University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

PALACE AT NAPLES. Andrea and Giovanna.
Andrea.
What say you now, Giovanna! shall we go
And conquer France? Heigho? I am sadly idle;
My mighty mind wants full activity.

Giovanna.
Andrea! be contented; stay at home;
Conquer? you've conquer'd me.

Andrea.
Ah rebel queen!
I doubt it: we have had war first, however,
And parleys, and all that.

Giovanna.
You might have more
Before you conquer the strong cities there.

Andrea.
England, they tell me, hath as much of France
As France hath. Some imagine that Provenza
Is half-and-half French land. How this may be
I can not tell; I am no theologian.
Giovanna . . in your ear . . I have a mind
To ride to Paris, and salute the king,
And pull him by the beard, and make him fight.

Giovanna.
Know that French beards have stiffer hairs than German,
And crackle into flame at the first touch.

Andrea.
'Sblood! like black cats! But only in the dark?

Giovanna.
By night or day, in city or in field.

Andrea.
I never knew it: let the Devil lug them
For me then! they are fitter for his fist.
Sure, of all idle days the marriage-day
Is idlest: even the common people run
About the streets, not knowing what to do,
As if they came from wedding too, poor souls!
This fancy set me upon conquering France.

Giovanna.
And one hour only after we are united?

SCENE II.

Maria enters.
Andrea.
Maria! where are you for? France or Naples?
She heard, she smiled . . Here's whispering . . This won't do . . [Going; but stops, pacified.

She may have secrets . . they all have . . I'll leave 'em.

Giovanna.
Unsisterly! unfriendly!

[Goes.
Maria.
Peace! Giovanna!

Giovanna.
That word has sign'd it. I have sworn to love him.

Maria.
Ah, what a vow!

Giovanna.
The harder to perform
The greater were the glory: I will earn it.

Maria.
How can we love . .

Giovanna
(interrupting).
Mainly, by hearing none
Decry the object; then, by cherishing
The good we see in it, and overlooking
What is less pleasant in the paths of life.
All have some virtue if we leave it them
In peace and quiet; all may lose some part
By sifting too minutely bad and good.
The tenderer and the timider of creatures
Often desert the brood that has been handled
And turn'd about, or indiscreetly lookt at.
The slightest touches, touching constantly,
Irritate and inflame.

Maria.
Giovanna mine!
These rhetoric-roses are supremely sweet,
But hold! the jar is full. I promise you
I will not steal up with a mind to snatch,
Or pry too closely where you bid me not . .
But for the nest you talk about . .

Giovanna.
For shame!
What nest?

Maria.
That nest your blushes gleam upon.
O! I will watch each twig, each feather there,
And, if my turning, tossing, hugging, does it,
Woe to Giovanna's little bird, say I.

Giovanna.
Seriously, my sweet sister!

Maria
(interrupting).
Seriously
Indeed! What briars ere we come to that!

Giovanna.
I am accustomed to Andrea's ways,
And see much good in him.

Maria.
I see it too.

Giovanna.
Fix upon that your eyes; they will grow brighter,
Maria, for each beauty they discover.

SCENE III.

ANOTHER ROOM IN THE PALACE. Andrea, Fra Rupert.
Andrea.
Well met again, Fra Rupert! Why not, though,
At church with us? By this humility
You lost the prettiest sight that ever was.

Fra Rupert.
I know what such sights are.

Andrea.
What?

Fra Rupert.
Vanity.

Andrea.
Exact the thing that everybody likes.

Fra Rupert.
You young and heedless!

Andrea.
We pass lightly over,
And run on merrily quite to the end;
The graver stumble, break their knees, and curse it:
Which are the wiser? Had you seen the church!
The finest lady ever drest for court
A week-day peasant to her! By to-morrow
There's not a leg of all the crowd in Naples
But will stand stiff and ache with this day's tiptoe;
There's not a throat will drop its paste-tape down
Without some soreness from such roaring cheers;
There's not a husband but whose ears will tingle
Under his consort's claw this blessed night
For sighing “What an angel is Giovanna!”

Fra Rupert.
Go, go! I can not hear such ribaldry.

