University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—Apartment in the Grand Ducal Palace, brilliantly illuminated.
Several Guests and Courtiers are standing about.
Enter the Marchese de Millaflores, Crescenzi, Diodati, and Lorenzo.
Milla.
Not yet our Sun of Royalty has risen.

Cres.
But thou shin'st like a comet to console us,
With thy fine train of rare particular courtiers.

Loren.
Methinks, dear Marquess, thou must meditate
Some dire heart-murder this same night—thy dress—
Thine air—all threaten Execution's worst!—

Dio.
My poor, poor Sister!—wretched, hapless victim!—
I marvel much why she delays so long—
Myself will go and seek her, and prepare
For these soft dangers, she must strive to meet!—

[Exit laughing.
Cres.
Propose yourself, to-night, dear Marquess, pray—
Believe me, you were best—for I have heard
Bad news—most heavy news—I grieve to say—
Dark hints of Count Giordano's fond intentions!
I fear me, he will yet your rival prove!
For I am told the fair one would espouse him!—
'Tis true, she reigns not solely in his love;
His Heart, I ween, is full of little holes
As any venerable Pincushion,
(Worn out in its profession of Utility—)
That does its duty by the land it lives in—
Or as your own old tattered Tapestries—Marquess!—
I am your pledge for that—but much I fear,
Lest she should give her snow-white hand to him!—

Milla.
Him!—what!—a simple Count!—If she indeed
Would marry him, she must of course, no doubt,
Wed me a thousand times more joyfully—
Who move—a Marquess!—so I thank you, Sir!—
For what you style bad news: you see 'tis plain
If she would willingly a Countess prove—
Assuredly a Marchioness she must
Become, with thrice the pleasure—that is clear!—
But deep considerations must be mine,
And anxious ponderings—I would know the worth—
The sound real worth—the excellence and goodness—

Cres.
Be very sure her Heart's a mine of wealth!—

Milla.
Her Heart!—why—no! Her House I am thinking of—
('Tis of importance far more vital surely!)—
The noble House and Name of the Diodati!—

Cres.
Ha!—Ha!—but then if Hearts should not be joined—

Milla.
They seldom are, I think—in Heraldry!—
Hands gauntletted, I doubt, I have seen thus!—
And if my memory serves me—I have seen—
Yes! yes!—I recollect a crest approved—
A hand—close mailed—and clutched within its hold,
A sheathless dagger—but a Heart—Oh! never!—
Not once in crests or coats—no! never!—no!—
A bleeding Heart's—a very poor Pretence!—
Well! I must think most seriously and deeply—
I must examine first her pedigree—
Must weigh her merits—know if she is pure!—

Cres.
Pure!—why no angel—

Milla.
Hush! Sir!—I do mean—
In her descent—the other's less important—
And common in comparison—be sure!—
Most difficult it is—'tis very hard—
To find a wife—to find a wife—I say—
Right worthy of one's arms!—

Cres.
Well!—is she not
All loveliness?—a Sultan e'en might sigh
To call such matchless Beauteousness his own!

Milla.
Sir!—I do mean Heraldic Arms—I pray
Conceive my meaning better—this besides,
My duty 'tis to choose a peerless wife—
Replete with rare perfections—heaped with honours—
In short, one worthy—worthy every way
(When that the fulness of the time is come—)
To sleep with—all my stately Ancestors!—

Loren.
Ha! ha! good Marquess!—well I know your thoughts
Are ever running on your funeral Vault—
But I much doubt your youthful spouse—

Milla.
My Vault!—
It hath no equal in all Christendom—
Kings might resign their thrones for such a tomb!—
I do propose to give there,—some fair day,
A small select Assembly, for the purpose
Of well examining the various coffins—
I beg to invite you—'twill be gay and pleasant!—
(Indeed, I think of opening some half-dozen—)
Admiring—

