 | Griselda : A Tragedy : And other poems |  |
ACT III.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in the Palace.Lenette enters, meeting Bertolo.
LENETTE.
What, Bertolo, art thou back?
BERTOLO.
But newly come, freighted with gifts and good
wishes from Genoa's Duke.
LENETTE.
Good wishes burdened thee little; what were
the gifts?
I have a cast of hawks for my lord, feathered
and flecked with silver, fairer than the daintiest
wrist they ever sat on. For my lady, a fancy-
work of jewels, but the birds are rare.
LENETTE.
Thou shouldst be hooded like them, to say
so. But what of the fancy-work,—is it pearls?
—pearls become my lady rarely.
BERTOLO.
I know not. How fareth she?
LENETTE.
Hast not heard? then have I a woman's joy,—
news to tell!
BERTOLO.
And a woman's tongue to tell them, Lenette.
Maybe; but my lady Griselda is in thy absence
lighter by the sweetest boy and girl that
ever mother welcomed.
BERTOLO.
Say'st thou? the bells have told it then?
LENETTE.
Aye, and the wine-skins bled for it: they have
mortally wounded forty this past month.
BERTOLO.
I would I had been at their shriving! but, in
truth, this is good hearing for Lord Walter and
the Court.
LENETTE.
Nay, he hath been altered of late, and shows
his joy strangely. To-day he is exceeding wroth,
and the first of it is for Frederigo.
Why? what hath he done?
LENETTE.
Slandered my lady vilely. Thou dost remember
how her father Janicola would not follow her
fortunes hither, and so comes never nigh the
palace. I dare tell thee, being discreet, that the
lady Griselda hath ofttimes taken gifts and her
love a-foot to him, and this with the praise and
knowledge of Lord Walter. All which hidden
goodness this fellow knew, and said ill things of
her daughterly visits. But here comes my lord;
thou wilt do well to say over thy sweeter phrases,
for I know that he chafes horribly.
Enter Marquis, Nobles, &c.
MARQUIS.
Antonio! look these letters be obeyed.
The slanderous mouth, that good deeds cannot close,
Whence comest thou?
BERTOLO.
My lord, from Genoa.
MARQUIS.
We'll hear thy news anon.
[Exit Bertolo.
Pietro, tell me,
Thou knowest the people:—Is it common with them
To say such slander as this villain said
Of ladies spotless as this lady is?
PIETRO MALA.
I thought no tongue could speak but it would praise her:
I think none other would. Greatness is sin
To envious low ones ever; but her crown
Hath better glory than its gems and gold,
And as much love as honour.
'Tis no less
Than she may claim. Go seek out Bertolo,
And take his tidings for me. Leave me, lords.
Lenette! bid here thy lady.
(Solus)
They shall have
Stronger confirmment of her worthiness.
They joyed to see her smile,—she shall weep yet,
And own no higher title than her tears,
To make them sad with her. I will begin
Now while my purpose holds,—another day
Will kiss the purpose from me. Ah! she comes.
Sweet love, be strong for thy sake and for mine.
Enter Griselda.
GRISELDA.
How fares my lord?
MARQUIS.
Well pleased to see thee well.
Hadst thou my message?
Nay! I heard but now
That thou wert angered with yon slanderer.
I pray thee let not such a fellow dwell
In my lord's thought—the more so that his sin
Toucheth not thee but me.
MARQUIS.
He is away
To mourn it at his leisure. By St. Paul!
Is not thine honour mine? I am right sad
He 'scaped so lightly.
GRISELDA.
I—I pity him.
Forget his folly, Walter, as I do;
'Tis slight as was the slanderer. Come and see
Our little ones asleep.
MARQUIS.
Is my boy well?
Ask that of both, love, and I'll answer thee;
They are so like they never should be named
But in a breath. The leaves of one red rose
Wear not so near a colour as their cheeks;
And river-ripples are not more the same
Than her light smile and his. Come and look one them!
MARQUIS.
I think more of thy little maid, my wife,
Than my words show.
GRISELDA.
Oh then! do I not know it?
