Chapter 17

FREDERICK.Yoursecret’s safe with me. I should be hurtTo think that there was any man on earthWhom you could trust before me: and if my placeHere in the court can help you in your love,Reckon upon me.RICARDO.I do, and hope some dayIt may be in my good fortune to repay youFor such a favour.F.Favour! what a wordTo an old friend!R.Nay, do not misconstrue me.F.I own I am jealous, Richard, of the time10We have lived apart. There was a touch of fearMixed with my joy, when you broke in upon meThis morning, that the ten years had not spared me.You find me changed? Say, doth my countenanceWear the smug livery of the world?R.Nay, friend;I see no trace of that.F.Then I rememberWhile I have played you have been within the mill:And should I beat your coat there must fly outClouds of that dusty, damned experience.Is not that so, your grace?R.Go on: provoke me,20As you were wont.F.The best remembrance, Richard,Drowns in the world: and how should college daysLive in your memory as they do in mine?’Tis no such lustre to your brilliant lifeThat we were comrades in Utopia;That commonwealth of study and idleness,Where sport, adventure, poetry and musicWere sauced with virgin-juice, a dish for gods.R.As if I could forget!F.Ay, but the spirit!Think you we should have spoken of favours then?30In those days, Richard, we were used to thinkOur teachers never had tasted life like ours;Their staid propriety not logicallyDeducible from essences as freshAs angels of the sunrise. Shall the boysNow say the same of us? By heaven you fright me:The heart of manhood not to outlive a dog!Then my old grudge against you.R.What was that?F.Your rank, which first drew us apart: but nowTo meet again and have you in my debt40Is favour, by your leave, above repayment.R.Still as proud as a peacock.F.Could I do you a service.But can I? See, I am here the Countess’secretary:To make believe that you are a stranger to meWere breach of trust.R.But love makes tricks of crimes.F.And if she has often seen you, how supposeShe will not know you?R.’Tis so long agoThat now in my disguise I have no fear.You did not know me.F.That was but your beard.R.She hath not seen my beard: and ’tis impossible50She should suspect. She has treated me all alongWith such disdain, that I, in love as I am,Can scarce believe I venture; but—I am mad.Nothing could keep me back. Hear all my story,And then see how I am changed. ’Tis three years sinceI saw her first at Rome. His HolinessGave a reception; I with some of the guestsHad strayed to view the galleries: suddenlyOut of a group before me—as if a Grace,That lived in Rafael’s brain to mock his hand,60Had stepped alive amongst us to rebukeOur admiration of the fresco-stuff—She turned and faced me.Quick as I tell, I read my fate: I knewWhat I was born for. Love’s first ecstasyFooled me to a false security. That nightI wrote my passion; and by such presumptionOffended. My after patience met with scorn,My importunity anger. I then desisted,Trying if by absence I could work my cure.70Twelve months of trial bring me here to-dayWith no hope left but this; that living near herHer daily and familiar sight may bluntMy strained ideal passion; or if thisQuench not my fancy, it may serve to feed itWith something tangible and wholesomerThan the day dreams of sick imagination.F.I wish your cure; for, to say truth, the CountessIs somewhat odd; as you will see yourself.R.’Tis for my cure I come.—Your servant there,Might he not hear us?80F.(to T.).Tristram, just look roundIf you can see the Countess.TRISTRAM(aside, going).What is there here now that I may not know?That I am sent off? Who can this stranger beSo suddenly familiar with my master?And comes here for his cure! Here to this hauntOf women and lunatics! I’ll find him out.[Exit singing to himself.F.My man is trusty and dull; devoted to me.R.Excuse my caution: if we were overheard,—If any guessed I were the Duke of Milan,90The venture which I make would be my ruin:All that I ask is secrecy. In this letterI have written the Countess from myself, as Duke,Recommendation of myself, the bearer,As one Ricardo, begging for the sameProtection in her court for some few days.Present me as a stranger: had I been suchYou could not have refused.F.Trust me to serve you:But give your letter to the major-domo:He attends her in the grounds; when they come by100I’ll point him out. Better know nought of me.What think you of the gardens?R.All this hourI have seemed in Paradise: and the fair prospectHath quieted my spirit: I think I sailInto the windless haven of my lifeTo-day with happy omens: as the stirAnd sleep-forbidding rattle of the journeyWas like