 | The Virgin Widow ; or, A Sicilian Summer |  |
ACT IV.
Scene I.
—The Palace at Palermo.—Ubaldo and the Chief Justiciary.Ubaldo.
This passion, Sir, for this doctor's daughter
which is lost, is, to speak privately, a kind of madness
in the King; and it is a madness which many moons
have shined upon; it is now nigh upon six since the
maiden was seen last, being, I think, the night of my
daughter's marriage, when Gerbetto, her father,
followed in Count Ugo's wake to Jerusalem. As for these
charges against the Count of Arona touching matters of
accompt and malversations, they are but colourable; the
true ground of the proceedings is a species of jealousy
and amorous rage against the Count, who, it is certain,
for fault of some employment that should better
commend his virtue and discretion, did very strangely carry
off this doctor's daughter and holds her somewhere in
concealment.
The Chief Justiciary.
The King, as you say, my Lord,
speaking privately, must be clean lunatic to make this
ado about a doctor's daughter; seeing that he might
disport himself at his pleasure with a hundred doctors'
daughters, not to say a hundred ladies of greater
estimation and nobility. Nevertheless, the lunacy of a King
must be respected, and I do continually what in me lies
to discover where the wench is concealed, and to take the
person of the Count.
Ubaldo.
Truly the Count shall be no loss at the
Council Board; for his words went for more than they
were worth with the King, and in matters of statecraft
he was but a pedant. I have my own conceit of this
matter, which squares not with the King's; and
notwithstanding the Count's exorbitancy in the carrying
off of a wench, I deem that he is more likely to be found
in an old track than in a new one. I would have you
set a watch upon the Lady Fiordeliza; and where the
hen-bird hath her nest you may look for the cock to
come.
The Chief Justiciary.
I will take your Lordship's
guidance. Know you where the Lady Fiordeliza may be
met with?
Ubaldo.
She has lately gone to sojourn for a season
with my daughter, who lives like a Nun since her
marriage, choosing for her nunnery the Castle of
Malespina, which fell to Count Ugo in satisfaction of the debt
due to him from the former Lord of it, that castaway,
Silisco. There, I think, she will be found, and he
there-abouts.
The Chief Justiciary.
There shall he be sought. If your
good Lordship will bring me to the King, I will crave his
signature to these warrants.
Scene II.
—The Castle of Malespina.—Rosalba and Fiordeliza.Fiordeliza.
Does nothing ever happen in this castle?
I have been gazing up the great avenue for an hour and
more, trying to think that there was a Knight Errant
pricking forward at the further end; but I saw only
two rabbits that crossed the road in a leisurely manner
on their affairs, and a squirrel which, for want of
something to do, jumped from one tree and flung itself into
the arms of another over the way. Look at Lion; he
sleeps away his second childhood at the gate, and if you
hear a grunt, 'tis that he dreams of his younger days,
when once upon a time he saw a stranger and barked.
For myself, my only companion is the ancient steward,
and his only topic is the wholesomeness of the air; a
commendation which I dare not deny, inasmuch as all
the persons I have seen beside himself, are ten serving
men whose joint ages are nine hundred and thirty-six.
Rosalba.
I wish the castle could be made more
cheerful for you; but how can it, the present Lord of it being
so far away on so perilous an enterprise, and the late
Lord .... Oh Fiordeliza! are the imaginations of my
heart very wicked when they wander after him?
Fiordeliza.
You know best; how should I take the
measure of their wickedness?
It is doubt and fear which keep them so
busy; if I did but know more about him I should think
less.
Fiordeliza.
Something, then, you do know?
Rosalba.
Shall I tell you? Yes. In a summer-house
which was once a temple—you can see the corner of it
yonder in the wood on the other side of the brook—is
a statue of Silisco, made when he was a boy. A statue
of Antinoüs stands opposite to it, and Silisco's is the
more beautiful of the two. On the evening after my
arrival, as I was looking upon it, I descried in the fold
where the hand joins the drapery, a thread of silk, fastened
to which was this scroll.
Fiordeliza.
Oh, let me see it.
Rosalba.
No, Fiordeliza, I cannot give it you: see,
you will tear it.
Fiordeliza.
(reading).
After this my infancy.
They shall wander far and wide,
By pleasure tempted first and tried;
Then by passion, which with wings
Shall lift them where the skylark sings;
Anguish and repentance next
Back shall drive them sore perplex'd.
Whither then? A grateful mind
A grateful work shall seek and find;
In an old man's shrivell'd veins,
Youthful veins were shamed indeed
If they bled not where his bleed.”
He has been here then.
Rosalba.
