 | The Student of Padua |  |
SCENE I.
—Lodoro's servants, beppo and others, arranging the room.Enter Lodoro.
Lod.
—Come, bustle, sirrahs! Zounds! d'ye think
We pay our servants to be idle?
Bep.
(Aside.
By Saint Mark!
I'd rather earn a penny civilly,
Than dollars given with curses and with kicks.)
2d. Ser.
—Beshrew me, but a crabbed master's curse
Enough for any servant's sins!
Lod.
Come, sirrahs!
Bep.
—Signor, the company arrives.
Lor.
Well, bustle, sir!
Zounds! you're asleep.
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Lorenzo, welcome met!
A very, very hearty welcome, sir,
As I'd extend to any man in Venice.
(Aside.
I thought the vulgar fool would be the first.)
Lor.
—Thanks, signor, I esteem you as you speak.
We've been much less acquainted these late years,
Than when, i'the freakish days of friendly boyhood,
We robb'd the Doge's orchard, and, to school
Went, hand-in-hand, a munching o'the spoil.
Lod.
—Well, signor, come, dwell not on these remembrances,
They do recall—
Lor.
Things that I'm proud of, sir!
My lowly origin, my—
Lod.
Ay, 'tis true!
'Tis over true, Lorenzo. Hear me, sir.
I estimate you higher than you wot of.
No merchant here hath track'd the devious steps
Of commerce, thro' her dirty shifts, and borne
A more untainted character than yours.
Your word, sir—nay be patient, sir!—your word
Is money on exchange. Your honor's ne'er
Been pawn'd for interest. Now—mark the sequel!—
The senators, at my solicitation,
Intend conferring on your shoulders all
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Entreat a very trivial return.
Lor.
—Name it.
Lod.
Report hath whisper'd, you retain,
Within the law's unyielding grasp, the lands
And palaces of the Lord Barbarigo?
Lor.
—Sir, I make no disguise of, thro' my agent,
Lending much money on that noble's 'states.
Lod.
—He's riotous in dissipation.
Lor.
So
'Tis rumour'd; and, for this, I have withheld
All further means to feed his follies.
Lod.
(Aside.
I
Remov'd that difficulty.) Will you speak
Aside with me?
Julian and Augustus enter from different sides.
Ha, Julian! welcome here!
In good time, too, a youth of mine—Augustus,
This gentleman's the Signor Julian, boy,
A Paduan student—son of my old friend.
I pray you make his friendship.
Exeunt Lodoro and Lorenzo.
Jul.
I enjoy
An honor I have long solicited.
Aug.
—O, sir, the very enviable repute,
All Venice trumpets of your growing fame,
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The walk of genius through this merchant world,
Is something we should follow with delight.
Jul.
—Your scholar'd tongue hath learn'd the courtier trick
Of flattery betimes—
Aug.
You know, you feel,
You must confess, I only speak the truth!
Jul.
—Well, well! I long to be what thy too hasty
And generous temper makes me out already;
But, sir, I also know the long neglect,
Indifference, doubt, suspicion, slow applause,
Envy and opposition I must brave,
For years, e'er I can be the man you think me—
The man that for himself is lov'd of men.
But, come! we mock our youth with aged cares.
I beg you entertain me with your guests—
Who's this?
Enter the wife of Lodoro, a young Lady, an Officer and other Company.
Aug.
This lady is my mother, and
She curtsies to a damsel—oh! a maid
Who picks the flowers about Parnassus' foot,
And culls them into dainty bouquets. There,
Behold that soldier—martial in his cloak
And coward in his eye. Look, note him well!
D'you observe disorder in him any where?
A single hair curl'd out of tune? Oh no!
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His teeth are Indian pearls, and any dame
Who'll wear them near her lips, must give her hand
And fifty thousand ducats for the bargain.
Enter one fantastically dressed.
Oh! look you, too, a traveller! Mark his coat—
His Joseph's coat—his many colour'd coat!
See how he swaggers like a galliot with
Her painted banners hung to catch the breeze!
List, how he prates, of pyramids and pearls—
Jabbers in French and curses in Hebraic—
Quotes Sanscrit, mentions Allah, shows his shoes,
And swears he bought them in a Turk's bazaar.
