 | The Italian Wife |  |
SCENE I.
—Interior of the Ducal Palace.Enter Giovanni
I am fill'd with dark misgivings. Even now
Methought the page I met avoided me;
And that the knave to whom I gave our horses,
Look'd strangely at me. Sanzio's absence is
Alarming. Has aught happen'd in the palace?
Or, as I fear, has treachery been abroad?
Whatever be th'event, my course is clear;
And so, as Heaven can witness, is my heart:
Why need he fear, whose rule is honesty?—
Count Beltran!
Enter Beltran.
BELTRAN.
Ha! Signor, you are well met.
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You're but a truant reveller, my lord,
To quit us at this hour.
BELTRAN.
Not I—not I:
I can partake my fill—no stinted one—
And go; but truly I have no pretence
To the high glory of those Cavalieros,
Who, having beat the rounds, will sit it out
Till morn. I ne'er shall be a true night-scourer
Like you, sweet Signor! I must sleep, i' faith.
GIOVANNI.
Night-scourer?—Count, I understand you not.
BELTRAN.
Or will not, Signor? cannot is as good;
For I can wait until your wisdom finds it.
Perchance the problem may be solved hereafter;
'Tis pity that the banquet's broken up.
GIOVANNI.
The banquet broken up?
BELTRAN.
Ay, sir; we lack'd
Your presence, and another's, whom I name not:
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At least it ought—Is that not your opinion?
Give you good even, Signor.
GIOVANNI.
Count, one word
Before you go. Your words I understand not,
Nor well your tone. I am no quarreller, sir;
But if you mean a sneer, I'll haply find
Fit comment for your text.
BELTRAN.
You are learned, Signor;
And might, methinks—so manifold a linguist—
Evolve a thing so simple.
GIOVANNI.
Sir, permit me
To say again, I am no quarreller—
Mark me—but yet no monk. If insult be
Your meaning, as I think, in such a case,
There's but one argument.
BELTRAN.
Ay?—Marry sir,
I'm curious to see it. Is it aught
Like that?
[Half drawing his Sword.
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FRANKENDALL.
My lord, I am sorry to see this.
You quarrel, Signor, in the Ducal Palace!
GIOVANNI.
I seek it not; but if a breach is sought,
I'll find both time and place.
BELTRAN.
As you please, Signor.
FRANKENDALL.
I earnestly beg conference with your highness.
GIOVANNI.
I'll be no bar. I'm at your highness' bidding.
BELTRAN.
Signor, your servant.
[Exit Giovanni.
Ceremonious Pandar!
What do'st thou want? Why did'st thou interrupt us?
What ghost hast thou seen now, thou look'st so grave on't?
FRANKENDALL.
My lord, my lord, pull not more troubles down;
They may rain fast enough upon our heads!
We are alone. I must be brief, or better
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Oh! I have heard a tale, my lord, which chills
My very tongue.
BELTRAN.
A tale?—What hast thou heard?
FRANKENDALL.
Would I could tell it in a word! for waste
Of time is murder now; at least it may be.
Just ere the feast was broken up, when you
Held conference with the Duke, the villain Sanzio
Buzz'd in mine ear, as still such reptiles do,
To curry worthless consequence, some tale
Of Prince Ignatio's secret. All the while
I heeded little, haply, being intent
On Leonora's bearing, and her eyes,
Which shot suspicion, mix'd with smother'd rage;
When suddenly a sound fell on my hearing,
Which fix'd me in attention, as if Gorgon
Had hiss'd me into stone.
The serpent told me
This poor unfortunate, then a girl, was brought
To Florence by a woman, her protectress—
Or else abducer—in mysterious manner,
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BELTRAN.
The sack of Modena!
FRANKENDALL.
'Twas so, my lord;
You start; but yet be patient to the end.
—Their ducats, of the which they had some store,
It seems, were spent soon by a paramour,
Who left the hag, and her supposed daughter,
To starve. In short, the old duenna died;
But ere she died, it seems, at divers times
Threw out dark intimations, that her charge
Was not that which she seem'd; and there she sprung
Pre-eminent in grace, in form, in lustre,
Like some stray seedling which the winds have wafted
Far from the garden of its parent flowers;
A solitary bud. How Prince Ignatio
Found this deserted and most exquisite gem,
It were too long to tell.
BELTRAN.
What was the name
Of this accursed hag?
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She was call'd Zetti;
So, at the least, she call'd herself. Her tongue
Spoke her a Piedmontese.
BELTRAN.
Where would'st thou lead me?
What horror's this, within whose sudden folds
Thou would'st entangle me?—Thou art my friend;
At least I think so; and thine honesty
Would not complot against me; howsoe'er,
Thou may'st have wish'd that, which is done, were not.
Thou said'st, “so, at the least, she call'd herself.”
Who calls her otherwise?—Were there any doubts?
FRANKENDALL.
There were, my noble lord; yea, more than doubts,
Or Sanzio lies. He says, that he discover'd
(For the smooth hypocrite, as he well knows how,
Did cant himself into her confidence,
And filch'd the secret in a careless hour,)
Her true name was Letitia.
BELTRAN.
What?
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Spinelli.
BELTRAN.
'Tis false! 'Tis most incredible—impossible;
Unless blind chance hath cast her film, and found
Eyesight o'th'sudden, and ta'en side against me!
There has been whispering.—Ay; some plotting knave
Has fashion'd and adapted this vile tale,
To scare off interference—To alarm
My feelings—I do see't. They are too late.
Thus do I spurn the lie. If there be traitors,
Woe to their heads.
FRANKENDALL.
My noble lord, you do
Your pleasure. I am not a whisperer;
Whether the knowledge come by craft or sorcery,
I am no traitor. Whence, then, could it come?
If your insinuations point at me,
Your highness shall permit me to say this,
That both mistrust and threats might well be spared.
I am no man either to feign or fear.
BELTRAN.
Thou art not, Frankendall; and I have wrong'd thee.
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Where is the Princess?
FRANKENDALL.
Ah! my lord; where is she?
The menials did confusedly deny her
To my inquiries; cold and short, but strange;
Fear and astonishment lock'd fast their lips;
They've found what stuff she's made of, e'en already:
Nor can I clue the villain Sanzio;
The Princess sent for him; he is not here.
Where'er he be, may apoplexy strike him,
Or swift paralysis wither him up,
And Heaven may still shew merciful!
BELTRAN.
What mean'st thou?
I charge thee, speak.
FRANKENDALL.
My lord, my noble lord,
Forgive my frankness; but you have unleash'd
Upon this trail—a tigress. Oh! beware
She tear not your own bosom.
BELTRAN.
It is rent
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I am struck down.
FRANKENDALL.
Oh! my dear lord, this business
Was not the work for you. Believe me, 'twas not.
Your highness is disorder'd. I conjure you,
Rally your spirits. Something must be done,
And quickly.
BELTRAN.
Lead me where, do what, thou wilt;
But do not blame me—do not gaze upon me—
I am not fit to meet an honest eye.
We yet may be in time to save her—whom?
I dare not trust my tongue to utter it—
Her I would fain have murder'd.
FRANKENDALL.
My dear lord,
All may be well yet.
BELTRAN.
Why, Heaven grant it may!
I shrink from seeing what I still must know.
Let us haste, Frankendall. O, fly, my friend.
[Exeunt.
| The Italian Wife | |