From the farmer on the demesne I learn,
that from about the time of Silisco's disappearance from
Palermo, there lodged at the farm a person of a light,
lofty, and graceful appearance, courteous and winning of
demeanour, who answers to Silisco in everything, except
that he was not gay, but pensive and retiring. He went
hence, no one knows whither, on the day of my arrival.
Fiordeliza.
I wish he would come back; is there no
hope of him?
Rosalba.
None, Fiordeliza, none.
Fiordeliza.
Why then I return to my former aspiration
and I wish for any Knight Errant that it may please
Providence to send us.
Rosalba.
You said once that flowers and sunshine were
enough for you.
Fiordeliza.
While the sun is hot and the flowers are
happy; but look at yonder sunflower on one side the
arch, how it hangs its head? and at the hollyhock leaning
over from the other; they are heart-broken about the last
carnation, poor thing! for it died yesterday; this gusty
wind, which is getting up, is to sing its dirge. Lo! See!
There is a Knight Errant!
Where?
Fiordeliza.
Behind that mountain-ash; when the wind
waves it you'll see him;—there—and I protest I believe
he is very handsome. He seems as if he did not know
which way to go. Send some one .....
Rosalba.
I see no Knight Errant.
Fiordeliza.
How blind you are! there—there.
Rosalba.
That, my dear? That is the scarecrow which
I told Girolamo to put there yesterday to keep the
blackbirds from the gourds.
Fiordeliza.
How can you be so unkind, Rosalba!
Everybody deceives me and I know the scarecrow was
put there on purpose—
Rosalba.
Nay, you deceived yourself now and I cannot
think that you have ever been deceived by another. I
should not quarrel with you for seeing that which is not,
if you would but believe in that which is; for, trust me,
it is when we are most faithless that we are most deceived.
Believe in Ruggiero, and you will have present peace and
a reward to come. To me experience has given a sharp
schooling against distrust, and I will never again let the
world's outcry and the masking of circumstance get the
better of a faithful instinct.
Fiordeliza.
I never did so yet; and when the world
and circumstance commended Ruggiero for a young
nobleman of excellent discretion and infinite sobriety,
my faithful instinct told me, there is something wicked
here.
Tell me truly, tell me truly,
What wilt thou be ere mid-day?
Who can say, who can say?
Flaunting forth in garments gay,
Darting beams unruly,
Darting beams unruly.
No, no; when he ran off with Lisana, it was but a
clenching and confirming.
Rosalba.
They disappeared together; whether he took
her away I know not; but if he did, it was for no evil
purpose.
Fiordeliza.
Oh no, none: doubtless he withdrew
with her to the desert for a season of fasting and
humiliation.
Enter Mariana.
Mariana.
Please you, my Lady, the Falconer sends
his duty and Alathiella has not touched her food for three
days; he is fearful she will die, and he says the Count
gave a hundred crowns for her.
Rosalba.
Poor bird! she doted on her master and has
never held up her head since she missed him; I fear she
will die, like some of her betters, of a broken heart.
Mariana.
He says he knows but of one thing to do
with her, which is to take her to the Conjurer at the Farm.
Fiordeliza.
The Conjurer? who is he?
Mariana.
Have you not heard of him, my Lady? 'Tis
the strangest story!
If there be anything strange left us here
below, I prithee tell of it; for I thought that everday
droppings had worn the world as smooth as a wash-ball.
How came a Conjurer to the Farm?
Mariana.
I will tell you, my Lady. It was the very
night of the going off of the wart on my thumb and the day
after the worm in Maria's nose put out horns, Dame Agata,
being in her first sleep, heard a great rushing of wings;
and so says she to her husband,—“Osporco, either the
Devil is hereabouts or there's a cockchafer;” and then
there came a knock; so, says she, “Wait to see if they
knock again, and if they do, put your blunderbuss out at
the window and ask if there's anything wanted.” Well,
the knock came a second time, and then a third; and
Osporco looked out and saw a tall man in a horseman's
cloak, which said he lacked a lodging; and as he was
but one by himself they let him in, and he has lodged
there ever since.
Rosalba.
But is he a Conjurer?
Mariana.
Surely, my Lady, no one but a Conjurer
was ever heard of to come flying through the air in that
way. And besides that, he is a magnificent man to look
at, and orders this and orders that, as though he held
the Powers of the Air at his bidding. And then he
wanders out by moonlight a-culling of simples; and he
heals the sick; and they come to him from ten miles
round; though Father Fungoso tells them it were better
to die and be saved than be healed and be damned. But
the Falconer says that, be it as it may with us, Alathiella
has no soul to trouble her and she may take any cure she
can come by.
Fiordeliza.