my life till now. Here all is peace:The still fresh air of this October morning,With its resigning odours; the rich hues110Wherein the gay leaves revel to their fall;The deep blue sky; the misty distances,And splashing fountains; and I thought I heardA magic service of meandering musicThreading the glades and stealing on the lawns.Was I mistaken?Re-enter Tristram unperceived; he stands by listening at back, as if waiting to be observed.F.Nay, nay: there was music.But why the jocund morn so dissolutelyForestalls the faint and lulling charms of eveI must explain. The Countess, whom you court,Hath an unwholesome temper; what its natureYou, when you have seen it, will be as like to guess121As any other. She hath a restless spiritAnd eager; and, what seems a sign of note,Suffers from jealousy without a cause.She is full of fancies; and hath, like a school-girl,Drawn up a code of her peculiar notions,Whereby, in place of commonsense and manners,She rules her petty court with tyranniesOf fine and forfeit. Then, although she livesPampered with luxury, and hath a sense130O’ergreedy of all that’s offered, yet she takesHer pleasure feverously, and pines in plenty.’Tis a derangement:—the music which you heardWas a diversion of my own contrivanceTo pass the hour: the evil spirit within herYields most to music.R.What you say is strange.F.’Tis unaccountable.T.(coming forward). And so you’d say,Knew you the cause.F.Tristram!R.(aside).Now damn this fellow.(To T.) Perhaps you know it, sir?T.I know it, yes:But may not speak.F.I bid you speak and showMy friend your wisdom.140T.To your secrets thenAdd this. The Countess is in love.R. and F.In love!T.In love.R. and F.With whom?T.With whom....R.But say with whom.T.Stay. I will say with whom.’Tis one to whom she dare not make avowal.F.Say whom you mean.T.Why, who but me!F.The fool!We wish not for your jests. Where is the Countess?T.She is coming by the lake, sir.F.Stand aside,We have business now.T.(aside, going). The fish bite very well:I hooked them both at first cast of my fly.(Sings to himself.)F.’Twould make us brothers, Richard.150R.Brothers?—how?F.Having your secret, I must give you mine.I also love a lady in the court,Secretly too, as you, though with success;And she is foster-sister to your lady.The prudery with which the Countess rulesDrave us to hide our liking at the first;And as that grew, deception still kept pace,Enhancing the romance of our delightWith stolen intercourse. But these last days160A cloud hath risen: for the lady’s father,(That’s the old major-domo, whom I spoke of,)Hath been befooled to give his daughter awayTo a wreathed ass, a cousin of the Countess,Who hath herself approved the match. You find meIn this dilemma, whether to confessMy love for Laura,—that’s the lady’s name—Braving the Countess’anger, or carry her off,And after sue for favour. (Music heard.)Hark! here they come.I’ll tell you more hereafter.R.Ay, do: but now170Forget not me. (Aside.) By Jove, he has capped my story.—Diana’s sister too: and I entrappedTo aid in her elopement.Enter Diana, Laura, Gregory, and St. Nicholas; with attendant musicians and singers, who go out when the music is done.MUSIC.Fire of heaven, whose starry arrowPierces the veil of timeless night:Molten spheres, whose tempests narrowTheir floods to a beam of gentle light,To charm with a moonray quenched from fireThe land of delight, the land of desire.179F.(to R.). That is the major-domo GregoryWith the white locks. Take him aside, he is deaf.(During next verse R. makes his way to G., and they are seen talking aside during the other dialogue.)Music continued—Smile of love—a flower planted,Sprung in the garden of joy that art:Eyes that shine with a glow enchanted,Whose spreading fires encircle my heart,And warm with a noonray drenched in fireMy land of delight, my land of desire!DIANA.I envy much the melancholy spiritWho wove that strain. The verses too were fetchedOut of a deeper well than common passionHath skill to draw from. Frederick, who is the poetThat I must love for this?191F.Love for my artHath made your ladyship too generousTowards a most humble workman. ’Tis my own.D.Ah me! what must it be to be a poet,And in the abandoned humour that men take with,To give forth! O ’tis godlike! but the music,—’Tis that you excel in: it hath a melancholyWhich springs of love.F.The whole world sprang of love;And art is but the praise the creature makesTo the Creator.200D.True: and the best praiseIs but love’s echo. I mean you love some lady.She is very happy. Would I knew her name.F.When I shall love a lady, and have meansTo court her, you shall hear gay music.D.Means!Is she so mercenary?F.Your ladyshipMust take this lady of your own creationWith all her faults. Love is a luxuryYou may suspect in me when I have moneyTo spend in presents.D.Whom you love I know not:210But whether it be a queen or peasant girl,’Tis all one. Love exalteth above rankOr wealth; yet in Love’s ritual ’twere well wishedTo express your homage fully. Ho, Sir Gregory!Sir Gregory!GREGORY.Your ladyship!D.Give FrederickA hundred ducats at my household charge.G.