Loren.
Hush!—fair Fiorilina comes—
And with her comes the unmatched Costanza too—
Now making night so precious with her Beauty,
That we might doubt if e'er the out-lustred Sun—
Durst rise again—or be in rising—noticed!—

Enter Fiorilina, Costanza, Diodati, and Lambertazzi; the latter walks thoughtfully apart.
Milla.
(to Fio.)
Sweet Lady, might I pray awhile even now
Thy kind attention?—She heeds not—Ahem!—

Fio.
(to Cos.)
Oh! save me! could'st thou know how much my heart
Forswears its firmness—and forsakes itself—

Cos.
(to Fio.)
I save thee!—who am weaker far!—

Milla.
Sweet Dame—
Most rare Perfection—I would fain discourse
To thee awhile, on a most pleasing subject—
Thy lovely looks remind me forcibly—
Of the epitaph in my funereal vault—
Which saith—

Fio.
I pray your pardon, Sir,—consult
My Brother here on the old inscription's merits!—

Milla.
Nay! Madam! Madam! (Fio. walks with Cos. away.)
She misunderstands me—
Well! well!—'tis better this should be deferred—
I might have compromised myself too soon—
Once fell I in great danger!—

Cres.
How?

Milla.
Ev'n thus—
I had made, partly made, proposals grave
To Countess Bianca—when I heard there was
A deep, dire, stain—

Cres.
Upon her character!—

Milla.
Worse—her Escutcheon—I at once retreated;—
Lady Olympia then I sought—an Heiress—
Herself was perfect, but I found 'twas rumoured—
Her Great Maternal Aunt was rather doubtful—
A Capulet,—whose Cousin at Verona
Had had a Step-son, who had had a Nephew
That married with an onion merchant's Niece!—
Long could I dwell on the Attractions bright
Held out by fair Leonora dell' Orsini—
I was profound in tenderest admiration—
For that sweet Lady's Great-great-Grandfather!—
A worthy Nobleman—who held discreetly—
Most of the offices about the Court!—
But then, her Mother had plebeian ancles!

(Voices without.)
Way! way there! for His Highness! way! the Duke!

Enter the Grand Duke, Princess Beatrice, Count Giordano, &c. Guests crowd round.
G. Duke.
A bright assemblage!—welcome, welcome all!—
My Halls will be filled gladly and most worthily
With your fair merriments!—I pray ye now—
To your diversions!—bid the music sound—
Beseech ye—seek ye all your mirth and pleasures,—
Our hospitalities are honoured most—
By those who most shall seize them, and enjoy!—
Be welcome, fair Costanza, here!—with thee
I mark thy young Venetian Friend—the bright
And beauteous Daughter of Prince Diodati!—
Let our fair Florentines look to it well!
Sweet Lady! thou'rt a dangerous rival, faith—
And wilt bear back with thee the Hearts of half
Our Youthful Intrepidities of Florence!—

Fio.
Your Highness flatters with so good a grace,
That truth henceforth shall most distasteful seem.

Princess Bea.
Our dear Costanza!—'tis an age of time
Since thou hast shone forth at masquerade or festa—
What happy change hath brought thee out to-night?

Cos.
Nay, Madam, when the Gracious Duke commands
Our duteous presence,—who but would obey?

G. Duke.
To your Diversions!—Dames—and Cavalieri!—

[The Duke and Princess retire.
Lam.
(to Gior.)
Where tarries young Algarves?—he is late—
He and his fast sworn friend—the Guicciardini.

Gior.
Algarves has been closeted long hours
In closest conference with the gracious Duke—
He hath indeed but lately left the Palace
To change his garb, ere he shall re-appear
In this gay galaxy of pomp and beauty—
A new appointment is bestowed upon him—
And, as I hear, his friend, the Guicciardini,
Will be associated in this employ,
By his desire and earnest-warm entreaty.

