University of Virginia Library

Scene Second.

—A Street near the Church of San Stefano; stage dark.
Enter Bertuccio, L., cloaked and masked.
Bert.
The hour has struck—they will be here anon—
Trust them to keep tryst for a villainous deed—
I had need to whet the memory of my wrong,
Or my girl's angel face, and innocent tongue
Had shaken even my steadfastness of purpose!
And Malatesta's wife has done her kindness—
I would she had not! But what's such slight service
To my huge wrong? Let me but think of that!
I grow too human near my child. I lack
The sharp sting of court scorn to spur the sides
Of my intent! With her I'm free to weep—
With them, I still must laugh—still be their ape
To mop, and mow, and wake their shallow mirth.—
True—I can sometimes bite—as monkeys do.
They'll make mirth of that too! Oh, courtly sirs!
Sweet-spoken, stalwart gallants! if you knew
The hate that rankles underneath my motley!
The scorn that barbs my wit—the bitterness
That grins behind my laughter—you would start,
And shudder o'er your cups, and cross yourselves
As if the devil were in your company!
Once my revenge achieved, I'll spurn my chain—
Fool it no more—but give what's left of life
To thought of her I've lost, and love of her
That yet is left me.

Enter Manfredi, Ascolti, and Ordelaffi, masked and cloaked.
Man.
Hist! Bertuccio!

Bert.
Here, gossip Galeotto—you are punctual—
Ascolti, too,—grave Signor Florentine,
We'll show you how the gallants of Faenza
Treat greybeards who aspire to handsome wives.
Remember, your beard's grizzled—and beware—

Ascolti.
I will stand warned. You have the ladders here?

Bert.
The lackeys wait in charge of them hard by.
But where's Torelli?—we shall want his help.

Ordel.
Pshaw! our three swords are plenty.

Bert.
Cry you mercy!
'Tis not Torelli's sword we want.

Ordel.
What then?

Bert.
His marvellous quick scent of danger, man.
Stick to his skirts—I'll answer for't, you're safe.
Perhaps he smelt some risk of buffets here,
And so has ta'en him home to bed.

Man.
Away
Towards Malatesta's house—'twas there he promised
To meet us. Sirrah fool, be it thy post
To hold the ladder while we mount—and see
Thou play'st us no jade's trick, or 'ware the whip!

Bert.
Fear not, magnanimous gossip—do your work
With as good will as I do mine. The countess
Sleeps in the chamber of the balcony,
Which rounds the angle of the southern front:
I came but now by the palace—all was quiet.

Man.
Set on then, cautiously—use not your swords,
Unless on strong compulsion: blood tells tales—
And I want no more feuds upon my hands.

Exeunt, R.