(to F.). What said my lady?F.(aside). An open insult.T.(to G.).Thou’rt to give my masterA hundred ducats for a wherewithalTo make his lady presents.F.(to T.).Silence, idiot.T.He heard not: you may lose the money.G.My lady,A gentleman from Milan. (Presenting R.)221D.(half aside1). Milan, say you?I thought we had done with Milan.R.Queen of Belflor,This letter from the Duke explains my coming.D.Welcome, sir, whencesoe’er: but if from Milan,Bringst thou this letter, or did it bring thee?R.I bring the letter, madam: and ’tis writBut in my favour.D.Good: on that assuranceI’ll read. (Opens letter.)(F. has passed across to make way for G. and R., coming near Laura, front, side.)LAURA(to F.).You have my glove?F.Yes.L.When I drop the other,229Exchange them secretly.D.(reading to audience).The bearer, my servant Ricardo, having hurt his challenger in a duel, I beg for him a few days’protection in your court, till some consequent rancour be appeased. Let my long silence and absence win for me this little grace.With reason and good courtesy asked. Ricardo,Make your asylum here. Sir GregoryWill tell you that such residence impliesCertain restraints, in which we look to findCompliance.(Laura drops a glove, which F. snatches up, and is seen by the audience to exchange for another.)NICHOLAS(stepping forward between F. and L.).I pray thee, sir; nay sir, I pray.My duty.F.Is’t thy glove?240N.Yes, when it falls.F.How so? When heaven doth rain, it rains for all.Thou shouldst have picked it up.N.I ran to do so,But thou anticipatedest me. I prayGive’t me, that I restore it to my lady.F.Claim not her gloves, sir, till her gloves are thine.Now thou anticipatest.N.Sir Gregory!A question.G.Eigh!D.What is this, St. Nicholas?N.I beg Sir Gregory judge ’twixt me and Frederick.My lady Laura, having dropped her glove,250He picks it up, and would return it to her;Which I forbid, claiming the privilegeAs her accepted lover.D.A mighty question.Who can determine it?T.That can I. The ladyShould drop the other, and let each have one.D.St. Nicholas would claim both, Sir Solomon.(To F.). Give me the glove. I thank you much; and nowI offer better matter for discussion:The chairs were set on purpose. Let all be seated.259Laura, take back thy glove; and sit thou there.You, Frederick, on my right. (To R.) ’Tis what I callThe Muses’matinée. These morning hours,Which others waste, we may devote to wisdom,And solve some learned question, as was doneIn ancient Athens; where, as Plato shows,Nothing was more admired than dialoguesIn science and philosophy. I will holdSuch an assembly: we will each in turnMake answer to the question I propose.And that shall be of love. I’ll question whyLove is called bitter-sweet.DIANATRISTRAM StandsLAURAFREDERICKNICHOLASGREGORYRICHARD270N.Now, by my heart,A pretty question. May I speak the first?D.In turn, in turn. Hark, if I put it thus,What is love’s chiefest pain? How think you, Frederick?The speech lies with Ricardo, as our guest.R.Am I to answer?D.Ay, sir: you must tellWhat, in your judgment, is love’s chiefest pain.R.’Tis well, my lady, I am not one of those,Who, when they would speak wisely, go aboutTo weigh their pros and cons; in doing whichThey but confess their common thoughts are folly,281Which they must mask. I have a steady mind,Which thinking cannot mend: and well I knowThe greatest pain in love is when a manHath loved a lady most deservedly,And been most undeservedly refused;Yet, spite of her contempt, is silly-true,And wastes his days. This is the pain of love;Or if another can be shewn to match,289I forfeit claim to wisdom in such matters.D.Very well said, sir, if your speech be takenTo include the parallel, the equal painOf any woman who thus loves a man.What say you, Frederick?F.Ricardo is in fault,For love being not returned is but half love;In which imperfect state love’s pain or blissCannot be known: to love and be belovedIs the required condition. But when two hearts,Encountering in this mortal maze, have knitTheir preordained espousals, and together300In moonlight meeting and sweet conference,Signed the surrendering treaties of their love;If fate, or circumstance, or other’s willShould then oppose