During this, Bianca has entered and joined the company: Julian remains with his eyes fixed on her.
But, Lord! you do not mark me! How is this?
Jul.
—I do, I do—go on!
Aug.
The devil take it!
Who talks without a list'ner? If there's aught
On earth upsets our vanity, it is
Being eloquent without an audience. Ha!
A poet in his dreams! What is't you see?
Jul.
—A lovely vision! Hist! Augustus, tell me
Who owns yon fairy foot-fall on the earth
So spiritually light, it scarcely bends the flowers?
Aug.
—That spirit, of your conjuring fancy, calls
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And swear she's only delicate flesh and blood.
Jul.
—Time, since we met, hath been her playmate Then
She was but young, as is a May-day rose:
Yet, modell'd so enchantingly, that I
Have never dreamed of fairer form than hers.
Aug.
—You speak this out of compliment to me!
Jul.
—Blister my tongue then, if my heart respond
Not to the pulse of passion on my lip!
Augustus, you're my junior—and you hope,
With ripening years, as you are told, to see
Abroad more beauty than you find at home.
I know the world—I've peeped behind its mask:
And, tell you, when we have a virtuous flow'r,
In likeness of a sister, wife, or love,
The skies allow no more—earth's granted all
Its treasures in a moment, and we fool
Ourselves to madness if we hunt for others.
Aug.
—You love my sister, sir?
Jul.
To say, I love,
Is to give common utterance to a passion
That lords my every other sense, and bids
Me look to her as to the source of life.
Aug.
—Julian, my sister's honor'd in the love
And admiration of a man like you.
Nay, walk with me. I will prefer your suit,
And second your entreaties with my own.
Come, let us talk.
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For ever! 'tis so sweet
To talk with those who'll hear of those we love!
Exeunt.
Enter Lodoro.
Lod.
—This fool Lorenzo, now, refuses me
His aid to tangle Barbarigo in
A legal mesh, and bag him for my daughter.
And yet, I do detect the undercurrent
Of his manœuverings! He thinks to win
The girl for Julian—apes the prick o'conscience;
And clothes his speech in th' hypocrite's assumptions
About injustice, irreligion—out!
The driv'ller! Does he ween, I cannot see
His specious plotting through this paltry mask?
By heaven! I think we're all devising ill—
The secret is, the greatest villain thrives.
At least I rest not in obscurity
Because the shoe of greatness pinches here—
Here i'the conscience.
Enter Barbarigo.
(Aside.
Ha! I must be cautious!)
How very condescending now this is!
Bar.
—Indeed, Lodoro, I apologize,
I fear my visit's late.
Lod.
Nay, name it not!
Oh! late? ha! ha! my lord, we do not hold
These low observances of punctuality.
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The dirtiest merchant in all Venice, sir!
A very trickster to each filthy turn!
One, by-the-bye, whom you have little cause
To greatly love—Lorenzo, he is call'd.
I was constrain'd, through interest, to invite
His meanness to this comp'ny, and he comes
'Sieging my doors for supper, e'er I'd wip'd
The dinner from my beard—oh, late? ha, ha!
These are your early men! Not late, my lord.
Bar.
—(Aside.
The beggar, how familiar he is!
No matter, he's my tool, and they who work
With iron, must at times be singed.) O, sir,
I know this us'rer well—he has a son,
Curse him! he has a son, a puppy, sir!
Lod.
—A most assuming puppy, and given to vice
Of many kinds.
Bar.
I am his debtor, for
A rascal's trick he play'd me, and would fain
Take payment from his skin, but that I'd soil
My fingers with the hound.
Lod.
The saucy dog!
Bar.
—He fac'd me out of my undoubted right
To the first prizes at the Paduan schools.
I do assure you, it was all a trick.
Lod.
—A trick, my lord! I do believe a trick!
But come, my lord—I have an only daughter—
Nay, of her wealth and beauty I speak not;
But will you condescend to dance with her?
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—With all my heart—come on! Lodoro, mind,
To-morrow raise me some ten thousand ducats—
This was the bond on which I patronize
Your ball.
Lod.
Ten thousand ducats! Barbarigo,
Will nothing less bestead th' immediate want?
Bar.
—I cannot bate a dollar.
Lod.
Strange, my lord!
A month ago, you drew a larger sum.