Thou couldst not look upon her, and not love her,
Loving me so, and she so like to me:
Give me thy hand and come.
MARQUIS.
Nay, give me thine!
When from thy low estate I lifted thee
To high nobility,—hast thou forgot it?
GRISELDA.
Ah, no! Before I sleep I think on it,
That all my dreams may be a dream of that;
It comes first to my heart when daylight comes
First to mine eyes; and all day long it makes
Thy love a miracle.
MARQUIS.
Well,—very well!
Thou wottest then how that thou camest here
With no more queenship than a single hour
Had made thee mistress of.
GRISELDA.
I think it o'er,
The circumstance of thine exceeding love,
A thousand times a-day.
'Tis well! and when
The fine, fair ladies of the court had decked thee
And robed in gold, upon a steed of snow,
Past thy self-knowledge beautiful and bright,
Thou rodest to my house, what oath was it
Thy lips had spoken?
GRISELDA.
To be leal and true
For that thy love,—to be submiss and gentle
Unto thy love,—to recompense thy love
With the return of an unchanging faith
And loyalty and service.
MARQUIS.
Aye! it ran so,
And if that love changed—
GRISELDA.
So should never mine,
Whatever chance or change in life betided:—
Thus did I swear.
MARQUIS.
And wilt thou keep the oath?
GRISELDA.
I do, and will until I die.—Alas!
Dost thou not love me then?
MARQUIS.
I said not that.
Look not so deadly pale; but listen now:
This matter of the malcontents goes farther
Than the poor lie of one. They love thee not,
They hold it shame to be o'erruled of thine,
And ask, what doth thy daughter in the court?
The boy will have a hand to guard his head;
And that, too, presently. Wilt thou take well
What it is well to do?
GRISELDA.
Lord, as thou wilt.
My child and I, in all humility,
Are all—all thine, and thou mayest save or spill
What is thine own: needs must it please me well
If it please thee; for so God's Mother keep me,
I ask for nothing,—nothing dread to lose,
Save only thee; and this is in my heart
Ever and ever, nor shall time or trial
Change my firm courage to another place.
MARQUIS.
Aye! keep thee to that mind, and go thy ways.
I'll send anon to thee.
[Exit Griselda.
I do my love more wrong than I do thine.
Be still as true, and I'll be still as cruel,
And when the end comes thou'lt have sweet revenge.
SCENE II.
Griselda's Apartment. Lenette watching the young children.Enter Griselda.
GRISELDA.
Sleep they, Lenette?
LENETTE.
Since thou went hence, Madonna,
They have not stirred.
My little noble girl,
Doth she rest well?
LENETTE.
The shadow of her brother,
She sleeps and wakes with him; they'd live to die
If they should live to sever.
GRISELDA.
Sayest thou so?
God keep her as He may, if that be true.
LENETTE.
Madonna, why?
GRISELDA.
All things may chance to all,
And this to her.
LENETTE.
Nay, never!
But it may,—
Alas! indeed, it may.
LENETTE.
Ah! surely no.
Look at them sleeping, when they smile asleep
Good angels show them what their lives will be,
And the sight makes them glad. I've heard it told
By ancient nurses.
GRISELDA.
Let me see them smile.—
Dear loves! fit company for heavenly ones,
I could believe that silver pennons paused
Above them, and that angels' eyes looked down,
Love-wrapt, as I do now—so pure they seem,
So beautiful, so tender, and so new
From walking in the paths of Paradise:—
I could believe thy tale!
LENETTE.
Thou mayest believe it.
What jewels will my noble lady wear
Upon St. Michael's feast?
GRISELDA.
Jewels, Lenette!
LENETTE.
If it shall please you. Thou didst warmly praise
My lord's last gift,—the zone of amethyst,—
The silver one: 'twill clasp right worthily
Thy crimson robes.
GRISELDA.
Aye, robes! Thou dost remind me.
Bring me the gown and kirtle that I wore
I had well-nigh forgotten that these two
May soon be one; and if it come to that,
There is much need to learn the lesson well,
And they shall be my book.
(Lenette brings them.)
Thanks, good Lenette!