Lam.
A worthy couplet!—two green, crude, young brains!
Now shall we soon have war again be sure—
The fiery heart of young Algarves ne'er
Can brook this pause of Peace—and mark my words—
It will not last!—his restless flames of Soul
Wave with each breath—fast scattering sparks of strife
All round their place of perilous Occupation!

Gior.
I know not!—but observe—the friends approach.

Enter Algarves and Guicciardini.
Lam.
Avoid them!—I would further speak with thee.—

[They retire.
Al.
Behold her in the distance!—more than lovely!—
In Boundlessness of Beauty—there she stands!—
Methought her eye caught mine—it surely doth!—
My long chilled life glows ripening in that ray!—
Two souls I see there,—two in those deep eyes—
Hers and mine own!—No! no! they melt to one!—
My Mind seems spangling out as with all Stars—
So bright my thoughts become with blessedness—
But thou, my Friend—thou'rt grave and sad-sedate—
Whom seeks thine eye—with such a mournful keenness?—

Gui.
The secret of thy Heart—I pierced and read—
My Soul at once shot through its winding depths—
And flashed the clouds away—but I must light
Those little fluttering, twinkling lamps—dull words—
To lead thee through the darkness of mine own—
Mine eyes seek her whom all my thoughts adore—
The Princess Beatrice!—

Al.
Hah! is't so!—
I ne'er imagined this—and hast thou hope?—

Gui.
The Hope to love her to my latest breath—
And love in undiscovered silent sorrow!—

Al.
Fie on't! nay! have a better courage—come—
The gallant Guicciardini well might hope!—
But hist! Costanza—or the Sun draws nigh—
For dazzled droops mine o'er-illumined eye!

Gui.
Speak! speak to her!—she trembles—scarce her friend,
Fair Fiorilina, can support her steps!—

Al.
I know not—if in absence—fairest Lady—
I have been beggared of deep affluence—such
As should make Monarchs richer—richer far—
Namely—the lightest scatterings of your thoughts?—

Cos.
Receive my welcome back to Florence, Sir—
(Aside.)
Speak, Fiorilina, for my voice is dead!—

Fio.
And mine, fair Sir! we are both rejoiced to see
One—long, much missed, restored to us again.

Al.
(Aside to Cos.)
Wilt thou not speak then, Lady?—save, those few
Close-measured words of formal friendliness!—
One moment—and one little step apart?
[She walks with him aside.
Oh! sweet Costanza! though with words before
I never dared unshroud my Soul to thine—
Did looks—did actions not enough reveal
Of the ecstasy of Love I felt for thee?
And dared I hope too madly, when I hoped
Thou wert not all impassive—all indifferent?—

Cos.
I ne'er yet gave you cause, Sir, to assume
That I in any way was otherwise—
I might not—and I could not give you cause—

Al.
Thou say'st it!—must this be?—then I have been—
Most miserably mistaken—there is all!—

Cos.
(Aside.)
And I more miserably misunderstood!—

Al.
Farewell! sweet Lady!—

Cos.
What!—thou art going, Sir?—
Nay! go not yet—the revel's scarce begun.

Al.
Oh! this is torture!—hast thou not denied
The slightest interest in my blighted fate—
The faintest sympathy—and talk'st of revels?—
The broken heart a sorry reveller seems!—

Cos.
(timidly.)
How say'st thou I denied thee?—

Al.
(passionately.)
How said'st thou?—
Crush out my Heart, but do not play with it!—
Martyr me! murder me! but do not mock me!—
Thou didst deny me every gleam of hope!—

Cos.
I did deny thee!—No!—

Al.
Thou didst!

