 | The Wife |  |
336
ACT V.
SCENE THE LAST.
—A Tent.Leonardo and Soldiers discovered.
Leon.
Indeed, a glorious close! Our brief campaign
Has pass'd like sport upon a summer's day,
Without a cloud—a game, where fortune lay
All on one lucky side—and that was ours!
Give order for the striking of our tents
At earliest dawn—I'll but salute the sun,
And straight for Mantua!
[Soldiers go out.
O sweet the sight
Of his dear native land to him, who brings
A brow, with honours laden, back to it!
Dear Mantua, that twice has given me life;
Once in the breath which first I drew in it,
Now in the gift, without the having which
That breath were given in vain! How does my wife?
Bright crown of my bright fortunes! O, my heart—
How does my love?—The plume of victory
Though won, I wear not till I see it nod
In the bright mirror of her glistening eye.
When shall that be?—To-morrow?—Blest to-morrow!
Would—would thou wast to-day!
Enter Second Officer.
Officer.
Your cousin, and the nobles who compose
Your highness' council, with your confessor,
And advocate of state, attend without—in haste, and new
From Mantua.
Leon.
The tidings of our truce
Can scarce have reach'd them, yet? Bad news flies quick,
I deem'd not good could boast so swift a wing.
Admit them.
Enter Ferrardo, Florio, Antonio, Lorenzo, and Nobles.
Welcome, cousin—Welcome, all!
Note of our victory, I see, has reach'd you;
And ye are come to give me greeting, which
I gladly should have journey'd to receive.
But where's my duchess? She had been, methinks,
A fair addition to your cavalcade—
You might have brought her with you.
[To Ferrardo, who drops his eyes.
Strangers yet!—
Nay, then, the fault, I'm positive, is yours.
Had but you dropp'd a hint of your intent,
Given but a glance of invitation to her;
She would have ta'en it, as from a thoughtful friend,
337
To bear you company.
Fer.
Your highness' pardon;
A man can't help his doubts, e'en if he would;
And I have grounds, and solid ones, for mine.
Leon.
Fie, fie, offend in any other thing,
And ere you ask you're pardon'd! Here are friends—
Friends of my love's and mine—tried friends!—and, yet,
Not friends in this—to leave my wife behind,
Who loves me best; when they, in zeal of love
Are here to give me joy of my high fortune.
How does my lady, friend? [To Lor.]
How does she, father?
Why comes she not to greet me? You should be
Her harbingers—a step or two before?
Or bring ye charge from her to expedite
My long'd return to Mantua? as if
My heart were not remembrancer enough!
For never speed me, Heaven, if life seems life,
Until I stand in her sweet sight again.
[Ferrardo and Florio whisper
Why whisper ye?
[Antonio and Lorenzo whisper.
And ye do whisper, too—
Hah! By your looks, I noted not before,
Ye come to tell me of disaster!—Speak!
The sum on't? Is it heavy?—What is it?
Come, name me the amount! Is it my dukedom?
Or what?—'Tis nothing of my wife?—Say that—
And say ought else which stern misfortune wills!
Blow wind! mount wave!—No rock to shut me thence,
I see the strand to run my bark ashore,
And smile upon my shipwreck.
Fer.
'Tis of her
We come to speak.
Leon.
'Tis no mishap to her—
For you appear to speak in wrath, not grief.
If what you come to say affects reproach—
Reproach of her! speak out!—Speak ye the truth,
Ye cannot speak in anger!
Fer.
That our duty
Permitted us to leave you in that mind!
Leon.
Pshaw! do thy duty!—be it duty—'Tis
Beyond your power of other mind to make me.
Fer.
Thy lady is false to thee.
Leon.
[Drawing.]
Thy tongue is false
To thee!—It puts thy life in jeopardy;
Recall thy words or die!
Florio.
My gracious liege,
He speaks the truth!
Leon.
Thou too!
Lor.
Your highness' patience.
What speaks your cousin, fain would I deny,
But cannot.
338
Sirs! I only doubt which way
To point my sword!
Ant.
Your highness—
Leon.
What say'st thou?
Speak out, thou reverend man!—There only wants
Thy charitable tongue, to prove how prone
Are mankind to allege defect, where e'en
The shadow on't was never seen before!
Say on!—Yet, ere thou speak'st convince thyself
That she, who loved me, when a noteless man;
And loved me still, when she believed me lost;
And loved me on, when woo'd by rank and wealth;
And, ere she'd yield to their enforcéd suit,
Was ready to become the bride of death!—
Convince thyself, I say, that finding me—
Finding me still returning love for love,
With rank, revenues, that she dream'd not of;
And wedded to me, mistress of my all,
This moment—Yet the very next, she swerved
And cast herself, and me, and all away!