These maiden-weeds, all lowly as they be,
Teach patience wondrous well.
(Knocking.)
Who's at the door?
(Lenette opens.)
LENETTE.
A message from my lord.
GRISELDA.
Who beareth it?
Enter Martino.
MARTINO.
I, lady.
GRISELDA.
Who art thou?
Martino Scalza,
The sergeant of the guard.
GRISELDA.
I know thee not.
MARTINO.
'Tis very like thou wilt not hold me hence
In fair remembrace.
GRISELDA.
Why, what bringest thou?
MARTINO.
That which I mean to speak. Great ones, good madam,
Do as they list; and they who suffer of them
Must bear it and bewail. I am not one
To stand against the storm; and, sooth to say,
Madam, I will not.
Say what wrings you, sir?
MARTINO.
Thy lord—my master, buds me bear thee what
Thou must take of me.
GRISELDA.
If it come from him,
Speak welcomely; I'll hear it willingly!
MARTINO.
Thus then, I am intrusted to deliver:—
My lord commends me to your patient grace,
And prays you, of your courtesy, to give
Unto me here, without or let or stop,
The little maid your child.
GRISELDA.
So soon?
Aye! now.
GRISELDA.
What is your warrant, sir?
MARTINO.
His signet-ring,
Behold it here!
GRISELDA.
It never yet set seal
To aught unworthy of his nobleness:
I will obey it.
MARTINO.
Madam, you were best.
GRISELDA.
Yes! but this cometh somewhat suddenly;
Art thou to have my girl?
MARTINO.
Madam, I am.
My lord's behest is that you render it,
Sleeping or waking, here into my hands,
Thereafter—
GRISELDA.
Oh! say on!
MARTINO.
I say too much,
More is not in my message; by your leave
I'll find it here, and quit you.
(Goes to the bed)
GRISELDA.
No! oh, no!
Thou art not gentle, thou wilt wake my babe.
She'll sleep enough anon.
GRISELDA.
I fear I read
A bitter meaning in your broken speech:
But I'll not think so,—you are not to take her;
Your hands are hard with arquebuss and sword,
Used to the clench of iron. You are fierce,
And soldierlike, and stern; your gentleness
Would crush this little life. What canst thou do
With her whose bed hath been of silks and down,—
Whose food were delicates,—whose rosy beauty
Nought harder than a kiss hath ever touched?
It is not true,—tell me it is not true!
MARTINO.
So true, that I shall take what you refuse me,
If you refuse it longer than my leave.
Keep off! I had forgotten: it is true!
Stand there, sir; you shall have her—take her—so.
(Gives the child.)
MARTINO.
'Tis well! thou dost this wisely; and I go.
Pardon the needful pain.
GRISELDA.
Oh! stay, good sergeant.
(Sweet angels make me strong!) Thou askest pardon,
Thou shalt have thanks; render me back my child.
MARTINO.
Nay, madam!
GRISELDA.
But a minute,—she is thine.
Hath he not so commanded? Ah! dear love,
Thy home no more—thy home and life no more!
My little sleeping girl—my silent daughter!
To-night thou diest for the fault of me,
Thine o'er-fond mother. Therefore, pretty one!—
Aye, smile on so—even as thy father smiled,
And I shall get the heart to say the word,—
Therefore, farewell,—farewell! and let me take
Thine earthly sorrows off with this last kiss:
Thy soul, my little child, is His to have
Who died upon the cross, whereof in token
I sign thee with the sign. Take! here again,
Good sergeant, your young maid.
MARTINO.
I pity you,
And thank you, good my lady.
GRISELDA.
You are courteous
My lord forbade you not, out of your grace
Bury this small slight body in some grave
Where birds and beasts shall miss it.
[Exit Martino with Child.
Ah, Lenette!
He answers not, but goes.
LENETTE.
Dear mistress—cry!
If thou dost feel it, cry upon this wrong,
Let him not part so! I will after him
And bring him back. Oh! let me go!
GRISELDA.
Stay here!
It is no wrong,—he doth it to his own;
Let not thy love lose mine, blaming my lord.
Look to the little Prince, and take these hence,—
She shall not see me weep—none shall,—but God!