Cos.
Oh!—brave!—
Tell me again!— (Aside.)
I may feel proud to be—
So high a Heroine of the Heart!—

Al.
Alas!
What mean'st thou?—spare the wretch thou'st made so! spare—
Costanza! cruel one!—thou could'st deny me!—

Cos.
I could?—I could?—Oh Heaven!—

Al.
Once more—reply!—
Didst thou deny me!—dost thou!—

Cos.
I have done it!—
Yes! I have done it!—yes! thou say'st it!—

Al.
Stay!—
Oh! hear me!—answer me!—say! dost thou love me?—

Cos.
I would not!—no!—I would not!—ask me not!—

[Milla. comes forward from the background.
Milla.
Most gentle Lady, canst inform me pray
If Lady Fiorilina's Mother spelt
Her Maiden name with two L's, or with one?—
'Tis of the last importance to my peace!—

Al.
(Aside.)
Plague take this meddling mischief of a Marquess—
This most pestiferous and preposterous fool!—

[Lambertazzi approaches them.
Lam.
Dear Marquess! thou'rt the pink of Courtiers ever!
Wilt thou conduct my fair Costanza hence—
To where she better can behold the dance,
Since loth she seems to join it yet. (Angrily to Algarves,)
Seignor,
Your services I humbly beg to acknowledge—
And yet more humbly, pray to be allowed
Entirely to dispense with.

Al.
(Carelessly.)
As you will,
My singular good Lord!—all lovely dames
Have ever found me, 'mid the Court Cavalieri,
Most loyal-zealous in their happy service!—
When such is needed not—I can refrain!—
How fair our Princess Beatrice looks!—
How well that coronet becomes her head!—
(Aside.)
And fairly smiles she on my noble friend!—
And gladdening glows my Guicciardini's brow!—

Enter Inez veiled.
Milla.
By Stars and Orders! But whom have we here?

Lam.
(Aside.)
Heavens! my Heart thrills; how Spanish looks that form!
More!—more!—how like the graceful stateliness—
Of the Estremaduran's whom I loved and—lost!—

[Inez approaches, and signs to Lambertazzi.
Al.
(Aside.)
How like my Mother's form!—how like her step!
(Aloud.)
Good Seignor Count—this masquerading Fair
Appears to have communications secret
For your especial ear;—Lord Marquess!—come!
'Twere best we joined the jocund revellers yonder.

[They walk up the stage.
Inez.
Count Lambertazzi!—

Lam.
Ministers of Grace!—
Good Guardian Angels!—is it Her indeed!—

Inez.
(Aside.)
Ay di mí, ay di mí,—once more I see him!
(Aloud.)
Remember'st thou the unhappiest, and most faulty—
The sacrificed and ruined Inez?—

Lam.
Aye!—

Inez.
Behold her trusted, tried, first, last of friends—
Estrella di Monaco!—

Lam.
Well! oh! well!
Do I remember, on lost Inez' lips—
That name in tenderest repetition dwelling!—
Yes! she would weep and call upon that name,
As sinners and as sufferers on their Saints!—

Inez.
She called on that in death, and not in vain!—
But listen—I have words to speak to thee
That must not here be interrupted—hist!—
I cannot long remain—nor must thou seek
In any way to penetrate and pierce
The mystery, which 'tis needful I maintain.
First swear to this!—

Lam.
I swear!—Oh! tell me now!—

Inez.
But little for the present!—hark! thus much—
Thy Nephew who—

Lam.
(starts.)
Speak!—what of him?—

Inez.
He lives!—

Lam.
He lives!—ah! wherefore not my Son!—but hold—
A light breaks in on me—'twas Inez' Parents
That stole the missing children!—

Inez.
Silence! hear!—
Contrive by some fair chance to gaze upon
A certain miniature which young Algarves—

Lam.
Algarves!—Death!—

Inez.
Attend!—which he conceals
Within his bosom—'twill enlighten thee!—
No words!—be still!—I vanish!—
[Exit Inez.