Well, I do not believe he is a Conjurer, or
that it will hurt us to heal us. Rosalba, I am sick.
Rosalba.
Of what, my love? of solitude or of my
society?
Fiordeliza.
I must send for this stranger.
Rosalba.
Oh, then I know what ails you; it is
curiosity.
Fiordeliza.
I say I am sick; very grievous sick.
Mariana, send word of it to the farm, and say that the
stranger must come with all the speed he can.
Mariana.
I will say, with what speed he can in the
way of nature; but he must not come rushing through the
air with wings.
Fiordeliza.
In the way of nature will serve; I shall live
till he comes in a natural way. But I will give the orders
myself. Tell Girolamo to attend me in the conservatory.
Come, Rosalba.
Scene III.
—The Farmstead at Malespina.—Ruggiero alone.Ruggiero.
Comes not so like a bridegroom from his bed,
And nature greets him with a changing cheek:
That shrank before but swells to meet them now;
The plane-tree leaf is piebald with black blots;
Upon the snowberry-bush the big drops bead;
And the goose plants starr'd patterns of her foot
In the moist clay. Swift, changeful year, pass on;
Sweet was the savour of thy prime, and sweet
Thy fruitage should be; but it strews the earth.
Good-morrow, friend; the air has some taste now of
the sharpness of the season.
Osporco.
Ay, Sir; the cat sits in the sunniest
windowpane and the bees have left the rosier for the ivy. Well,
every man his own sunshine, is what I say; and your
friend that left us at shearing-time .... Ah! he was a
friendly-hearted gentleman—and very noble, Sir, very
noble; you would have thought yourself at court; he
would hand a chair to my wife as though she were the
Queen of the land: and when he went away, my
daughters wept like waterspouts—I thought some of them
would have died of it, and I have but thirteen. My Lady
at the Castle (God be good to her!) often asks me about
him, and I tell her if I were a Countess I would give him
one hundred ducats a year to sit over against me at
mealtimes, just to look at.
Ruggiero.
Then might she forget her food and be
famished unawares. I think I know whither our friend
is gone; and, barring accidents of the road and the
hazards of long journeyings in foreign parts, it may not
be long ere we see him.
Osporco.
Tell that to my youngest daughter and you
shall see her quiver again with joy like the tail of a lamb
that sucks. But I forget my errand. There is an old
man at the cottage, Sir, which cannot be persuaded but
that you can make him young again if you please, he has
heard so much of your skill in curing divers diseases;
and there is a young woman that has a quandary.
Ruggiero.
A what?
Osporco.
A quandary, she calls it; but, indeed, I think
it is a crack somewhere. And Gambo, the grazier, hath
brought you his wife that hath the ringworm on her
finger and the rattlesnake in her tongue, and prays you
would take and cure her: but, indeed, if you cure her he
cares not that you should take her, and if you take her
he cares not that you should cure her.
Ruggiero.
You are merry, my friend.
Osporco.
The frosty air, Sir. But, to speak soberly,
there are at the cottage no fewer than fifteen men,
women, and children, which think you can cure anything,
and have come to be cured of their simplicities.
Ruggiero.
I wlll attend them. I have said often and
I say it again, that my doctor's lore is but the scattered
lights that came across me in my studies and
meditations. But if they can reach no better skill, they may
command mine.
Scene IV.
—A lane in the Neighbourhood of the Castle of Malespina—A Provost and two Marshalsmen.Provost.
We must by no means follow him in; for
being the castle of the great Chamberlain's daughter,
'twere an offence to enter it.
1st Marshalsman.
On the King's errand?
Provost.
Better for such as we to look to the
Chamberlain than to the King. If a man would prosper, he
should be more nimble to please those near above him
than those far above him. Even were the King to
remember a small service, it should hardly fall in his
way to befriend us.
2nd Marshalsman.
He would not so much as know
our names.
Provost.
Moreover, it is better to do no man a
displeasure than to do any man a good turn. For you may
be sure of reprisals, but who can count upon rewards?
2nd Marshalsman.
Truly there are ten revengeful men
for one that is thankful.
Provost.
Therefore, though we could take the Count
no other way, I would not follow him into the castle;
but if we watch for him as he comes out we cannot miss
him; and if we do not tarry long we may get half-way
through the forest with him before nightfall.
1st Marshalsman.
Sleeping at St. Elmo's in the forest
to-night, we should reach the court on Wednesday.
Then we are to ensconce
ourselves here.
Provost.
Behind yonder busher, close to the gate.
Scene V.
—The Castle of Malespina.—Fiordeliza and Mariana.Fiordeliza.
Not if he came back to you weeping, and
went on his knees to be forgiven?