Impossible!—Unimaginable! Now,
Say on and shame thyself!
Ant.
My gracious liege,
Restrain your ire at what you would not hear,
And audience give to what you ought to hear.
If facts, avouch'd by eyes, may be believed,
I say, that would not say it—thou art wrong'd!
Peruse that paper—There you have our grounds
For saying what we say.
Lor.
O read, my liege!
Think, 'tis our duty speaks, and what it says,
Says at the cost of our unfeignéd love,—
Which, sooner than mischance should undermine
Thy towering happiness, would be itself
The seaward mole, to meet the rushing wave
And break its fury ere it bursts on thee!
But wind and tide together setting in
Will, sometimes, overwhelm all obstacles—
So needs must fall this heavy surge on thee
Which we let o'er, in drowning.
Leon.
I read it, sir,
Not that I do fear it—or give credence to it.
Fer.
Your highness sees how hinges fact on fact.
Leon.
No!—I see nothing!
Fer.
Nothing!
Leon.
Not a jot
That might not be contrived, and against which
Improbability doth not set its face!
My lord—my lord—you love me not—nor you—
Nor you.—I doubt if any loves me here!
I doubt all things but that my wife is true!
I will to Mantua, this very hour,
To crave her pardon that I listen'd to you.
339
My lord, she's fled from Mantua.
Leon.
She is what?
Fer.
She's fled from Mantua, as also is
Her paramour.
Leon.
Recall that word, or else
Thou makest me do a murder! Is she fled?
Cousin, thou murder'st me! Speaks he the truth?
Gainsay him, and I heed not what ye say!
Cousin, thou didst but hear that she was fled,
Thou dost not speak from thine own knowledge?
Fer.
Else
I had not spoken.
Leon.
Fled?—In company?—
Fer.
What else could I infer?
Leon.
Thou but inferr'st it,
Come then, all's well!—Let her be fled or not,
She has fled perhaps to friends, perhaps to me!
Enter Second Officer, with Mariana.
Second Officer.
My liege, the duchess.
Leon.
Ha! I told you so!
Welcome, my loved!—my wrong'd!—my innocent!
Welcome, my loyal wife!
Mari.
My liege, stand off!
Embrace me at the peril of your honour!
Your cousin here?—The count?—Your confessor?
And he?—and these the members of your council?
My tongue may spare its labour then! Yet whose
So fit to tell my husband, he's the lord
Of a dishonour'd bed,—as hers, whose heart,—
That ne'er admitted thought of man save him,
Knew not its part that was not given to him,
Before itself as dearer heart set him,
Sun, earth, life, health, desire, knew nought but him,—
Yet could not guard the jewel, paramount,
Of him it loved so well, but by an act—
Without a motive—monstrous to belief—
Which reason unto madness would refer—
Nay doubt that even madness' self could do!
Whom it so loved, did spoil, and bring at once
From proudest wealth to basest penury!
Leon.
No!—Thou didst never swerve!—Truth dwells in thee!
Thou art all radiant with it!
Mari.
Not a doubt!
My trusting lord! my loved and honour'd lord!
[Throws herself at his feet.
Leon.
[Endeavouring to raise her.]
Up to my heart!
Mari.
No—by thy love!
Leon.
I say
I'll have thee up!—Thy place is here!
Mari.
[Preventing him.]
My lord!
340
My accusation? Let me see it. [Reads.]
True
From first to last.—The fact's not otherwise
Than here set down. Wouldst take me to thy heart,
And this against me?
Leon.
Yes!
Mari.
Nay, speak again,
And think before you speak! Say that the duke,
Your cousin, loves you not! Say that the count
Still bears you grudge!—Say these, the members of
Your highness' council, are suborn'd by them!—
Here stand two honest men who take their side!
Wouldst take me to thy heart, and this against me?
Leon.
I would.
Mari.
And if you would, you should not do it!
Leon.
'Tis a plot!
Mari.
It is!—
But thou, my lord, must prove it to be one!
Else it hath oped a chasm, 'twixt thee and me,
Which, till thou close it up, or bridge it o'er
With stable-footed truth, that all may trust,
May not be cross'd.—Leap it—and all is lost!
Leon.
Canst give me clue to find it out?
Mari.
Methinks
I can. Thy cousin counsell'd me to fly,
To 'scape, as he alleged, the penalty
Of my imputed crime,—but, as I thought,
To furnish of that crime conclusive proof!—
Supplied me, too, with ample store of gold!
Leon.
Traitor! I see it all—and do not you?
My cousin and my subject though thou art,
To solemn mortal combat I defy thee!
That from thy lips, at point of my true sword,
Admission I extort of an attempt
To slur my lady's honour!—for thy soul
No shriving knows, no healing speech with priest,
Till by confession it heaves off that sin.