Lam.
Hah!—is't so!—
Perdition and distraction!—'twere too much!—
Algarves!—my lost Brother's Son!—no!—no!—
This monstrous supposition shall not lodge
Within my loathing and abhorrent brain,
Curdling and chilling with the hate and horror!—

(Voices heard crying without)
Way for His Highness!—
Speed the Banquet! speed!—

Milla.
(without.)
What ho! within there!—Marco—Pedro—Luigi!—
Without there!—Beppo, Giorgio, Andrea, Pietro!—
Come! sloths!—go! sluggards!—bustle! bustle! haste!—

Lam.
Away!—none—none must see the flush of fevers,
That make my forehead beat and burn and blacken,
With the o'er-tinged colourings of their pestilent heat!

[He retires.
Milla.
(entering.)
Ye villains! rascals! ho!—where skulk ye hid?
Heigh!—bustle! bustle!—ho! despatch!—I say—
I hear His Highness peremptory for supper!—
(Aside.)
I know they are all ranged at their proper posts,
But it behoves me make a stir and rout,
To seem most sedulous in service still.
Enter Costanza and Fiorilina.
The Lady of my heart approacheth—lo!
Her lovely presence almost roots me here—
But then—my duty—then my Duke!—and deeply
Respondeth from mine inmost Self—my supper!—
'Tis death to go or—stay—the former death
Methinks is preferable on the whole.
[Exit Milla.

Cos.
Thank Heaven! that vain affected fop is gone—
The haste and bustle now may grant us time
To speak disturbless for awhile—my friend!—

Fio.
And hast thou spoken with him?—tell me promptly—
Oh! tell me how thou hast sped! my aching heart
Would seek repose in the anchored Peace of thine!—

Cos.
Oh! Fiorilina!—I have pained and grieved him!—
I knew scarce what I said—scarce know I now!—
Yet something vague, perplexed, and fraught with meaning,
Most adverse from my feelings and intentions!—

Fio.
Nay!—wherefore didst thou thus?—

Cos.
I cannot tell!—
Oh! Fiorilina!—I can tell thee not!—
I am a Fool when he does talk to me—
And have no understanding!—Oh! my Friend!
Still, still so much of him I think—his words
Fall senseless all, and substanceless—for me—
I cannot apprehend them—nor give answer!—
Though with my fullest Soul I hang on them!—
His look doth kill me like the basilisk's!
His Presence is delicious death to me!—
And I am not—when he is near my Soul!—
His Voice!—alas! so mighty is the echo—
That peals deep, deep within my listening heart—
The sense of what he says is all confused—
'Tis left behind and lapsed—and lost and lavished—
From my adoring, yearning wish concealed—
I am a fool when he does speak with me!—

Fio.
Poor child!—thine over-love doth crush thy spirit!—
This well can I conceive!—though still I strive
With desperate struggles to affect the show
Of independence and indifference cold,
When with Lorenzo I must hold discourse—
The while, my suffocating soul is lost
In uttermost emotion!—see! they come—
Lorenzo too—I cannot stay with thee!—
[Exit Fio.

(Lorenzo, Guicciardini, and Algarves approach. Lorenzo talks in dumb show to Cos., who seems turning away.)
Al.
Oh! Heavens! the agony of this suspense!—
At times, my heart believes itself most blessed,
And bounds away in raptured riotous bliss!—
Then in one moment it despairs—and drives
Its sweet dreams back—as they were mocking fiends!—

Gui.
Ah! map not out for me Love's various world—
Too well—too well—this deep-struck bosom knows
By heart the whole Geography of Passion!—
Its Isles of joy midst Oceans of distraction—
Heaven-kissing heights and neighbouring bottomless pits—
Its smiling continents—and scowling deserts!—
But see! Costanza from Lorenzo turns!—
The young Philosopher so grave and mild—
(For as a Schoolsman—Florence cannot match him)—
Boasts not the skill to charm that youthful Heart!—
If I have eyes to read a maiden's Soul,
That heart of Gentleness is thine alone!—

(Millaflores entering, advances towards them.)
Milla.
Dear Signor Count Algarves—for I know,
To-morrow such thy title shall be made—
I do entreat thee, honour my poor house,
By passing there to-morrow—in the even;
I have much to show you of surpassing interest—
Old parchments—

Al.
(turning away coldly from him.)
Sir, I much regret, my time,
Most fully occupied—may scarce admit
Of idling visits—or of gossip-loungings.