Andrea.
Rather should you have heard, as there you might,
Quarrelsome blunder-headed drums, o'erpower'd
By pelting cymbals; then complaining flutes,
And boy-voiced fifes, lively and smart and shrill;
Then timbrels, where tall fingers trip, but trip
In the right place, and run along again;
Then blustering trumpets, wonder-wafting horns,
Evvivas from their folks, hurrahs from ours,
And songs that pour into both ears long life
And floods of glory and victory for ever.

Fra Rupert.
What signify these fooleries? In one word,
Andrea, art thou king?

Andrea.
I fancy so.
The people never give such hearty shouts
Saving for kings and blunders.

Fra Rupert.
Son! beware,
Lest while they make the one they make the other.

Andrea.
How must I guard against it?

Fra Rupert.
Twelve whole years
Constantly here together, all the time
Since we left Hungary, and not one day
But I have labour'd to instil into thee,
Andrea! how wise kings must feel and act.

Andrea.
But, father, who let you into the secret?

Fra Rupert.
I learnt it in the cloister.

Andrea.
Then no doubt
The secret is worth knowing; many are
(Or songs and fables equally are false)
Among those whisper'd there.

Fra Rupert.
Methinks, my son,
Such words are lighter than beseems crown'd heads,
As thine should be, and shall be, if thou wilt.

Andrea.
Ay, father, but it is not so as yet;
Else would it jingle to another crown,
With what a face beneath it! What a girl
Is our Giovanna!

Fra Rupert.
By the saints above!
I thought it was a queen, and not a girl.

Andrea.
There is enough in her for both at once.
A queen it shall be then the whole day long. [Fra Rupert, impatient.

Nay, not a word, good Frate! the whole day;
Ave-Maria ends it; does it not?
I am so glad, so gamesome, so light-hearted,
So fond, I (sure!) am long steps off the throne.

Fra Rupert.
And ever may'st be, if thou art remiss
In claiming it.

Andrea.
I can get anything
From my Giovanna. You would hardly guess
What she has given me. Look here!

Fra Rupert.
A book?

Andrea.
‘King Solomon.’

Fra Rupert.
His Song? To seculars?
I warrant she would teach it, and thou learn it.

Andra.
I'll learn it through, I'll learn it every verse.
Where does the Song begin? I see no rhymes.

Fra Rupert.
‘The Proverbs!’ Not so bad!

Andrea.
Are songs then proverbs?
And what is this hard word?

Fra Rupert.
‘Ecclesiastes.’

Andrea.
But look! you have not seen the best of it.
What pretty pictures! what broad rubies! what
Prodigious pearls! seas seem to roll within,
And azure skies, as ever bent above,
Push their pink clouds, half-shy, to mingle with 'em.

Fra Rupert.
I am not sure this book would do thee harm,
But better let me first examine it.

[He takes it.
Andrea.
You shall not have it; give it me again.

Fra Rupert.
Loose it, I say, Andrea!

Andrea.
I say no!

Fra Rupert.
To me?

Andrea.
Dost think I'd say it to Giovanna?
Beside, she gave it me: she has read in it
With her own eyes, has written Latin in it
With her own fingers, . . for who else could write
Distinctly such small letters? . . You yourself,
Who rarely have occasion for much Latin,
Might swear them to be Latin in ten minutes.
Another thing . . the selfsame perfume clings
About those pages as about her bosom.

Fra Rupert
(starts).
Abomination! Know all that!

Andrea.
Like matins.
Thence, tho' she turn'd quite round, I saw her take it
To give it me. Another thing . . the people
Bragg'd of my metal half an hour ago,
And I will show I have it, like the best.
Another thing . . forgettest thou, Fra Rupert,
I am a husband?

Fra Rupert.
Seven years old thou wert one.

Andrea.
Ha, but! ha, but! seven years upon seven years
Could not make me the man I am to-day.

Fra Rupert.
Nor seventy upon seven a tittle wiser.

Andrea.
Why did not you then make me while you could?
You taught me nothing, and would let none touch me,
No, not our king himself, the wisest man
In his dominions, nor more wise than willing.
Forsooth! you made a promise to my father
That nobody should filch my faith and morals,
No taint of learning eat skin-deep into me!
And good king Robert said, “If thus my brother
Must have it . . if such promise was exacted . .”