Bar.
—No marvel in the matter—yesterday
I stak'd and lost it on a cast o'the die.
Lod.
(Aside.
Unthinking prodigal!) My lord, I fear,
If thus runs on the current of your fortunes,
'Twill timeless reach its leap, and dash into
Th'abyss of ruin! Love of gaming is
A falling stone that gains velocity
At ev'ry bound, until the fearful power's
Acquir'd to shiver all its strength to atoms.
Bar.
—Lorenzo, do you fancy he, who flings
His wasted frame upon the gamester's bed,
Sees not his ruin painted in his dreams?
Peace! you would ask impertinently, why
Not pause upon the precipice? You're sober,
But gambling is a drunkenness, and youth
A fever—some it wears away, and others
Outlive the trial—which shall conquer, I
Care little! come, your daughter, come, come, come!
Exeunt.
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Jul.
—How marvellous slowly crawls the weary pace
Of the snail-blooded world, contrasted with
Th'impetuous eagerness of our desires,
Our hopes and fears!
Enter Augustus.
Augustus! speak to me!
What tidings? Is her answer affable?
You urg'd my proffers timidly? You lack'd
My ardour to enforce them? But she's young—
She's very young and fearful. She will think on't.
Nay, speak! Is this your friendship, that would trifle
A moment with the feelings of your friend?
For shame, young man!—for shame!
Aug.
No, listen, Julian!
I smile, but only at the impatient blood
O'erboiling in you, and usurping all
Your judgment. I have never, since we parted,
Found moments to prefer your suit. My sister
Dances with one Lord Barbarigo.
Jul.
Ha!
Aug.
—What is he?
Jul.
Noble.
Aug.
Is he much esteem'd?
Jul.
—He much esteems himself.
Aug.
How hold you him?
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—Where he holds me—at arm's length.
Aug.
How is this?
Short answers—exclamations!—these are not
The satisfaction candour owes to justice.
The Barbarigo is distinguish'd for
His rank and riches. Do you fancy, since
You love my sister, all are treasonable
Who interchange a courtesy with her?
Jul.
—Your grace, Augustus! I am ill! Adieu!
Exit.
Aug.
—What mystery is gathering round us now?
Julian is honourable. Barbarigo
Acknowledg'd noble, courteous, and rich—
And yet the other winces at his mention,
As at the hearing of some villain's name.
I'll follow Julian—something may be heard
Of moment to Bianca's destinies.
Exit.
Enter Bianca and Maria.
Bia.
—Maria! did I not behold Augustus
Bespeak the Signor Julian?
Mar.
Love is blind.
Bia.
—Blind to the world, when more than worlds within
The cloister of the bosom lie.
Mar.
A riddle?
Bia.
—Bear with me, I am very sad, Maria!
Mar.
—Sad in such company?
Bia.
The laughing lip
Often belies the heavy heart.
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Alas!
Sadness and youth make sorry company.
Bia.
—They do Maria! But the laughter from
The hollow chest of insincerity—
The affability of the contemptuous eye—
The compliment of the insidious tongue—
The pressure of the sycophant's warm hand—
The bow, the cringe, the slander of detraction,
Mingling like weeds upon a hot-bed, here
To night, have sicken'd me of gaiety.
Mar.
—This is the very mood of your disease.
Bia.
—Disease?
Mar.
Yes! love at first, is a disease,
That, from the object of its passion, turns
On all things with disgust and loathing.
Bia.
Love?
Mar.
—Yes! and I dare be sworn you are in love.
Bia.
—What matter—call it what you will, to me
'Tis misery—I feel no happiness.
Why did they christen Love a laughing god?
Alas! his herald is a stifled sigh,
His sojourn sorrow, and his bed the grave!
They never felt the wound, who deem'd the arrow
Tip't with a smile—it should have been a tear!
Mar.
—Your morning and your evening words belie
Each other.
Bia.
Ay, my heart hath prov'd me false!
Maria!—words are poor interpreters
Of feelings—when a woman speaks of love,
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Conclusions from a look; but never trust
Your judgment to the weakness of her tongue.
Come with me, I'll to bed. I wish, Maria,
We could disrobe our minds, as easily
As we cast off the garments of our pride.
Exeunt.
| The Student of Padua | |