[Exit Griselda.
SCENE III.
An Apartment in the Palace. The Marquis alone.MARQUIS.
Now is the first fear present. If she stands,—
If all go as I think—she shall build up
Honour for me, and for her sex a name,
Better than did the best; proud ones, who scorned,
Hearing her swear the oath, shall live to hear
How my brave peasant-queen could keep her word.
Yet is contentment wise; and if she fail,
My love goes with her courage.
Enter Martino.
Thou didst my message yester night?
Aye! my lord.
MARQUIS.
She gave it patiently?
MARTINO.
When she was certified of my warrant, she rendered
it without complaint. There was a piteous
sorrow of the eye and a working with the lip, that
shook me wondrously. I had liever do thy next
message to my lord's enemies than to my lord's
lady.
MARQUIS.
Thou art not less worthy; but did she question
my will in nothing?
MARTINO.
Not a whit. I delivered myself roughly as thou
in my office, than put off with resentment.
MARQUIS.
She gave it thee for the death?
MARTINO.
I led her plainly to that thinking; in the heart
of which sorrow she took comfort, for the little
one smiled, she said, after thy fashion, and sweetly
bade her despatch.
MARQUIS.
Rare Lady! Look now! The trustiest one of thy
following hath this pretty one in charge; let her
be cared for as a king's daughter. After the feast
I will appoint thee a time when thou shalt take
the boy; then do thou, with the fleetest horses,
bring them to Bologna, my sister's court, to whose
care commend them with the scroll I shall give thee.
My lord, I will.
MARQUIS.
Let this secret meantime be thine and mine only.
Go now, and let one of her women desire for me
the Lady Griselda's presence.
[Exit Martino.
She'll not fail!
Found on a desolate and savage shore,
Whose lustre lay with none to marvel at it,
Lost on the sands; till I, a voyager,
All love-struck with its light, did beat my way
O'er perilous seas, through danger and through doubt,
To bring my jewel to the farther world,
Every beholder's wonder. She is coming,
I'll try if she can keep her sorrow still.
Enter Griselda.
You sent for me, my lord! What is your will?
MARQUIS.
Nay, I know not! I'm sick and sad, Griselda;
Look that thou make me merry.
GRISELDA.
Will love do it?
I'll sit and soothe thee to forgetfulness;
Or lay thy head upon my heart, and keep
With wifely kisses all thy grief away:
They have a charm to do it.
MARQUIS.
No! not that,
I should soon weary thee.
GRISELDA.
Art thou ill here?
Art heart-sick? I will fetch the virginals,
I have some skill thereon,—thou saidst it once,
And play a measure that I love to play
When I am sad.
MARQUIS.
Nay, then, I think, Griselda,
'Twere all as well for thee to play it now;
Thine eyes are red with weeping; thy face shows
Paler than mine. Go to! here have been tears;
I see all down the whiteness of thy cheek
The path they went. How is it?
GRISELDA.
I am sad,
If thou art so; my visage is deject,
If thine lose cheer: is this a wonder, Walter?
Good sooth, it should not be.
Aye! thou art right,
Doubtless I erred. Come then! Sith thou art well,
Tell me a story of some wileful lady,
Who paid her tyrannous lord with scathe and scorn
In the high Eastern style. I love to hear
How well they smiled and stabbed.
GRISELDA.
I never learned one.
I know a story of a lowly lady
Who gave her heart away, and with her heart
Its pains and pleasures, keeping but enough
To ponder how she gave it.
MARQUIS.
So do I;
That tale is old, as we are. Well then! play
This doleful lay of thine.
(Griselda plays, and falls asleep.)
Lo! my sweet leech
Medicines herself. Sleep! thou art kindly come,
Keep thy soft fingers on her lids awhile.
(He takes the instrument from her hands and bends over her.)
Last night thou couldst not close them for her tears.
What have we here, worn with such curious care?
I never saw it yet—a golden curl
Cut from her child—Sweet! thou must add another,
And crop a silken fillet from thy boy,
If these be worn for lost ones. How she sleeps,
Poor weary Niobe! I've heard it said
That, sleeping so, they'll answer asking ones,
As if the soul spake to the catechist
With all its truth, soul-like and solemnly.