Milla.
(Aside.)
So high disdainful!—I am galled at last—
I would mine Ancestors were here beside me
To challenge him and brave!—since I myself,
I own, scarce like that task!—By Heaven and Earth—
I will have vengeance though—dire vengeance too!—
Now who is there that hates him?—hush! I have it!—
Count Lambertazzi!—good!—and here he comes!—

(Lambertazzi approaches; they whisper together.)
Al.
Costanza!—dear Costanza! hear me!—hear!—
With thy mild graciousness and kindliest favour—
Let me address thy blessedness—thy sweetness—
Thine everlastingness of gentleness!—
Hear me and show me mercy!—

Cos.
(Aside.)
Oh! my Soul!
Swoon not so utterly away from me—
Away from him!— (Aloud.)
the Count—the Count!—he marks us—
His lynx-like eye is on my very Heart!—
[Algarves takes her hand.
Oh! pray thee loose my hand!—

Al.
To-morrow, be
In thy young Friend's—fair Fiorilina's house—
At the hour of noon—

Cos.
I dare not answer thee!—

Al.
But say not—no!

Cos.
I do not say it!—

Al.
Bless thee!—

(Lambertazzi comes forward, smiles on Algarves; Millaflores follows.)
Lam.
And what! my child!—art not awearied yet?—
Nay! join the dancers with our honoured Friend—
Signor Algarves!—

Al.
(Aside.)
How! what means this change?—

[He takes her hand; they pause and walk apart.
Milla.
His Highness hath retired to rest, methinks.
Behoves us be most grateful—much beholden
E'en with most ardent—breathless gratitude—
To our great Sovereign.

Lam.
True!—the Fête was gay!—

Milla.
The Fête? yes! yes!—but then besides—consider—
We are bound to be profoundly grateful, since—
With condescension most superlative—
His Highness deigned to taste of pleasure thus—
With overpowering graciousness, to take
The best of everything—I saw't myself!—

Gui.
A wondrous act of graciousness, indeed!—

Milla.
And stooping from his awful height, consented
To much amuse himself!—and more than this—
Be perfectly well satisfied—and pleased—
I marked it!—with his own most royal self—
And this fair Fête he royally devised!—
We ought to be o'erwhelmed with obligations—
(Vast obligations not to be repaid)—
I am oppressed with them, and crushed and smothered!—
(Aside.)
Heaven grant now some one may be listening near,
To make report of this my feverish loyalty!—

Lam.
The revelry is o'er, I 'gin to think—
The sounds of cheery music die away—
The dancers' hurried steps are dumb!—'tis done—
The sprightliest Hours are still the very saddest—
When thus their sands have ebbed and they are finished!—
Algarves!—yet a word with thee!—I pray
Accompany awhile our homeward steps;—
Count Guicciardini—I commend me well
To your most kind esteem;—Costanza! come!—
And thou, good Marquess—pray thee wend with us!—

Milla.
Assuredly!—yet I should wish to say
To-morrow, in His Highness' Audience-Chamber,
I saw the tapers out—with watchful care—
Lest some stray spark—

Lam.
(impatiently.)
E'en say it, then!—but come!—

Milla.
(musing.)
'Tis possible the Princess' waiting woman
May pass this way from fair Beatrice's chamber—
She might report she saw me—t'would sound well!—
Once, I most providentially was made,
On such a bright occasion—as it chanced—
The agent of prompt deliverance for a maiden,
Belonging to Her Highness's own suite—
(I showed much valour too—and thirst for glory—)
From the great dread and dangers of—a Mouse!—

Lam.
The Palace-clock strikes—haste! we are all full late!

[Exeunt all.