them, and thrust in to severThe new-spun cords with which they are bound; I sayThis is the hardest pain that love can shew.D.Ha! you speak logic; that love’s perfect painCannot exist but in love’s perfect state.Laura, ’tis thou to speak.L.What shall I say?D.Give thy opinion; or, in want of matter,310Be critical. A gloss may hit the markWhere the text fails.L.If Frederick has said well,That love’s pain is a pain of love returned,The pain of love must come from being loved.D.O, most adorable simplicity!Before thy lover, too! St. Nicholas,What wilt thou say?N.Beshrew my science now,If Lady Laura have not hit the mark.’Tis vulgar error that would make distinction’Twixt pain and joy; which are, as life and death,320Inseparables. The shadowed imagesCast on the wall of this memorial cave,This earth, wherein we dwell, are things of nought,But serving to mislead our darkling sense:Nay health and strength are but the habitudeOf this delusion. Ask your ruddy clownOf love; will he not tell you ’tis a pleasureWhich moves the plain heart of the natural man?But to the poet, what is love to him?’Tis like heaven’s rainbow scarf, woven of all hues330Of pain and joy; an eagle and a snakeStruggling in the void and crystalline abysmOf life and death. And love’s pain, what is that?I have compared it to a sunbeamed tear,Whose single pearl broiders the marble lidsOf some tall Sphinx, that with impassive smileDreams o’er the desert; whence ’twas gathered upOf earthly dew and the pale sparkle of stars,To fall in silent lightning on the sands;Which, at the touch magnifical, bloom forth340In irresistible fecundity.Such is love’s pain, as it hath lit on me;And tinctured by it I would dream my day,Nor count the sailing hour, but when night fallsBe closèd up, like a belated beeIn the pale lily of death.D.Now you all hear!R.(aside). Heavens! a belated bee!D.Thy lover, Laura;What say’st thou?L.O beautiful.D.And you, Ricardo?R.Capital, capital!D.Sir Gregory!Sir Gregory!G.Eigh.D.’Tis now thy turn to speak.350G.Pardon, your ladyship; but at the outsetI missed the question, and for lack of itHave followed ill.D.The question we discussIs this, What is the chiefest pain of love?G.The chiefest what?D.Pain.G.Ah! the pain of love.D.’Tis now thy turn to speak.G.Oh, is’t my turn?The chiefest pain of love; I am asked to sayWhat that is?D.Yes.G.Your ladyship knows wellYou ask of one who has lived to study truthFrom nature’s only teacher;—without whichI would not speak. But since you have often heard361Your sainted mother tell from what sad causeShe made my Laura your adopted sister,Saving my orphan in the only lossThat can befall a babe, its mother’s care,You know how by that loss there came to meThe chiefest pain of love; which can, I think,But hap to wedded spirits, who have joyedIn mutual life: wherein, may heaven forgive meIf the remembrance of my joy awake370Sorrow with thankfulness, the balance beingSo far on the good side, spite of the pain:Yet if I speak of it now without more tearsThan ye can see, ’tis that the founts are dried:Time hath not helped me otherwise. I prayGod, who is merciful, to shield all hereFrom like calamity.F.I say AmenTo good Sir Gregory.R.And amen for me.Enter Flora to D.D.What is it, Flora?FLORA.My lady, the merchant’s come.D.What merchant?Fl.The Venetian with the silksYour ladyship bespoke.380D.(rising).Do you hear, Laura?Your stuffs at last. Our matinée, my friends,Is interrupted, an important matterUnfortunately calls me away. Come, Laura:There’ll scarce be time to get the silks made upBefore your wedding. Come and choose them with me.St. Nicholas, we shall need thee too; ’tis nothingUnless thine eye is pleased.N.I dote on silks.I love their fine prismatic cadences.Yet these Venetian colours to my taste390Are over-saturate: I’d have them castWith the Doge’s ring in the sea. A good year’s soakingWould bring them down into that faded softness,Which is a banquet to the cultured eye.D.Ricardo, do you attend Sir Gregory,And see your lodging. Come, St. Nicholas;Come, Laura![Exit with Laura and St. Nicholas. Flora following.G.(to R.). I wait upon you, if it please youTo visit your apartments. Tell me prayWhat men you bring.[Exit with R. making signs.F.(taking out the glove with the letter). Thank heaven, now I may read.(Aside.) What saith my love? what hope?T.(aside).Another letter!Whence got he this?F.O blessed paper!400T.(aside).Watch him!F.(reading, away from T.).Dearest; all is lost. They mistake my hesitation for consent. My father has fixed the marriage for three days hence. I dared not say the truth. I know not what I said. My senses left me....(Aloud.) Death! death!