Come forth!
Mari.
No! no! let me be guilty thought,
But, oh! in peril, place not thou thy life!
Or let me prove, myself, my innocence
By ordeal of poison or of fire.
Do aught but put thy life in jeopardy!
Leon.
And she could injure me!
Fer.
It is the trick
Of lapséd virtue to affect excess,
Which sound desert would sooner suffer wrong,
Than claim pretension to.
Leon.
It is the trick
Of villany to lie! Come forth!
Fer.
Lead on!
Mari.
[Embracing his knees.]
My lord! my lord! my husband!
Leon.
Loose thine arms!
341
It is mine heart-strings hold thee, not mine arms.
Wilt snap them? If thou wilt, thou hast a right,
They are thine own!—but wilt thou use that right?
Leon.
Take her away!
Mari.
When fails our dearest friend,
There may be refuge with our direst foe.
[Rushing up to Fer.
Oh! why art thou my foe? how lies my peace
Between thy good and thee? Is it thy good
To slay my peace? Wilt thou not look upon me?
Alas! thine eyes are better turn'd away!
For gazing on them, human as they are,
I have a feeling of a heart of stone!
And from my hopeless tears the spirit flies,
That frozen on my lids I feel them hang!
Thou rock! Affliction, did I plead to thee—
I turn'd from thee, Despair!
Leon.
Come forth!
Fer.
Lead on!
Enter St. Pierre behind.
Mari.
No way to hold thee from thy bloody purpose?
Stop!—Thou wilt do a murder! Art thou sure
Thy wife is innocent? Thou know'st not what
Thou go'st to do! Whate'er befals, the sin
Of all the deed 'tis I must answer for—
The hapless wife that on thy house and thee
Brought ruin!—Have compassion on her soul,
If not upon thy own!—Yet hear me!—Stop—
I'll put an end to all!—I am—
Fer.
Guilty!
Mari.
No!
To save thy life—my own—and his that's heart
Unto my life—I cannot speak the lie!
Leon.
And if thou couldst, I'd not believe thy tongue—
Though Truth's as soon would lie.
Fer.
No tongue on earth
Can clear her—She is false!—To eyes and ears
Convicted!—She is an adultress!
St. P.
[Rushing forward.]
Liar!
She is as true as thou art false!
Fer.
A caitiff
That robb'd me once, and put my life in peril—
But I'll be quits with him!
Leon.
Prevent him!
[Several interfere, but not until St. Pierre is wounded.
St. P.
Not
Quite home, your grace—yet near, I hope, enough!
Your highness, 'tis a dying man you hear;
Your wife is innocent!
Fer.
A poor gallant
That would not say as much!
St. P.
Your highness, read
This paper!—Hold his grace!
342
'Twas forced from me.
St. P.
Only the signature, my lord—The rest
Was voluntary—word for word, what fell
From his own lips!
Fer.
You pass'd the night beside her—
Alone—none near you—within whisper of her!
Find pen to draw 'cross that!
St. P.
I pray your highness,
Wears not your wife a little rustic cross,
Carved by no craftsman's hand?
Mari.
I do!—the same
I show'd thee when we spoke together.
St. P.
'Twas
Your brother gave it you.
Mari.
It was.
St. P.
I think,
Some fifteen years ago?
Mari.
So many years
Have pass'd since that dear brother gave it me.
I was a child then—he almost a man!
St. P.
You woke one morning, did you not, and saw
That brother standing, weeping by your bed:
He bless'd you, put that cross upon your neck,
Kiss'd you, and bade farewell to you, and went—
You never saw him more. Pray you come near!
O God! my mother's face!
Mari.
My brother—Ambrose!
St. P.
Yes, Mariana!
Fer.
It's a masque, your highness,
They've got up to amuse you!
Leon.
Hence with him!
The count too!
[Soldiers bear off Ferrardo and Count.
Mari.
Brother, I said I knew thee! Thou forgott'st
Thy sister's little face to woman's grown;
But I remember'd thine enough to feel
'Twas something once had been familiar-dear!
O that my memory had better kept
What my heart treasured—thou didst prove how well!
Wilt thou not speak to me? Hear'st thou, my brother?
St. P.
Our father's cottage, Mariana!
Mari.
Ha!
Thou faintest!
St. P.
No—it is nothing, sister!
What makes thee look so pale and vanishing?
Don't go from me!—Alas—'tis I am going!
I have confess'd myself! Pray for me, sister!
Mine eyes have lost thee!—But I feel thee still,
That's comfort!—yet—I have thee in my arms—
Thou fadest too from them—fast! fast!—Thou art gone!
[St. Pierre dies.
END OF THE WIFE.
| The Wife | |