 | The Wife |  |
SCENE I.
—Hall of Justice in the Duke's Palace.On one side Bartolo, Bernardo, Carlo, and others; on the other, Lords and Ladies, &c. &c.
Bar.
Silence, signors! Keep order! The parties in the
cause are coming—Here they are!
Enter Mariana, leaning on Antonio, attended by Lorenzo; after them the Count Florio, and various Doctors of the Law.
Bar.
That is the maiden; and that the curate, upon whom
she leans.
Bern.
And where's the count?
Bar.
Yonder, surrounded by the Doctors of the Law.
Bern.
The maid is very fair!
Bar.
Yes, for a burgher's daughter. Hush! The duke approaches.
The cause will straight come on.
Enter the Duke Ferrardo Gonzaga, and Attendants.
[The whole assembly rise.
Fer.
Your seats! your seats!
[The assembly sit.
Bring on this cause! Who answers for our friend,
The count?
Advo.
My lord, so please you, I.
Fer.
Proceed.
Advo.
The question lies between the count, and this,
The guardian of the maid—whose froward act
Your highness is possess'd of—on the one side;
The maid herself, and that, the reverend man,
Who countenances her resistance, on
The other. Hereupon the count defends
His right unto the maiden's hand—the will
Her father left—the promise of the man
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Behoves her choice to bow—for choice herself
The maid, of right, hath none.—This were the case,
Proposed her guardian to affiance her
To one in rank as far beneath the maid
As is the maid beneath the count. But lo
The difference! By this alliance gains
The maid a consort of a rank so high
And wealth so broad, he were pretender fit
To the hand of any maid in Italy!
Such is our cause. In the first place, the right
To give away the maid: and in the next
That right, exerted for her highest good.
Bar.
He is a fair spokesman—The duke deliberates.
Lor.
My friend is lost, almost as soon as found.
He has deceived me. No! he comes at last,
And keeps indeed his promise, if he brings
Such friends as these to back us!
Enter Leonardo Gonzaga as Clerk to Lorenzo; followed by several persons of distinction.
Bar.
Observe you, signors! Are not those who just now
entered, relatives and friends of him that were the duke, had
not mishap stepped in 'twixt him and his father's seat?
Ber.
They are.
Bar.
Do they abet the maid? You see they take their
station round her.—They are not wont, of late, to frequent the
palace.
Ber.
Peace! The duke is going to speak.
Fer.
Count, on what plea claim you the maiden's hand?
Florio.
Her guardian hath affianced her to me.
Fer.
Speak you, her guardian,—states the count the fact?
Hugo.
He does, so please your highness!
Fer.
What's her age?
Hugo.
She lacks a year of her majority.
Fer.
Her rank?
Hugo.
Her father was a burgher.
Fer.
Wealth
Has she been left?
Hugo.
What, charily enjoy'd,
From manual labour might, perhaps, exempt her.
Fer.
And stoops the count so low to be despised—
Rejected—spurn'd! For shame! The maid be given
Back to her guardian's custody; and if
Obedience be refused, let him enforce it!
The cause is judged.
Lor.
Your highness' pardon, but
The other side's to hear.
Fer.
Who's he that speaks?
Lor.
The counsel for the maid.
Fer.
Let him be wise,
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The cause is over—finally adjudged.
Lor.
How far your highness' power extends I know!
Yet though it reach unto my life, that life
I hold to be my good, and husband not
A minute longer than it ministers
Unto mine honour's profitable use.
The duty which I should discharge in vain,—
Not through its own demerit, but defect
In him, whose will availeth more than right,—
I leave undone:—but 'gainst the power protest
Which makes me—servant unto justice—slave
Unto oppression. For the pangs that wring
That maiden's heart, be answerable thou,
Not I!
Ant.
Your highness—
Fer.
Peace! I will not hear thee, father!
Ant.
But Heaven will hear me! Lo! I do call upon it
For judgment on the man who wrongs this maid!
And surely as I call 'twill answer me,—
And speak to thee—be thou that wicked man—
When power thou hast no longer to cry “Peace!”
Fer.
That wicked man!
Ant.
O, poverty of earth—
That men do deeds which win them evil names,
And spurn the names, but not the deeds which win them!
What Heaven commands me speak, I dare to speak!
Suffer'd the maid, from any, violence,
Should he not die? What callest thou the deed
Which would condemn her to a loathéd bed?
Think'st thou there's virtue in constrainéd vows,
Half-utter'd—soulless—falter'd forth in fear,
To purge the nauseousness of such a deed,
That Heaven won't smell the damning odour on't?
And if there is, then truth and grace are nought!
Then sanctity is nought! yea, Heaven itself!
And in its empyreäl essence lies
No savour of its sweetness!
Fer.
Peace, I say!
Ant.
Thou canst not bid the thunder hold its peace—
Why criest thou peace to me?—Nay, bid me speak—
That thou mayst bear to hear the thunder speak—
The herald, earth-accredited of Heaven—
Which when men hear, they think upon Heaven's King,
And run the items o'er of the account
To which he's sure to call them.