FREDERICK.

Yoursecret’s safe with me. I should be hurtTo think that there was any man on earthWhom you could trust before me: and if my placeHere in the court can help you in your love,Reckon upon me.

Yoursecret’s safe with me. I should be hurt

To think that there was any man on earth

Whom you could trust before me: and if my place

Here in the court can help you in your love,

Reckon upon me.

RICARDO.

I do, and hope some dayIt may be in my good fortune to repay youFor such a favour.

I do, and hope some day

It may be in my good fortune to repay you

For such a favour.

F.Favour! what a wordTo an old friend!

F.Favour! what a word

To an old friend!

R.Nay, do not misconstrue me.

F.I own I am jealous, Richard, of the time10We have lived apart. There was a touch of fearMixed with my joy, when you broke in upon meThis morning, that the ten years had not spared me.You find me changed? Say, doth my countenanceWear the smug livery of the world?

F.I own I am jealous, Richard, of the time

We have lived apart. There was a touch of fear

Mixed with my joy, when you broke in upon me

This morning, that the ten years had not spared me.

You find me changed? Say, doth my countenance

Wear the smug livery of the world?

R.Nay, friend;I see no trace of that.

R.Nay, friend;

I see no trace of that.

F.Then I rememberWhile I have played you have been within the mill:And should I beat your coat there must fly outClouds of that dusty, damned experience.Is not that so, your grace?

F.Then I remember

While I have played you have been within the mill:

And should I beat your coat there must fly out

Clouds of that dusty, damned experience.

Is not that so, your grace?

R.Go on: provoke me,20As you were wont.

R.Go on: provoke me,

As you were wont.

F.The best remembrance, Richard,Drowns in the world: and how should college daysLive in your memory as they do in mine?’Tis no such lustre to your brilliant lifeThat we were comrades in Utopia;That commonwealth of study and idleness,Where sport, adventure, poetry and musicWere sauced with virgin-juice, a dish for gods.

F.The best remembrance, Richard,

Drowns in the world: and how should college days

Live in your memory as they do in mine?

’Tis no such lustre to your brilliant life

That we were comrades in Utopia;

That commonwealth of study and idleness,

Where sport, adventure, poetry and music

Were sauced with virgin-juice, a dish for gods.

R.As if I could forget!

F.Ay, but the spirit!Think you we should have spoken of favours then?30In those days, Richard, we were used to thinkOur teachers never had tasted life like ours;Their staid propriety not logicallyDeducible from essences as freshAs angels of the sunrise. Shall the boysNow say the same of us? By heaven you fright me:The heart of manhood not to outlive a dog!Then my old grudge against you.

F.Ay, but the spirit!

Think you we should have spoken of favours then?

In those days, Richard, we were used to think

Our teachers never had tasted life like ours;

Their staid propriety not logically

Deducible from essences as fresh

As angels of the sunrise. Shall the boys

Now say the same of us? By heaven you fright me:

The heart of manhood not to outlive a dog!

Then my old grudge against you.

R.What was that?

