University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene.—The same. A Room in Zenora's House.
Zenora.
Well, well, the girl is gone. I feared as much.
Perhaps 'tis best: this folly of my son
Will wake to disillusion.

Raolfo
(entering wildly).
Mother!

Zenora.
Son—

Raolfo.
Tell me, is't true? They say Teresa fled
Last night.

Zenora.
Alas! my son, the news is true.
That I should thaw a viper at my hearth
To poison the repute of our fair house!

Raolfo.
I will go straight and kill this ruffian,
Scenting him out o'er all the face of earth
By the pollution following on his feet
Until I find him.

Zenora.
Wherefore hunt so far?

Raolfo.
To seek Ilario.

Zenora.
Ilario!
Why, he is even now within this house.
Refrain yourself.

Raolfo.
What! can he dare to stay
And brave out crime with bland and womanish smiles?
Dares he defy me with his leering face
Now he has brought this ruin on her life,
Just as he lisped and languished in my sight
With his cursed maddening sweetness to defy
My jealousy?

Zenora.
Dear son, refrain yourself;
Think—you have no sole proof of it. Doubt not
If he 'twas worked in truth her shame and flight
(Think not the one could 'scape my woman's eye
This some while past, to lead me half scent out
The other), he must needs have fled with her.
Think, too, what was this maid to thee? Thy sister?
That so, myself would bid thee slay the man.
Thy bride or thy betrothed? I would approve.
But now?

Raolfo.
Mother, this maid was all to me.

Zenora.
She dealt you but scant courtesy.

Raolfo.
So be it—
Which what but nobler makes my care of her,
And my revenge clears from the taint of self?

Zenora.
Makes it a laughter-stock, you mean.

Raolfo.
How, mother?

Zenora.
No man but may fight battles for his friend
Howso ungrateful, or avenge the shame,
His own blood's in a sister, though she hate him—
Tasks by main love or kinship sanctified,
But scarce in sole behalf throw down the gauntlet
Of one who slighted him, below his rank,
And 'neath his mother's roof of her own will
Herself dishonoured with a stranger.

Raolfo.
Ay—
There lies it,—'neath thy roof—the thing so done
Insults both thee and me.

Zenora.
There now, my son,
You touch more solid ground. But this young man
Is of a family much loved by me
(Whereas the girl was hateful to my sight).
If, then, I can forgive him, as I shall,
What cause in thee to meddle?

Raolfo.
Still much cause.
He has insulted no less me than thee.

Zenora.
Son, I beseech you keep this matter still,
And favour me, if but because your life
Should not for so frail loss be hazarded.

Raolfo.
Mother, 'twas you that taught me scorn of life.
Will you unteach me all nobility?

Zenora.
Well then, by thy obedience due to me,
Let this thing sleep, I charge you, son.

Raolfo.
That debt
Was paid up when I put on manhood's trappings.

Zenora.
Then for my love.

Raolfo.
Mother, I loved her more.
My love to thee, though thine to me, less strong,
Refused what late I asked, and, granted, might
Have saved these troubles, yet my love to thee
Would outcall duty with its thunder-voice,
All duties save this one, whose loud command
Makes that voice sound a small brook heard far off
Among the mountains through the groaning pines.
This must be, mother; speak no more of it.

Zenora.
Well, go your way. Recall too late my words.
My part is done. I leave you to your will.
[Exit Zenora.

Raolfo.
Would God my frenzy and pure ignorance
Had not informed my mother of my purpose.
She will seek means yet, now once 'ware of it,
To spoil my end, nor rest through fear for me.
Fool that I was!

Enter Fausta.
Fausta.
Why, that is very true.
I cannot now deny it.

Raolfo.
Is this time
To taunt me for my folly, when you see
I am scarce on the hither side of madness?

Fausta.
So you repent?

Raolfo.
Yes, for the mischief's cause,
My pride, or at the least its help's prevention.
When she so scorned me, had I stood off less,
Kept silence and enwrapt me in myself,
But made my suit, an humble suppliant,
I, through more frequent habit of approach,
Might, howso oftener slighted, more abased,
Have learned this sooner, in time to guard her peace.