Mariana.
No, my Lady; if Giovanni were to do so by
me, I should say, once gone and gone for ever.
Fiordeliza.
'Twere to be of a most unchristian spirit, if
he were truly penitent and you should not forgive him.
Mariana.
I would forgive him: but I would kill him
first.
Fiordeliza.
That were indeed to temper justice with
mercy; only the justice should be sharp and the mercy
something tardy. Come, Mariana; you are in the bud
still,—green and hard. I remember, I, too, when I was
young ...
Mariana.
Why, my Lady, eighteen is not old.
Fiordeliza.
When I was young I was of your way of
thinking; I used to say to myself, You and I, my good
Fiordeliza, will not trouble our hearts about mankind,
unless they should cling to us and cleave to us and lick
the dust from our feet: but change grows out of time as
a plant grows out of the earth, and in a year or two we
are no more like what we were than the blade is like the
seed. Adversity tames us, Mariana, as winter tames the
birds. Do I look pale and sick?
Mariana.
No, my Lady; a little pale, it may be, but
not sick.
Fiordeliza.
That is not as it should be; the Conjurer
will not believe me, and he will be here anon. Shut out
the light a little. Now go fetch me my scarf, to muffle
me up.
And wretchedly I do the imitation!
Ruggiero! oh Ruggiero! bitterer tears
Than tenderer women weep I weep for thee;
And thou, with all thine insight, never saw'st
Their source, it lies so secret and so deep.
Oh, much I wrong'd thee! many a time and oft
I wounded thee through petulance and pride,
And love's delight in sporting with its prey,
And wayward wilfulness; but though a child
In frowardness and mischief, I was still
A woman in my love—and, oh, compare
Man's love with that, and see how thin the thread,
How frail the tissue! Me nor wounds nor slights,
Insults nor injuries, nor life nor death,
Could e'er have sunder'd. Yes, 'tis gone, 'tis past,—
Past and he knows not and will never know
What treasures of the mine were hidden beneath
The wild-flowers and the weeds! For ever gone!
Methinks that I could weep no less for him
It is so great and deep. But what cares he?
He has Lisana's. Had he been but cold
I could have borne it—but so false, so false!
Re-enter Mariana.
Mariana.
The Conjurer has come.
Fiordeliza.
Oh, has he? Here—
Look—wrap this round me; so,—now bring him in.
[Exit Mariana.
If he should prove a soothsayer indeed
He'll draw the curtain from this mystery
And tell me both what present harbour holds
Ruggiero, and what fate the future breeds
For him and me. I trust it is no sin
Seeking to soothsayers in such straits as mine;
But if it be, I must. Yet I shall blush
To question him. I'll turn away my face
And seem to be, what verily I believe
I shall be soon, by mortal sickness seized.
Then, after, I'll revive.
[Lies down on a Couch.
Enter Ruggiero.
Ruggiero.
Softly, she sleeps.
Oh, blessed Sleep! what art can vie with thine
In healing of the sick! oh, pious Sleep,
Sister of mercy! nurse her back to health.
She stirs! Have I awaken'd her?
Some spell
Of wondrous potency he mutters now;
For at his voice there comes a gushing up
Of twenty bubbling springs that fill my breast
With joys of other days.—Sir, if your art
Can track diseases to their caves, I pray you
Pronounce of mine, and whether in the mind
It kennels or the body; for the print
Might either way incline me.
Ruggiero.
Fiordeliza!
Fiordeliza.
Who calls me? Now I know that I am mad.
What voice is that?
Ruggiero.
The voice of one who once
Could please you, and though that may no more be,
Would still bestead you.
Fiordeliza.
'Tis his voice! Ruggiero!
Ruggiero.
Forgive me, Fiordeliza, if the charm
Of some deceitful hours too quickly past,
Too slowly parted with, misled my steps
To haunt your whereabout. Forgive me, you;
I, should I minister to your present need,
Would then forgive myself. What ails you?
Fiordeliza.
Me?
A headache—nothing—nothing you can cure.
You minister to me! I thank you,—no:
If need were I could die; but, praised be God,
I am not in extremity. A quip
For all that ails me.
Ruggiero.
Then the word was false
They brought?
Fiordeliza.
'Twas falser than the father of lies
If it cried “help” to you.
Ruggiero.
No need of this;
Of vehement disavowal there's no need
To undeceive me had I thought you kind.
I have but to recall the past.
Fiordeliza.
What past?
Speak out your quarrel with the past; and I
Will tell you of my quarrel with the present.
I was kind once unless my memory errs,
And if I seem'd to change without a cause
What since has follow'd shows that cause enough
There might have been; for aught I know, there was.