F.Your rank, which first drew us apart: but nowTo meet again and have you in my debt40Is favour, by your leave, above repayment.

F.Your rank, which first drew us apart: but now

To meet again and have you in my debt

Is favour, by your leave, above repayment.

R.Still as proud as a peacock.

F.Could I do you a service.But can I? See, I am here the Countess’secretary:To make believe that you are a stranger to meWere breach of trust.

F.Could I do you a service.

But can I? See, I am here the Countess’secretary:

To make believe that you are a stranger to me

Were breach of trust.

R.But love makes tricks of crimes.

F.And if she has often seen you, how supposeShe will not know you?

F.And if she has often seen you, how suppose

She will not know you?

R.’Tis so long agoThat now in my disguise I have no fear.You did not know me.

R.’Tis so long ago

That now in my disguise I have no fear.

You did not know me.

F.That was but your beard.

R.She hath not seen my beard: and ’tis impossible50She should suspect. She has treated me all alongWith such disdain, that I, in love as I am,Can scarce believe I venture; but—I am mad.Nothing could keep me back. Hear all my story,And then see how I am changed. ’Tis three years sinceI saw her first at Rome. His HolinessGave a reception; I with some of the guestsHad strayed to view the galleries: suddenlyOut of a group before me—as if a Grace,That lived in Rafael’s brain to mock his hand,60Had stepped alive amongst us to rebukeOur admiration of the fresco-stuff—She turned and faced me.Quick as I tell, I read my fate: I knewWhat I was born for. Love’s first ecstasyFooled me to a false security. That nightI wrote my passion; and by such presumptionOffended. My after patience met with scorn,My importunity anger. I then desisted,Trying if by absence I could work my cure.70Twelve months of trial bring me here to-dayWith no hope left but this; that living near herHer daily and familiar sight may bluntMy strained ideal passion; or if thisQuench not my fancy, it may serve to feed itWith something tangible and wholesomerThan the day dreams of sick imagination.

R.She hath not seen my beard: and ’tis impossible

She should suspect. She has treated me all along

With such disdain, that I, in love as I am,

Can scarce believe I venture; but—I am mad.

Nothing could keep me back. Hear all my story,

And then see how I am changed. ’Tis three years since

I saw her first at Rome. His Holiness

Gave a reception; I with some of the guests

Had strayed to view the galleries: suddenly

Out of a group before me—as if a Grace,

That lived in Rafael’s brain to mock his hand,

Had stepped alive amongst us to rebuke

Our admiration of the fresco-stuff—

She turned and faced me.

Quick as I tell, I read my fate: I knew

What I was born for. Love’s first ecstasy

Fooled me to a false security. That night

I wrote my passion; and by such presumption

Offended. My after patience met with scorn,

My importunity anger. I then desisted,

Trying if by absence I could work my cure.

Twelve months of trial bring me here to-day

With no hope left but this; that living near her

Her daily and familiar sight may blunt

My strained ideal passion; or if this

Quench not my fancy, it may serve to feed it

With something tangible and wholesomer

Than the day dreams of sick imagination.

F.I wish your cure; for, to say truth, the CountessIs somewhat odd; as you will see yourself.

F.I wish your cure; for, to say truth, the Countess

Is somewhat odd; as you will see yourself.

R.’Tis for my cure I come.—Your servant there,Might he not hear us?

R.’Tis for my cure I come.—Your servant there,

Might he not hear us?

80F.(to T.).Tristram, just look roundIf you can see the Countess.

F.(to T.).Tristram, just look round

If you can see the Countess.

TRISTRAM(aside, going).

What is there here now that I may not know?That I am sent off? Who can this stranger beSo suddenly familiar with my master?And comes here for his cure! Here to this hauntOf women and lunatics! I’ll find him out.

What is there here now that I may not know?

That I am sent off? Who can this stranger be

So suddenly familiar with my master?

And comes here for his cure! Here to this haunt

Of women and lunatics! I’ll find him out.

[Exit singing to himself.

F.My man is trusty and dull; devoted to me.

R.Excuse my caution: if we were overheard,—If any guessed I were the Duke of Milan,90The venture which I make would be my ruin:All that I ask is secrecy. In this letterI have written the Countess from myself, as Duke,Recommendation of myself, the bearer,As one Ricardo, begging for the sameProtection in her court for some few days.Present me as a stranger: had I been suchYou could not have refused.