Fausta.
Oh most magnanimous hero!

Raolfo.
Cousin, go
And leave me to my own sad company.
You cannot heal me with these bitter drugs,
If such your will be, nor one whit the more
Inflame the canker eating out my heart,
If such your aim be rather, having changed
Your love for hate.

Fausta.
Not you, but her I hate.
Did I not prophesy of this?

Raolfo.
You did.
A better and more a Christian's part had been
To reach your hand out, the sole way to stop
The shame that then was doing, than rejoice
So in it done, and dance on her soul's grave.

Fausta.
Nay, 'twas but fair my rival of herself
Should keep, e'en as I would, her virtue clean,
Or losing it, confess my loftier stand.

Raolfo.
They who have never known temptation boast,
And call it conquered by main will.

Fausta.
Try, then,
The fieriest temptation of my soul,
And, for thou only hast the power to tempt me,
All others I but scorn, exert thy power,
And fiercer bliss enticed not those of old
To sin with angels, when the sons of God
Came down to earth taken with golden hair,
And see how I, a woman, can resist.

Raolfo.
'Tis you now that would tempt, if I had will.

Fausta.
Nay, what I mean I say; I would withstand
E'en thee.

Raolfo.
But 'twas not I that tempted her.

Fausta.
And was he more alluring?

Raolfo.
Ay, to her.

Fausta.
Not more to her than thou to me. Why, how
Could love like mine invade so shallow soul,
E'en for an equal object? And but weigh,—
Heaping that difference with the difference
'Twixt thee and him, the objects of our love,
A wider gulf than heaven from Erebus,—
The stress of storm upon our several souls,
And then think how my love is more than hers.
Yet I would tear it with my heart-strings forth,
And fling it in the face of the live hope
That bore it ere dishonour came near me
Or stooped to base incontinence my pride.

Raolfo.
'Tis easy so to talk. Our own deep minds
Are as a book laid open to our eyes,
But writ in characters of a strange tongue
Imperfectly known to us. We can read,
As by dim light, the motives of our deeds,
Say this we did for this, that for that cause;
Here two conflicting storm-winds shook our hearts;
The mightier conquered, but the weaker's power
Was not in vain; the victor storm fared on,
But not that way it started, and the blast
Shaped its changed course betwixt the opposing roads:
Here on another part some five or six
Pent blasts contended in a straitened space
For egress, and we knew that they must pass
Along that path where least obstruction stood;
But where that path lay till they searched it out
We knew not. Thus imperfectly we read
The book of our own minds. There is another
Writ in a tongue whereof the alphabet
Is yet to learn—a book, if opened to us,
We could not scan a line of—and that book
Is further shut and clasped with brazen clasps,
And sealed up from us. It is called by name
The mind of other men.

Fausta.
To what end this?

Raolfo.
To this end: and the moral is, if stale,
Still precious—“Judge not, thou shalt not be judged.”
Who knows thee as thyself? Thou dost an act,
And dimly knowest wherefore. She did this—
Thou canst not know wherefore or to what end.

Fausta.
So be it. Let her go. But of my mind
You grant me some dim knowledge, and I know
That I would not do so.

Raolfo.
Not in her place?

Fausta.
Not in her place and with my proper soul.

Raolfo.
But there, there lies the issue. In her place
Means having her same feelings, thoughts, and power,
Her judgments both of general right and wrong,
And thather special deed, her life, her love,
Her memories, the traditions of her blood
And silent heritage of all her sires,
And last, her so forlorn and orphan state.

Fausta.
If that be all, I grant your thesis proved.
But see how little is the sum of it—
If I were she, I should have done as she!
I do not doubt it: did not from the first.
But I am not, and never could be, such;
And being as I am I would keep chaste.
Your long excuse, sir, is too wide: it covers
The whole sin of the world. We asked not this,
If all sin be done freely, or proceed
From tyrannous fates, from nature of each man,
Who cannot be but as he is. Waive that.
Madness doth breed avoidance in mankind,
Yet is no fault of madness. Ugliness
Is water to the fiery kiss of love,
And yet is born with men and women. Sin
Is hateful equally with all these things
E'en though the sinner could not help but sin.
Men shun the mad, the hideous, surely then
Far more the sinner. There be sane and fair
And sinless folk enough. Why choose the worse,
The better put aside?