Fer.
Dread my power!
Ant.
Dread thou—the power from which thou hold'st that power!
Proud man, I brave thee where thou sitt'st, and in
The ear of earth and heaven denounce the sentence
Which gives that spotless maid to violation!
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I'll hear no more!—The cause is judged—the maid
Her rightful guardian take!
Mari.
[Advancing to centre.]
And if he does,
He takes a corse! Lo! death is at my lips;
[Taking a small phial from her bosom.
The hand or foot that offers to approach,
Commits a murder! In this phial bides
The bane of fifty lives! Pass but a drop,
Were now the sexton told to dig my grave,
Were now his foot upon the shovel set,
Ere he began, I should be ready for it!
Who stirs? Lo, here I sink upon my knee!
Or let the count his hateful suit forego,
Or let my guardian his consent revoke,
Or let the duke recall his foul decree,
Or hence, by mine own limbs, I never rise!
Fer.
Why to the count this strong repugnance, girl?
Mari.
Giv'st thou thy oath that none shall stir, I'll tell thee.
Fer.
I give it thee.
Mari.
I am a maid betrothed!
All but the rites, a wife! A wedded heart
Although unwedded hand! Reflect on that!
Making me give my hand unto the count,
You make me give what is another's right;—
Constraining me to an unrighteous act,
Contenting him where it is base to wish,
And doing violence to Heaven itself,
Which curses lips that move 'gainst consciences!
Fer.
Lives he of whom you speak in Mantua?
Mari.
In Mantua, he told me he did live.
Fer.
What! know you not the place of his sojourn?
Mari.
Yes! where he still sojourns where'er he is!
Fer.
And where is that?
Mari.
My heart! Though travels he
By land or sea—though I'm in Mantua,
And he as distant as the pole away—
I look but into that, and there he is,
Its king enthroned, with every thought, wish, will,
In waiting at his feet!
Fer.
This is the mood—
The fantasy—of girlhood! Do we hold
Our power on sufferance of a baby-maid,
Who mocks us with a threat she durst not keep!
Secure her!
Mari.
Lo, the phial's at my lips!
Let him who would commit a murder, do it!
Had he a thousand hands to wait upon thee,
The slightest movement of this little one
Would make them useless all!
Leon.
My Mariana!
Fer.
She has dropp'd the phial!
307
[Coming forward.]
Stir not, on your lives!
My Mariana!
Mari.
'Tis he!
Leon.
It is, my love!
'Tis he who won thy heart, not seeking it!
'Tis he whose heart thou wonn'st, not knowing it!
Who saw thee rich in all but fortune's gifts,
And—servant unto men, though lord of them—
Balanced their poor esteem against thy wealth,
Which kingdoms could not match! Accountable
To others, never I reveal'd the love,
I did not see the way for thee to bless;
As only thou wouldst bless it! Now that way
Is clear!—Is open!—lies before me straight,
Without impediment, or anything
Which, with the will, I cannot overleap!
And now, my love before! my love till now!
And still my love!—now, now, I call thee wife,
And wed thee here—here—here—in Mantua!
Fer.
Remove that slave who knows not where he is!
Leon.
Descend, great duke, who know'st not where thou sitt'st!
Fer.
Where do I sit?
Leon.
Why in thy cousin's seat!
Fer.
He's dead!
Leon.
He's not! He lives, and claims his seat,
Back'd by his kinsmen, friends, and every one
That owns a loyal heart in Mantua!
[Throws off his gown.
Do you not know me, cousin?
Fer.
Leonardo!
Leon.
Six years have we been strangers, but I see
You know my father's face, if not your cousin's.
Fer.
I do, and yield to you that father's seat.
Leon.
Cousin, the promptness of your abdication
Invests it with a grace to which we bow.
We'll spare your sight the pain of our accession,
And pray that with the parties in this cause—
I mean the count and guardian of the maid—
You now withdraw, and at your former mansion,
Wait intimation of our further pleasure.
I would not have you speak, so please you, now;
When we confer, it must be privily.
Yet out of honour to our common blood,
Well as in pledge of no unkind intent,
Your hand before we go!
[They shake hands.
Fer.
Nay, let me speak
At least my welcome, and my thanks, your highness—
Before I take my leave.
[Ferrardo, Florio, and Hugo, go out.
Ant.
Rise, signors, rise!
Live, Leonardo, duke of Mantua!
Leon.
We thank you, friends! This welcome is of the heart.
For you we take this seat. Thou reverend man.
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Thou man of law and honour, be his friend,
And advocate of state; and both of you
Lead hither that abstracted maid! But no!
That office should be mine. [Descends.]
In Italy
Shines there a brow on which my coronet
Could find so proud a seat? My Mariana,
Wilt be my bride? Nay, do not tax thy tongue
With that, thy looks have scarce the power to speak!
Come!—Share my throne with me! Come, Mariana!
The consort of the duke of Mantua!
[She faints in his arms as the scene closes.
| The Wife | |