I'll make the trial. Hearest thou, Griselda?
No answer!—Lo! they take thy child from thee.
(She sighs.)
Oh! aye! that reaches to her heart asleep.
Didst thou, Griselda, love her very well?
GRISELDA
(faintly, and in her sleep.)
Yes!
MARQUIS.
It was Lord Walter took thy girl from thee;
Thou wilt not love this Walter any more?
GRISELDA.
I will.
MARQUIS.
But thou dost dote upon thy bonny lad;
And where the sister is, the brother goes,
And I shall send him: wilt thou love me then?
(She sighs.)
Say! wilt thou love me then?
Yes! very well.
MARQUIS.
Excellent patience! I do think thou wouldst;
Yet am I sore, sweetheart, to tempt thee thus.
Grant me for what is done, and shall be yet,
Sweetly thy sleeping pardon. Didst thou wake,
Thou'dst see me kneel for it, and set seal to it
Here on the gracious lips that grant it me.
So then I'll put this treasure back; and now
Open tired eyes again!
(He plays the same strain louder, till she wakes.)
GRISELDA.
Ah me! my lord!
MARQUIS.
What is it, good my lady?
Sooth I am
A slothful nurse to sleep upon my charge;
How gott'st thou that my music?
MARQUIS.
Even thus;
Your ladyship sank to a sudden sleep,
Medicined with this same melody, whereat
I tried its potency.
GRISELDA.
Thou mockest me.
MARQUIS.
No! not a whit. I grieve my little skill
Trifled too loudly with the strings, and so
Broke on thy pleasant slumber.
Oh! not pleasant,—
I dreamed my boy was dead.
MARQUIS.
Ha! didst thou so?
Sometimes these dreams come for bewilderment,—
Sometimes for warning,—sometimes that the heart
May gather strength before the tempest comes.
GRISELDA.
What tempest, Walter?
MARQUIS.
Trial, good my wife,—
Trial that strikes adown the steady soul,
Unless it look to stand.
GRISELDA.
It was not that,
It ended with strange joy.—Art thou sick now?
MARQUIS.
No; 'twas a passing ailment. Thou wilt grace
Our tourney, sweet?
GRISELDA.
Aye! if it please thee so.
MARQUIS.
It doth; the knights are mated,—let us go
And see what spears are come.
GRISELDA.
Lord! as thou wilt.
SCENE IV.
The Anti-chamber of the Palace.Antonio, Bertolo, Bertram, Lords and Ladies.
BERTOLO.
He hath done her grievous wrong.
BERTRAM.
Aye! and she so holy-mannered! I have
touched string before every Queen from Naples
to Toulouse, but none hath a sweeter smile than
the Lady Griselda, nor a voice more attuned to
music.
BERTOLO.
Aye! that makes the pity; if she needed reclaiming
or forgot her feather, there were cause
for this. But, in truth, this last grievance is
foul.
'Tis the liker thy talk, Bertolo; if there be no
herons in Paradise, thou wilt seek them otherwhere.
BERTOLO.
Not so! thou thing of strings, I should fear
to meet thee else. I hate thy preludes and thy
virelays worse than the east wind. I marvel how
my lady doth thee favour.
BERTRAM.
Thou hast praised her discretion, marvel therefore
no longer. But here is my lady's woman,
she will tell us more of it. Good mistress Lenette,
how went this fair child away?
LENETTE.
I may say this of her going, that she went
shamefully; but I may not give more reason for
her going than that it was of Lord Walter's
policy. He made my lady believe she is not
worthy of their knees.
BERTOLO.
Why, they saint her,—the hem of her garment
draws them after it, like divination and
Lapland charms!
BERTRAM.
They get prayers by heart to say for her.
LENETTE.
I would they did pray Heaven to mend her
patience; these lords that have gentle ladies do
much abuse them.
BERTRAM.
Thine shall never thus err, Lenette.
LENETTE.
Why then, beware thee, Sir Troubadour!