Fra Rupert.
All have more knowledge than they well employ.
Upbraidest thou thy teacher, guardian, father?

Andrea.
Fathers may be, alas! too distant from us,
Guardians may be too close . . but, teacher? teacher?

Fra Rupert.
Silence!

Andrea
(retreating).
He daunts me: yet, some day, cospetto!

Fra Rupert.
What mutterest thou?

Andrea
(to himself).
I will be brave, please God!

Fra Rupert
(suppressing rage).
Obstinate sinners are alone unpardon'd:
I may forgive thee after meet repentance,
But must confer with thee another time
On that refractory untoward spirit.

Andrea
(to himself).
He was then in the right (it seems) at last.

Fra Rupert.
I hear some footsteps coming hitherward.

SCENE IV.

Giovanna and Filippa.
Fra Rupert
(turns his back to them).
O those pestiferous women!

Andrea.
Ay, well spoken.
The most religious of religious men
Lifts up his arms and eyes, my sweet Giovanna,
Before your wond'rous charms.

[The Friar looks at him with rage and scorn.
Giovanna.
Simple Andrea!
Are they more wond'rous than they were before?
Or are they more apparent now the robes
Are laid aside, and all those gems that made
My hair stand back, chiefly that mischievous
Malignant ruby (some fierce dragon's eye
Turn'd into stone) which hurt your finger so
With its vile crooked pin, for touching me,
When you should have but lookt, and not quite that.

Fra Rupert.
(who had listened).
Come hither; didst thou hear her?

Andrea.
Every word;
And bear no rancour to her, though she scolds.

Fra Rupert.
She might have waited twenty years beyond
This day, before she thought of matrimony;
She talks so like a simpleton.

Andrea.
She does
Indeed: yet, father! it is very true:
The pin did prick me: she is no simpleton
As far as memory goes. [The Friar looks up, then walks about impatiently.

Now, won't you mind me?
She is but very young, scarce seventeen;
When she is two years older, just my age,
Then shall you see her! more like me perhaps.
She might have waited . . . you say well . . . and would
Willingly, I do think; but I am wiser,
And warmer. Our Hungarian blood (ay, Frate!)
Is not squeez'd out of March anemones.

Filippa.
Since, friar Rupert! here are met together
The lofty and the lowly, they and we,
If your austerity of life forbade
To mingle with the world's festivities,
Indulge, I pray you, in that luxury
Which suits all seasons, sets no day apart,
Excludes from its communion none, howe'er
Unworthy, but partakes of God indeed . .
Indulge in pardon.

Fra Rupert.
Does a seneschal's
Wife bend before me? Do the proud ones beg?

Filippa.
Too proud I may be: even the very humblest
May be too proud. I am, 'tis true, the widow
Of him you mention. Do I beg? I do.
Our queen commands me to remove ill-will.

Fra Rupert.
There are commands above the queen's.

Filippa.
There are,
O holy man! obey we both at once!

Giovanna
(calls Andrea).
Husband!

Fra Rupert.
And not our king? most noble lady!

Giovanna.
He, or I much mistake him, is my husband.

Andrea.
Mistake me! not a whit: I am, I am.

Giovanna.
If, O my husband! that dear name has power
On your heart as on mine, now when first spoken,
Let what is love between us shed its sweets
A little wider, tho' a little fainter;
Let all our friends this day, all yours, all mine,
Be one another's, and not this day only.
Persuade them.

Andrea.
Can I?

Giovanna.
You persuaded me.

Andrea.
Ay, but you did not hate me; and your head
Is neither grey nor tonsured; these are odds.
I never could imagine well how folks
Who disagree in other things, agree
To make each other angry. What a game!
To toss back burs until the skin is full
On either side! Which wins the stake, I wonder?

Fra Rupert
(bursting away).
I have no patience.

Andrea.
I have, now he's gone.
How long were you contriving this grand scheme
To drive away the friar? Do you think [Whispers to Giovanna.

He won't come after supper? Does he know
Our chamber?

Giovanna.
Hush! Andrea!

Andrea.
In good earnest
I fear him, and the fleas about his frock.
Let me go after him: he went in wrath:
He may do mischief, if he thinks it right,
As these religious people often do.