R.Excuse my caution: if we were overheard,—

If any guessed I were the Duke of Milan,

The venture which I make would be my ruin:

All that I ask is secrecy. In this letter

I have written the Countess from myself, as Duke,

Recommendation of myself, the bearer,

As one Ricardo, begging for the same

Protection in her court for some few days.

Present me as a stranger: had I been such

You could not have refused.

F.Trust me to serve you:But give your letter to the major-domo:He attends her in the grounds; when they come by100I’ll point him out. Better know nought of me.What think you of the gardens?

F.Trust me to serve you:

But give your letter to the major-domo:

He attends her in the grounds; when they come by

I’ll point him out. Better know nought of me.

What think you of the gardens?

R.All this hourI have seemed in Paradise: and the fair prospectHath quieted my spirit: I think I sailInto the windless haven of my lifeTo-day with happy omens: as the stirAnd sleep-forbidding rattle of the journeyWas like my life till now. Here all is peace:The still fresh air of this October morning,With its resigning odours; the rich hues110Wherein the gay leaves revel to their fall;The deep blue sky; the misty distances,And splashing fountains; and I thought I heardA magic service of meandering musicThreading the glades and stealing on the lawns.Was I mistaken?

R.All this hour

I have seemed in Paradise: and the fair prospect

Hath quieted my spirit: I think I sail

Into the windless haven of my life

To-day with happy omens: as the stir

And sleep-forbidding rattle of the journey

Was like my life till now. Here all is peace:

The still fresh air of this October morning,

With its resigning odours; the rich hues

Wherein the gay leaves revel to their fall;

The deep blue sky; the misty distances,

And splashing fountains; and I thought I heard

A magic service of meandering music

Threading the glades and stealing on the lawns.

Was I mistaken?

Re-enter Tristram unperceived; he stands by listening at back, as if waiting to be observed.

F.Nay, nay: there was music.But why the jocund morn so dissolutelyForestalls the faint and lulling charms of eveI must explain. The Countess, whom you court,Hath an unwholesome temper; what its natureYou, when you have seen it, will be as like to guess121As any other. She hath a restless spiritAnd eager; and, what seems a sign of note,Suffers from jealousy without a cause.She is full of fancies; and hath, like a school-girl,Drawn up a code of her peculiar notions,Whereby, in place of commonsense and manners,She rules her petty court with tyranniesOf fine and forfeit. Then, although she livesPampered with luxury, and hath a sense130O’ergreedy of all that’s offered, yet she takesHer pleasure feverously, and pines in plenty.’Tis a derangement:—the music which you heardWas a diversion of my own contrivanceTo pass the hour: the evil spirit within herYields most to music.

F.Nay, nay: there was music.

But why the jocund morn so dissolutely

Forestalls the faint and lulling charms of eve

I must explain. The Countess, whom you court,

Hath an unwholesome temper; what its nature

You, when you have seen it, will be as like to guess

As any other. She hath a restless spirit

And eager; and, what seems a sign of note,

Suffers from jealousy without a cause.

She is full of fancies; and hath, like a school-girl,

Drawn up a code of her peculiar notions,

Whereby, in place of commonsense and manners,

She rules her petty court with tyrannies

Of fine and forfeit. Then, although she lives

Pampered with luxury, and hath a sense

O’ergreedy of all that’s offered, yet she takes

Her pleasure feverously, and pines in plenty.

’Tis a derangement:—the music which you heard

Was a diversion of my own contrivance

To pass the hour: the evil spirit within her

Yields most to music.

R.What you say is strange.

F.’Tis unaccountable.

T.(coming forward). And so you’d say,Knew you the cause.

T.(coming forward). And so you’d say,

Knew you the cause.

F.Tristram!

R.(aside).Now damn this fellow.(To T.) Perhaps you know it, sir?

R.(aside).Now damn this fellow.

(To T.) Perhaps you know it, sir?

T.I know it, yes:But may not speak.

T.I know it, yes:

But may not speak.

F.I bid you speak and showMy friend your wisdom.

F.I bid you speak and show

My friend your wisdom.

140T.To your secrets thenAdd this. The Countess is in love.