Raolfo.
The sum whereof
Is this, that Fausta is a better maid
Than sweet Teresa. Yet I know not this.
There be frail women in the streets, I hear,
Who, if all virtues were well reckoned up
And balanced fair, and the excess of good
Or evil taken as in judging men,
So also in women ('stead of which, mankind
And womankind, with purblind idiot eyes
Seeking one virtue in a woman's heart,
Judge by that sampler-proof of all things there)
Would fairer show than many a dainty dame
Whose milk-white honour never knew a spot.
Brave, generous, kind, frank, honest, and unchaste,
They blush, frowned into shame by hardened eyes
Of sisters cowardly, ungenerous, harsh,
Deceitful, false in word and act, but chaste.

Fausta.
Opinion seems the child of circumstance.
But I have ever thought as you do now
On this: yet where no other virtues shine
Conspicuous, and the full-summed complement
Shows small, there we demand, at least of asking,
Courage in man, in woman chastity,
The commonest twain, and most of nature's making,
And easiest virtues,—nay, the other of which
Seem vice unnatural,—and the most in need.

Raolfo.
Opinion seems the child of circumstance.
But this she did was not unchastity
Save in the blear eyes of the world.

Fausta.
Most true.
But mark the issue in her feeble soul.
She will not love him long: and so, love gone,
Will drift an oarless and a sailless boat
Upon the crossing tides of many lusts,
Desire the steersman, self-contempt the goal.

Raolfo.
This is to prove yet. Prophecy is dead.
The future is but known to God, and you
But guessing at that second book I spake of.
The world to come is child of the world now,
An offspring like its parent. If we knew
What is, then we should know what is to be,
And be as God: but now we grope in night.
Ponder this well, and learn more charity.
Meanwhile I leave you.
[Exit Raolfo.

Fausta.
Oh supreme, calm, scorn!
How godlike! How he grappled with my mind
And cast it panting, and then passed away
With that still look of pale indifference!
Love other women cringing flatteries,
And give their hand for fawning dogs to lick,
Looking to be befooled with yielding ways;
If false then hateful, and if true then weak.
Give me that man who teaches me, though strong,
That I am weaker, sets his kingly foot
Upon my will's neck, and so passes forth
Indifferent. But here comes Iscariot.

Enter Ilario.
Ilario.
Fair lady.

Fausta.
Come not with your smooth false looks,
I love them not. Where is Teresa?

Ilario.
Nay—
I know not.

Fausta.
Know not? Have you sought?

Ilario.
Why sought?

Fausta.
Ten thousand reasons. 'Twere more meet for you
To hide your face here than thus brave the truth
Set in the eyes of all of us. Begone!
Take hence your odious presence.

Ilario.
Lady fair—

Fausta.
Lay my advice to heart. Meanwhile farewell.
[Exit Fausta.

Ilario.
How queenlike! Why, this maiden frankly speaks
As a man might, and yet so proudly pure
As I have known her! How far different
From that poor bashful yielding child! Till now
I have found women weaker still than me,
Have led them, loved them, scorned them all the while,
And found ere long the scorn consume the love
Impetuously, and bare mild pity left.
But this imperious heart takes hold on mine
In an embrace more equal; strikes and scorns
Where others flattered, spurns where others lured.
By Heaven, it spurs both love and pride to life,
Love to possess so high a heart, and pride
To quell a pride that trampled now on mine!
I will subdue this woman. I will crush
Her manlike will—and then high ecstasies!
What bliss to clasp a serpent grown a dove!
What high delight to feel resistance, burn,
To hate and then to love, to maddening love,
And torture sweetly all her conquered frame!
'Tis like the pride of breaking a wild steed
That never bowed his neck to other lord,
To mount and know that saddle safe to us
Scarce safer to another than the brink
Of tallest crag or topmost treacherous branch
Of some sky-reaching tree. It must be done.
Why, I begin to love with thinking thus:
Nay, I do think, for all my boastful strain,
I could become this woman's slave. Thy slave!
Forfend it, Heaven! And yet that fierce embrace
Were worth e'en crouching for. Yes, I would give
Pride, honour, all things else, for but one kiss
Of lips so lofty. I have sometimes heard
Of mighty women whom a man might love
With soul's devotion. Surely here is one.
But I must quell her or subdue myself;
This sudden thirst is more unbearable
Than famine. I must prove free man again
One way or other shortly, and I will.
[Exit Ilario.

