University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in Agolanti's Villa.
Enter Agolanti.
Agolanti.
What have I done, great heavens! to be thus tortured?
My gates beset with these inquisitive fools;
A wife, strong as her hate, so I be dumb,
Falling in gulfs of weakness for a word;
And all the while, dastardly nameless foes,
Who know where I am weak, filling my household
With talk of ominous things,—sad mourning shapes
That walk my grounds, none knowing how they enter'd;
And in the dead of night, outcries for help,
As of a female crouching to the door.
Let me be met by daylight, man to man,
If 'tis to come to this; and to loud lies
Answer with my contempt, and with my sword.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
The gentlemen that were here the other day,
Signor Da Riva, and the Roman gentleman,
Desire to kiss your hands.

Agolanti.
Fool! were not orders
Given you to admit no one?

Servant.
To my lady, sir;
We did not understand, to you.

Agolanti.
Idiots and torments!

Enter Da Riva and Colonna.
Exit Servant.
Colonna.
We kiss your hands, courteous Signor Francesco.

Da Riva.
And come to thank you for the seats you have given us.
In all the city there is no such throne
Of comfort, for a sovereign command
Of the best part o'the show; which will be glorious.

Colonna.
And with your lady for the queen o'the throne,
The Pope himself may look up as he walks,
And worship you with envy.

Agolanti.
Nay, sirs, you are too flattering. Perhaps
The lady—

Colonna.
And what makes us the more delighted
With your determination thus to give her
Unto the grateful spectacle, is a certain
Vile talk, sir, that has come to our disdainful
And most incredulous ears of—What do you think?

Da Riva.
Ay, sir, 'twill tax your fancy.

Colonna.
Of your jealousy;
Nay cruelty, forsooth!

Da Riva.
We laugh'd it down;
Look'd it i'the foolish face, and made it blush.
Yes, sir, the absurdity was put out of countenance;
But then, you know, that countenance was but one;
And twenty absurd grave faces, going about,
Big with a scandal, are as fertile as bees,
And make as busy multitudes of fools.

Agolanti.
Sirs, with this sudden incursion of strange news—
And your as strange, I must say, though well-meant
Fancy, of the necessity of refuting it—

Colonna.
Fancy, good sir!—Dear sir, we are most loath
To shock your noble knowledge of yourself
With the whole truth—with the whole credulous fiction;
But to convince you how requisite is the step
Thus to be taken in the truth's behalf,
The theme is constant, both in court and market-place,
That you're a very tyrant!

Da Riva.
And to a saint!
Vex her from morn to night—

Colonna.
Frighten her—

Da Riva.
Cast her
Into strange swoons, and monstrous shows of death.

Agolanti.
Monstrous indeed! and shows! That is most true.
Those are the shows! and I am to be at the spectacle
To let her face make what display it can
Of the mean lie, and mock me to the world.
Pardon me—I'm disturb'd—I'm not myself—
My house is not quite happy—you see it—Whose is?
But look, sir,—Why should Florence fall on me?
Why select me, as the scape-goat of a common
And self-resented misery? 'Tis a lie,
A boy's lie, a turn'd-off servant's lie,
That mine is a worse misery than their own,
Or more deserved. You know the Strozzi family,
You know the Baldi, Rossi, Brunelleschi—
You do, Signor Da Riva,—the Guidi also,
And Arregucci:—well,—are they all smiles?
All comfort? Is there, on the husbands' sides,
No roughness? no plain-speaking? or, on the wives',
No answering, tart or otherwise?—no black looks?
No softest spite; nor meekness, pale with malice?
No smile with the teeth set, shivering forth a sneer?
Take any dozen couples, the first you think of,
Those you know best; and see, if matrimony
Has been success with them, or a dull failure;
Dull at the best; probably, damn'd with discord;
A hell, the worse for being carried about
With quiet looks; or, horriblest of all,
Betwixt habitual hate and fulsome holiday.

Da Riva.
Oh, sir, you wrong poor mix'd humanity,
And think not how much nobleness relieves it,
Nor what a heap of good old love there lies
Sometimes in seeming quarrel. I thought you, sir,
I must confess, a more enduring Christian.

Colonna.
And churchman, sir. I own I have been astonish'd—
Pardon one somewhat nearer than yourself
Unto the church's prince—to hear you speak
Thus strangely of a holy ordinance.

Agolanti
(aside).
These men will make me mad. Have they come here
To warn me, or to torment me?—Sir, the earth
Holds not a man bows down with lowlier front
To holy church and to all holy ordinances:
It is their worldly violation mads me.
If my poor name be ever in sacred mouths,
I pray thee say so; and add, I am a man
Not happy quite perhaps, more than some others
Of mankind's fallen race, in my home's Eve;
Who, with some humours, yet is good as fair,
And only makes me unhappy in the excess
Of my desire to make herself most blessed.
My conscience thus discharged, look'ye, fair sir,—
A man of a less trusting sort—

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
My lady, sir,
Being worse since her last seizure at day-break,
The Nurse would fain send in the neighbourhood
For—

Agolanti.
Bid her do so. Tell her to send instantly
For whom she pleases. (Exit Servant.)
You will pardon me;—
This troubled house of mine—At the good spectacle,
I shall behold you.

Colonna.
We take anxious leave, sir,
Wishing you all good speed with the sweet lady.
But something we had forgotten, in our zeal
To tell our own poor story, tho' we came
Partly to give it you,—a letter, sir,
From a most dear and excellent friend of ours;
Who, we dare say it, for reasons which your delicacy
Will be glad, too, to turn to like fair grace
Of liberal trust and gentle interpretation,
Wishes your house all good and quiet fame.
'Tis something very special that he writes of,
So he assures us, and of instant urgency;
But what we know not.

[Exeunt.
Agolanti
(reads).

“If Signor Agolanti values his wife's
peace, and life, he will meet the writer of this letter instantly;
who will wait for him, an hour from the receipt of it, in the
wood near his gate, by the road-side leading to Cortona.

“Antonio Rondinelli.”

'Tis as I fear'd. He knows them, as I thought,
And well? Is it a league? Conspiracy?
And face to face too! He! This beats all boldness.
'Sdeath, must my time be his too! What strange matter
Can give him right of speech! “Her life!” Who seeks it?
What bloody juggle is to beset me now?
I'll meet thee, Antonio; and before we part,
Strange mystery shall be pluck'd from some one's heart.

[Exit.