How read you then the history of the past
To make me seem too harsh?
Ruggiero.
How read I it?
I read it but as they that run may read;
A tale of no uncustomary kind:
The love whose dawn beheld its earliest glow
Reflected, as it rose to perfect day
Saw the bright colouring of the vaporous cloud
Grow pale and disappear; my springing love,
So long as it was pleasant, light, and free,
Was prosperous; but it pass'd too soon to passion;
I could not match it with your sportive moods
'Till garlands should be conjured into chains;
I could not lightly agitate and fan
The airier motions of an amorous fancy,
And by a skill in blowing hot and cold
And changeful dalliance, quicken you with doubts,
And keep you in the dark till you should kindle.
I was not ignorant that arts like these
Avail, when bare simplicity of love
Falls flat; but be they strong or weak, these means
Were none of mine; and though my heart should break,
(As humbly I believe it will not,) still
More willingly would I suffer by such arts
Than practise them.
Fiordeliza.
Have I then practised arts?
One art I know,—to judge men by their acts
And not their seemings. I should not be loth
Some faults to own, Ruggiero, did I know
That he to whom I own'd them would own his;
But there should be a justice in confession;
Yours is the greater fault; confess you first.
Ruggiero.
Most fully, frankly, freely, from the heart
Will I pour out confessions; I am proud,
Inflexible, undutiful, self-will'd,
In anger violent, of a moody mind,
And latterly morose; what further? sad,
Severe, vindictive.
How confession loves
To fight with shadows whilst the substance flies;
You have not said that in a treacherous hour
You stain'd another's honour and your own.
Ruggiero.
That which I have not said I have not done.
Fiordeliza.
Where is Lisana?
Ruggiero.
Wheresoe'er she be
Her innocence is with her.
Fiordeliza.
But where is she?
Ruggiero.
Secrets that are mine own you may command;
This is another's.
Fiordeliza.
You refuse to tell.
Ruggiero.
It is but for a season I refuse;
I may not tell you till St. Michael's Eve;
But then I may.
Fiordeliza.
Gramercy for the boon!
Seek, Sir, henceforth the love of those you trust
And never more seek mine. Sir, fare you well!
Excuse the blunder which beguiled you hither;
And hie you, if conveniently you can,
To some more distant spot than whence you came.
Ruggiero.
To you and to your vicinage, farewell!
The refuge that is most remote is best:
A prison at Palermo not the worst.
[Exit.
Fiordeliza.
A prison! And the King, as some believe,
Is greedy for his life. Alas! alas!
And nowhere else perchance could he be safe;
And I have driven him thence, and he will rush ...
Oh, look! I see his blood upon my hands!
Come back, Ruggiero,—dear, beloved Ruggiero!
Return—return—I knew not what I said—
Come back to me—forgive me—oh, come back!
[Exit.
Enter Fra Martino and Girolamo.
Fra Martino.
Where is the Lady Fiordeliza? These
letters, Girolamo, bring us the fatal tidings which we
have so long expected. Your honoured master died at
Jerusalem that very hour that we were sadly celebrating
his birthday here at Malespina.
Girolamo.
Alas! we seemed to know it then, and the
letters that tell of it now might be thought but to certify
what was seen darkly before.
Fra Martino.
The Chamberlain writes me that the
Countess must repair to Palermo with all convenient
speed, for certain ceremonies which the law enjoins. But
where is the Lady Fiordeliza? She will be of more
comfort to my Lady than I.
Enter Mariana.
Mariana.
Oh piteous spectacle! oh rogues and slaves!
That I should live to see it!
Mariana!
Mariana.
Oh, shame upon you! Shame! to stand like stocks
And see him taken! Do you hear her shrieks?
She'll die of this—I know she will—oh shame!
There! hark! she shrieks again!
Fra Martino.
Who shrieks? be calm;
Say what has happen'd?
Mariana.
They have seized the Count.
Fra Martino.
What Count?
Mariana.
His Lordship of Arona.
Fra Martino.
Where?
Mariana.
There—not a bowshot from the Castle gate—
Before my Lady's eyes.
Girolamo.
You say not so!
Where were my men?
Mariana.
Your men indeed! What men? You have no men;
Twenty bald heads I saw put out at windows,
And gouty feet went shuffling over floors;
But as to manhood, there is more in me
Than in a hundred of such mummies. Oh!
Had there been one stout-hearted wench to back me!
Fra Martino.
Run, Girolamo—send a summons round
To all the Count's retainers. Oh, those cries!
Go, take her to her chamber.—Is she there?
| The Virgin Widow ; or, A Sicilian Summer | |