

Enter Berto with a Letter.
Berto.
Signor, a letter from the Duke Fernando.

Rob.
[After hastily reading the letter.]
Ernesto, pardon me, but I must leave you.

[Exit.
Ern.
Berto, I know you may be trusted; know you
As much of me?

Berto.
Signor, you honor me.

Ern.
Nay, nay.
Berto, you love your mistress.

Berto.
Her own father
Loves her not more.

Ern.
Perhaps he loves her less.

Berto.
What mean you, signor?

Ern.
Duke Fernando, love you him?

Berto.
As I love wolves.

Ern.
This wolf would rob your roost.
He seeks to wed Cecilia.

Berto.
He! Cecilia!

Ern.
Fernando and Cecilia.

Berto.
Know you this?

Ern.
To make it known Roberto summoned me.

Berto.
For counsel?

Ern.
Nay, I fear he is past counsel;
With mien so confident did he impart it;
As 'twere an act his thought and will had signed.

Berto.

Signor Ernesto, you know me for a cheery frank buffoon, bred in this house, and borne with for my faithfulness. Signor, but for the Lady Cecilia, I had been a sour villain. Believe me, sir, by the power of goodness am I transformed into an honest happy knave.

Ern.
Good Berto, thou deserv'dst thy precious fortune.
Thou feel'st this sunshine. For herself, she's one,
Who, from her eye, tongue, hand, drops goodness; and,
Like May, breathing on frosted violets,
Melts where she comes cold evil in her path.
But this Fernando, this examinate duke,
He will not be transmutable by goodness.
Rather he'll quench warm Cecil's generous life,
Killing with coldness her pure heats; like winds
That angry strike the trembling blossoms down,
And then whip out of them their sweetened breath.
Hard is't to say, good Berto, but 'tis true;
This daughter needs protection 'gainst her father.

Berto.
Signor, my master's thoughts and hopes and dreams
Are now but titles, rank and eminence.

Ern.
And he, forgetful of his own hot youth,
Would deal with this dear child's unblown affections,
As though, instead of being life's sacred marrow,
They were counters to score ambition's game.
Berto, we'll countermine ambition's craft.
Let us about it. We have both some means.
Art we will dash with boldness. Such a marriage
Were sacrilege. Our cause is holy.

[Exeunt.