University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Ante-Room, leading to the Duchess's Apartment.
Enter Mariana.
Mari.
Or I have had sweet dreams, whose fleeting forms
Have but the charm of their fair visit left;
Or by my couch hath some good angel watch'd,
And on my lapsed unconscious spirit breathed
The balmy fragrance of his heavenly presence;
So light my heart, as it were clad with wings
And floated in the sun! My lord—My lord!—
How is this? 'Tis strange! At thought of my dear lord,
My soaring heart hath dropp'd at once to earth.
It is the incidents of yesternight
The thought of him recalls!—I feel as though
I fear'd my lord!—Or is't the world I fear?
The world which yesternight I dared defy;
But now begin to think upon its snares,
And feel, as they beset me round, so thick,
I cannot step, but in their fatal mesh,
I'm straight entangled! Wherefore feel I thus?
My heart as heavy as, just now, 'twas light!
Enter Antonio.
My confessor! Here's comfort! Welcome, father.—
For mercy's sake what's this? I welcome thee,
And thou, to me, giv'st aught, but an all hail!
Why what's the matter?—Can I be awake?
Father, I need kind looks and words to-day,—
My heart is sick!—O earth, how sick! I look'd
For thee to bring me peace—Alack—Alack!
Why do your eyes of mercy turn to swords?
Only they pierce where feeling is more quick!
Father, be pitiful! 'Tis not the proud
And forward wife that braved thee, yesternight;
But thy repentant child that kneels to thee!

Ant.
Repentance is a grace—but it is one
That grows upon deformity—fair child
To an unsightly mother!—Nor, indeed,
Always a grace!—'Tis oftentimes—too oft—
The bootless terror of the stranded soul,
When ebbing passion leaves it all alone,
Upon the bleak and dreary shoal of sin!—
So is't of different kinds—Which kind is thine?

Mari.
Father!

Ant.
Thy lord!—Thy lord!

Mari.
What of my lord?

Ant.
Nay, rather answer thou, what of thy lord?
I know that he is duke of Mantua,
Noble and, fair, and good!—hath high allies!—
Heads the proud war, in wisdom, as in arms,
The foremost plume of the van!—and, crown of all,
I know he thinks himself, of every wish
Which heaves that breast of thine, the paramount,
The happy lord!

Mari.
He thinks himself—

Ant.
And presses
The 'larum-curtain'd couch of restless war,
In hopes to change it for that downy one
Whereon he left, as he imagined, safe,
His dearest honour, by thy side reposing,—
And little dreams that stain has reach'd it there!

Mari.
That stain has reach'd it there!

Ant.
You slept alone
Last night?

Mari.
I slept alone?—Yes, Father! Slept alone!
What idle words are these?—I slept alone?
I know I slept alone last night!—the night
Before!—the night preceding that!—alone?
How could I otherwise than sleep alone,
When my dear lord's away?

Ant.
Thou lookest—

Mari.
How?

Ant.
And speakest—

Mari.
How?—How do I look and speak?

Ant.
Like innocence.

Mari.
Doubt'st thou my innocence?

Ant.
They say,
Thou didst not sleep alone!

Mari.
Who say so?

Ant.
All
The palace.

Mari.
They!—I cannot speak the word,
Which indicates the acting of a part,
Unparallel'd in shame!

Ant.
Another part,
The which involves a tenfold deeper shame,
Men freely name, and lay to thy account!

Mari.
Art thou my friend?

Ant.
Hast thou not proved me so?

Mari.
I have! Forgive me that I question'd thee!
But when I know my heart's supreme content
In its own clearness—not as to act alone,
But wish; nor wish, alone, but thought of sin;
When I know this, and think of yesternight;
And, worse than yesternight, turns out to-day,
I 'gin to think the world is made of hate,
And doubt if thou—e'en thou!—art not my foe!
Oh, do not be my foe! indeed—indeed
The helpless maid that hung upon thy robe
To beg protection, and received it there;
Unchanged in all—save that she's now a wife,
And, as a wife, more bound than e'er to Heaven—
In strait more piteous than she knelt in then,
Clings, kneeling to it now! What's said of me?
And on what ground?—for not the robe I hold
Less conscious is of ground for foul report,
Than I am!

Ant.
Left thy chamber any one
This morning, whom thy honour should forbid
To cross its threshold?

Mari.
No!

Ant.
Art thou sure? 'Tis said
There did—The man was seen!

Mari.
The man?

Ant.
The man!
Departing from this ante-chamber!—this,
Which none except thy lord, myself, and those
Who wait upon thy person, may frequent.

Mari.
Who was the man?

Ant.
Seen in the very act
Of slinking from your door!

Mari.
Who was the man?

Ant.
The same that, last night, held thee in discourse!

Mari.
I am lost!

Ant.
You're lost?

Enter Ferrardo, Lorenzo, Cosmo, and others.
Fer.
Your highness, with your leave,
We'll pass into your chamber.

[Ferrardo and Lorenzo pass in, the others remain.
Ant.
You are lost!

Mari.
I'm lost—but I am innocent!

Fer.
[Returning with Lorenzo.]
My lords,
You know who owns this scarf?

Cos.
It is St. Pierre's!

Fer.
'Twas found beneath the couch—our advocate
Of state it was that saw it there. Are ye satisfied?

Cos.
We are, your grace; but would 'twere otherwise.

Ant.
Find earth where grows no weed, and you may find
A heart wherein no error grows. I thought
Thy heart without one—thought it was a garden
So thickly set with flowers, no weed had room
To shoot there! Who would sin, who knew how shame
Confounds the trespasser! I cannot stay,—
My tears be vouchers for me that I loved her,
And fain would doubt the lapse I must allow.

[Goes out.
Fer.
My worthy friends, follow the confessor.
I wish to speak in private with her highness.
[Lorenzo, Cosmo, and Lords, go out.
I am your friend!—You are accused of treason,—
The grounds against you are conclusive ones;
Your judges will be those who will not spare!
And soon and summary will be your trial;
The penalty of your offence is death!
You are now a prisoner—I pity you—
Would save you!—Will!—As soon as dusk sets in,
In a convenient spot without the town,
To which in secret you shall be convey'd,
I shall have horses waiting—
[Mariana shrieks and starts up from her knee, on which she had remained in a state of mental stupefaction.
Hush!

Mari.
For flight?

Fer.
For flight!—By dawn you shall be far away
From Mantua.

Mari.
At dusk?

Fer.
At dusk. As soon
As dusk begins to fall, expect me here,
And thou shalt have supply of gold enough
To pay the charges of thy journey—yea,
Maintain thee in abundance where thou wilt.

Mari.
I may depend upon thee?

Fer.
Fear me not.
Remember now—At dusk.

Mari.
I will!—At dusk.

[They go out severally.