Enter Livia and Basso.
Basso.
Pester me not.

Livia.
Why, husband?

Basso.

I say, pester me not. I married you of sheer
weakness, to escape hearing your tongue persuading
me to it. And now I hear more of it than ever.

Livia.

Have I ever spoken unkindly to you?

Basso.

No, that's it—always like a sick dove cooing.
It makes my gorge to rise. Sweet cowslip-ball—dear
little mountain—tender feather-bed—I
have them all by heart.

Enter Nita.
Here's Nita—here's the girl I should have had.

Livia.

You are very cruel.

Basso.

Oh, be off with a plague! This ceaseless
jarring makes me grow thin.

[Exit Livia.
Nita.

How now? Your wife in tears? You are
a precious husband, sir! I had a good escape at
least. Though for that, I fare not so much better.

Basso.

Poor girl! Is he, then, unkind to you?
'Tis monstrous cruelty, you being his wife. But I
pity you. I am sorry; indeed I am.

Nita.

Fins off, porpoise! Do you think that because
my husband is cold to me you are to be allowed liberties?
A pretty substitute! But you men are all alike.
You neglect your own wives, however comely, and
must come running about after other men's. Leastways,
my husband does: and the example is not lost
on you.

Basso.

And you women are all alike. You make
a man's head swim at home with your jargoning, and
when he looks abroad you fall a-weeping.

Nita.

That shows we love our husbands. Better
weep than do worse.

Basso.

When your mind is fully set to forbear
weeping, give me early notice.

Nita.

Well, I shall weep no more.

Basso.

Why, then, do worse—better, I should say—
smile on your Basso.

[Goes on his knees.
Enter Guido.
Guido.

What scoundrel's here! Begone, balloon,
or I will take a bodkin and let you out! Away,
sperm-whale!

[Kicks him out.
Basso.

Be gentle, sir. My skin blisters easily.

Guido.

And you, vile woman!

Nita.

Husband—

Guido.

Why do you suffer that blow-fly to buzz
love to you?

Nita.

I did not. But suppose it waived that I did,
how many women do you make love to? You leave
me night and day alone.

Guido.

I doubt not you are cheerier company to
yourself than to me.

Nita.
Dear husband—

Guido.
Oh begone!

Nita.
No, let me stay by you a little.

Guido.
Begone, I say!

Enter Raolfo.
Raolfo
(aside).
So is it ever. One heart bleeds to death
For a little love. The other gives it none.
What! Guido, Nita, quarrelling so soon?

Guido.
Save your lordship, 'tis nothing.

Nita.

Ay, sir, he speaks truth. He is a good husband
to me.

Raolfo.
See, bear this letter to your master, sirrah,
And say who gave it you, and that it brooks
No long delay in the perusal. There,
Bring me his answer. Lose no time. Begone!

Guido.
Ay, sir, I'll go with it at once. Come, wife.

[Exeunt Guido and Nita.
Raolfo.
He must accept. I have so worded it
That he may know the charge my mind prefers
Against him, without word of her. That name
I could not bear to couple with such thoughts.
Moreover, I have never known him loth
To any deed of manhood.
Enter Fausta.
What! returned?

Fausta.
Ay. On the stairs but now I met his man,
Ilario's man. He bore a letter sealed.
I guessed it came from you and what is said,
And I am come to thank you in the name
Of all our house.

Raolfo.
For what?