[Andrea goes.
Filippa.
Happy Andrea! only fleas and friars
Molest him: little he suspects the snares
About his paths; the bitter jealousies
Of Hungary; how pertinaciously
Mail'd hands grasp sceptres, how reluctantly
Loose them; how tempting are our milder clime
And gentler nation! He deserves our pity.

Giovanna.
O! more than pity. If our clime, our nation,
Bland, constant, kind, congenial with each other,
Were granted him, how much more was withheld!
Sterile the soil is not, but sadly waste.
What buoyant spirits and what pliant temper!
How patient of reproof! how he wipes off
All injuries before they harden on him,
And wonders at affronts, and doubts they can be!
Then, his wild quickness! O the churl that bent it
Into the earth, colourless, shapeless, thriftless,
Fruitless, for ever! Had he been my brother,
I should have wept all my life over him;
But, being my husband, one hypocrisy
I must put on, one only ever will I.
Others must think, by my observance of him,
I hold him prudent, penetrating, firm,
No less than virtuous: I must place myself
In my own house (now indeed his) below him.

Filippa.
I almost think you love him.

Giovanna.
He has few
Even small faults, which small minds spy the soonest;
He has, what those will never see nor heed,
Wit of bright feather, but of broken wing;
No stain of malice, none of spleen, about it.
For this, and more things nearer . . . for the worst
Of orphancy, the cruellest of frauds,
Stealth of his education while he played
Nor fancied he could want it; for our ties
Of kindred; for our childhood spent together;
For those dear faces that once smiled upon us
At the same hour, in the same balcony;
Even for the plants we rear'd in partnership,
Or spoil'd in quarrel, I do love Andrea.
But, from his counsellors! . . .

Filippa.
We shall elude
Their clumsy wiles perhaps. The youth, methinks,
Is tractable.

Giovanna.
May wise men guide him then!
It lies beyond my duty.

Filippa.
But the wise
Are not the men who guide the tractable.
The first bold hand that seizes, holds them fast;
And the best natures melt into the bad
'Mid dances and carousals.

Giovanna.
Let Andrea
Be sparing of them!

Filippa.
Evil there may be
Where evil men preside, but greatly worse
Is proud austerity than princely glee.

Giovanna.
Heaven guard us! I have entered on a course
Beleaguered with dense dangers: but that course
Was first ordained in earth, and now in heaven.
My father's spirit filled his father's breast,
And peace and union in our family
(They both foresaw) would be secured by ours.

Filippa.
She who forgets her parent will forego
All later duties: yes, when love has lost
The sound of its spring-head, it grows impure,
Tortuous, and spent at last in barren sand.
I owe these generous kings the bread I broke,
The letters I pickt up: no vile sea-weed
Had perisht more neglected, but for them.
They would heap affluence on me; they did heap it;
Next, honours: for these only I am ungrateful.

Giovanna
(smiling).
Ungrateful? thou? Filippa!

Filippa.
Most ungrateful.
With humble birth and humbler intellect
The puff-ball might have bounced along the plain
And blinded the beholder with its dust:
But intellect let down on humble birth
Writhes under titles, shrinks from every glance,
At every question turns one fibre fresh
For torture, and, unpullied and adrift,
Burns its dull heart away in smouldering scorn.

Giovanna.
Where no ethereal spirit fills the breast . .

Filippa.
. . Honours are joys great as such breast can hold.

Giovanna.
The happy then in courts are numberless;
We hear the contrary.

Filippa.
Never believe
This, nor another ill report of them.

Giovanna.
What?

Filippa.
That the great are not great to their valets;
'Tis but their valets who can find their greatness.

Giovanna.
I know that you have enemies.

Filippa.
Thank God!
I might have else forgotten what I am,
And what he gave me ere he placed me here.

Giovanna.
I never shall, Filippa!

Filippa.
Think of those
Who rais'd our souls above us, not of me.

Giovanna.
Oh! if my soul hath risen, if the throbs
Of gratitude now tell it me, if they
Who rais'd it must be thought of . . to my heart,
Filippa! for the heart alone can think.

Filippa.
I first received thee in these arms; these arms
Shall loose thee last of living things, Giovanna.