I,—nay, I am horribly afraid of thee,—and
beside I am not wise enough to wive.
LENETTE.
They should come together, thou sayest,—wisdom
and a wife?
BERTRAM.
Aye! the one to rule the other.
LENETTE.
Such conjunction shall not befall thee, therefore
wed not. Didst thou see the tilting this
morning?
BERTOLO.
Yea, it was my lady's saint's day. Why came
she not to the lists?
LENETTE.
Thou wert best ask that of my lord, for he
cometh.
MARQUIS
(to Lenette).
Stay, good mistress, where is thy lady?
LENETTE.
She is but now gone to her chamber.
MARQUIS.
Tell her that I come anon.
[Exit Lenette.
(To Martino.)
Hast thou the boy?
MARTINO.
Aye, my lord!
MARQUIS.
Thou took'st him privily?
MARTINO.
He is three leagues beyond the river, and none
knoweth it but thou!
'Tis well; take them both now with thy most
careful speed to my sister, as I bade thee: thou
dost answer for them with thy life till then.
MARTINO.
Aye, lord.
[Exit Martino.
MARQUIS.
Thus are they gone, and all her joy with them.
Nay, and half mine! I have advanced my foot
Too far to fly, yet would I even now
Spare thy tried patience this. Sweet, keep thee firm,
Or both shall fall to-day.
[Exit Marquis.
SCENE V.
Griselda's Apartment. Enter the Marquis to Griselda.GRISELDA.
Why didst thou bid me to the tournament,
And send to say, Go not?
MARQUIS.
Because, Griselda,—
It is a woman's answer, but will serve,—
I changed my purpose.
GRISELDA.
And no more, my lord
MARQUIS.
Art not content?
I must needs be content;
My tongue shall never question will of thine;
But yet my heart should quicker leap to keep it,
So it were sure of love.
MARQUIS.
Why, look you now,
There hath been that, and there will be again,
Whose hard and doubtful doing well might shake
This faith of thine, look that these shake it not.
What such I say and do,—these are to me
Out of avoidance, and thy debt to them
Is an obedient duty; but thy love,
Be ever sure, is answered worthily.
GRISELDA.
Oh now, do what thou wilt, I'll not think more
Of this same jousting.
Dost thou love it so?
GRISELDA.
Nay, 'tis a rare sight when the noble knights,
Death-proof from heel to helm, splinter the spears
Like straws upon their breasts. Oh! when our boy
Is grown to man, shall he not, Walter, ride
Like these along the lists,—a star of them?
MARQUIS.
I cannot tell.
GRISELDA.
Not yet, but if he lives?
MARQUIS.
Didst thou not see him dead?
Where then, my lord?
MARQUIS.
Why, in thy dreams.
GRISELDA.
Ah! thou didst make me fear.
My prince! I saw him not six hours agone,
Here, sleeping in his bed.
MARQUIS.
Is he there yet?
GRISELDA.
Why, yes,—look thou! He'll smile to see thee come
With sword and steel cap; he is too like thee
To fear their flash. Look on him now.
MARQUIS.
Look thou!
(finding the boy gone).
O God, my child is gone! Lenette! Lenette!
Who took my child,—my son,—my darling?
MARQUIS.
I!
GRISELDA
(after a silence).
Was it thou, Walter?
MARQUIS.
It was I, my wife!
GRISELDA.
Oh, heart, be still! Why didst thou take my boy?
MARQUIS.
He stood between me and my kingdom's peace:
They would not have the herdsman's daughter's son,
Nor bend a knee to him.
Where is he gone?
MARQUIS.
Even where his sister went.
GRISELDA.
They are both gone!
Both my twin-blossoms! Ah, lord Walter, both!
Were they thy danger?
MARQUIS.
Else this were not done;
Ask what thou wilt, I'll answer.
GRISELDA.
Answer this!
I must pray God to tend those whom I tended.
Shall I pray for the dead?
Pray for thy babes
As for sweet angels thou shalt see again.
GRISELDA.
In heaven, lord?
MARQUIS.
Aye, Madam, there, I hope.
| Griselda : A Tragedy : And other poems | |