Fausta.
For this just act
Toward one who put an insult on our name.
Whate'er her worth (we will not wrangle more),
She dwelt beneath our roof. You are most right,
And I am come to thank you.

Raolfo.
Spare your thanks.
I did but what seemed just to me and best.

Fausta.
And therein did but that you ever do—
True to yourself and us.

Raolfo.
And what is here
For thanks? You make yourself too busy with
My secret dealings. All I do is known,
As soon as done, to you. It is not fit
A young maid should so closely watch a man.
Men's lives are not most commonly the books
For maids to study in.

Fausta.
There you speak true.
But your life is not as another man's,
Or, as I scorn such lives, so should I it,
And give but scanty study. But here comes
Ilario's man. The rogue is expedite.

Enter Guido.
Raolfo
(opens letter and reads).
A curse on him!

(Dropping letter, Fausta picks it up.)
Fausta.
Why, how? He will not fight.
So we must plume upon his other virtues
The coward's honours. What a paltry soul!
What manifest excuses! You, forsooth,
Have never done him wrong, nor would he you.
He knew not that the thing would anger you.
The maid was not your sister, nor your mistress,
And so forth. Take my counsel.

Raolfo.
And it is?

Fausta.
Why, write again. Say you will spit on him
If he fight not. Yet I go far to loathe
That you should cross swords with so dastard slave.

Raolfo.
My purpose and your word strike friendly hands.
I go hence with the letter. (Showing another letter.)
Fare you well.
[Exit Raolfo.

Fausta.
He would have done this had he loathed the girl.
A curse on her! the slight ungoverned life,
To come 'twixt mine and that great heart of his.
And for this smooth-lipped wretch—But see him come.

Enter Ilario.
Ilario.
Empress, and will you chide me yet once more?

Fausta.
Why?

Ilario.
'Tis so sweet, so better far than praise
From meaner lips.

Fausta.
The law of love is still
Like unto like. Mean lips and flattery
Should better match thee than my chastisement.

Ilario.
But they do not. Lay on the lash again.

Fausta.
Each act you do should leave you happier
If you love scorn of mine—a traitor first,
A coward next—and now a woman's slave
(If you speak fact, and I care not to know).
You cannot sink much further.

Ilario.
Coward? When?

Fausta.
You sent Raolfo this.

Ilario.
Your cousin, then,
Takes counsel on these matters with young maids;
And with his mother too, perchance; and if
He had a wife, would show his challenges
To her, and crave advice.

Fausta.
Go to, vain fool!
I snatched it from the floor where he let drop.
Moreover, he well knows 'tis not my mood
To bid him play the coward. Were I a man,
By Heaven! I'd take thy chastisement myself,
And deal it roundly.

Ilario.
You have done so now.
All sins my doing towards your family
Are by the pain you deal atoned for thrice.
The selfsame words wherewith you tear my soul
Make me but see your noble worth more clear
And know what jewel I might once have earned
But for this loathèd fault.

Fausta.
Be whole of heart—
You never could have won me. Pay yourself
All sleek self-compliments but that.

Ilario.
My queen,
Leave me this tithe of comfort, but to think
It might have been. Or, if your will run so,
Take this too. Leave me nothing. I will go
Comfortless to the grave, and feed upon
Mine unrequited love for nutriment.
To love you shall be all my happiness;
And you shall hate me for my sole return.

Fausta.
I cannot hate nor love you—only scorn.
To love you were as easy as to hate.
I know not which I would the liefer do.
I must not listen further to your talk.
[Exit Fausta.

Ilario.
'Tis clean as I foretold. I am her slave.
I thought to crush her will: she supples mine.
Her influence bowed me like an iron weight
E'en as she spoke. But, for this fighting man,
Her cousin, I must take his challenge up.
She calls me coward for but pitying him.
I must put off that pity in some part
And write again. But grieved at soul I am
To put his life in so much jeopardy.
An honest man but strange! Thus do our sins
Scruple to swallow the foul brood they spawn,
But haunt us in their loathly progeny.
And so the first rent runs right through the robe
And leaves our life a ruin. Be it so!
My conscience I can brave, but scarce her scorn.