T.To your secrets then

Add this. The Countess is in love.

R. and F.In love!

T.In love.

R. and F.With whom?

T.With whom....

R.But say with whom.

T.Stay. I will say with whom.’Tis one to whom she dare not make avowal.

T.Stay. I will say with whom.

’Tis one to whom she dare not make avowal.

F.Say whom you mean.

T.Why, who but me!

F.The fool!We wish not for your jests. Where is the Countess?

F.The fool!

We wish not for your jests. Where is the Countess?

T.She is coming by the lake, sir.

F.Stand aside,We have business now.

F.Stand aside,

We have business now.

T.(aside, going). The fish bite very well:I hooked them both at first cast of my fly.

T.(aside, going). The fish bite very well:

I hooked them both at first cast of my fly.

(Sings to himself.)

F.’Twould make us brothers, Richard.150R.Brothers?—how?F.Having your secret, I must give you mine.I also love a lady in the court,Secretly too, as you, though with success;And she is foster-sister to your lady.The prudery with which the Countess rulesDrave us to hide our liking at the first;And as that grew, deception still kept pace,Enhancing the romance of our delightWith stolen intercourse. But these last days160A cloud hath risen: for the lady’s father,(That’s the old major-domo, whom I spoke of,)Hath been befooled to give his daughter awayTo a wreathed ass, a cousin of the Countess,Who hath herself approved the match. You find meIn this dilemma, whether to confessMy love for Laura,—that’s the lady’s name—Braving the Countess’anger, or carry her off,And after sue for favour. (Music heard.)Hark! here they come.I’ll tell you more hereafter.R.Ay, do: but now170Forget not me. (Aside.) By Jove, he has capped my story.—Diana’s sister too: and I entrappedTo aid in her elopement.Enter Diana, Laura, Gregory, and St. Nicholas; with attendant musicians and singers, who go out when the music is done.MUSIC.Fire of heaven, whose starry arrowPierces the veil of timeless night:Molten spheres, whose tempests narrowTheir floods to a beam of gentle light,To charm with a moonray quenched from fireThe land of delight, the land of desire.179F.(to R.). That is the major-domo GregoryWith the white locks. Take him aside, he is deaf.(During next verse R. makes his way to G., and they are seen talking aside during the other dialogue.)

F.’Twould make us brothers, Richard.

150R.Brothers?—how?

R.Brothers?—how?

F.Having your secret, I must give you mine.I also love a lady in the court,Secretly too, as you, though with success;And she is foster-sister to your lady.The prudery with which the Countess rulesDrave us to hide our liking at the first;And as that grew, deception still kept pace,Enhancing the romance of our delightWith stolen intercourse. But these last days160A cloud hath risen: for the lady’s father,(That’s the old major-domo, whom I spoke of,)Hath been befooled to give his daughter awayTo a wreathed ass, a cousin of the Countess,Who hath herself approved the match. You find meIn this dilemma, whether to confessMy love for Laura,—that’s the lady’s name—Braving the Countess’anger, or carry her off,And after sue for favour. (Music heard.)Hark! here they come.I’ll tell you more hereafter.

F.Having your secret, I must give you mine.

I also love a lady in the court,

Secretly too, as you, though with success;

And she is foster-sister to your lady.

The prudery with which the Countess rules

Drave us to hide our liking at the first;

And as that grew, deception still kept pace,

Enhancing the romance of our delight

With stolen intercourse. But these last days

A cloud hath risen: for the lady’s father,

(That’s the old major-domo, whom I spoke of,)

Hath been befooled to give his daughter away

To a wreathed ass, a cousin of the Countess,

Who hath herself approved the match. You find me

In this dilemma, whether to confess

My love for Laura,—that’s the lady’s name—

Braving the Countess’anger, or carry her off,

And after sue for favour. (Music heard.)

Hark! here they come.

I’ll tell you more hereafter.

R.Ay, do: but now170Forget not me. (Aside.) By Jove, he has capped my story.—Diana’s sister too: and I entrappedTo aid in her elopement.

R.Ay, do: but now

Forget not me. (Aside.) By Jove, he has capped my story.—

Diana’s sister too: and I entrapped

To aid in her elopement.

Enter Diana, Laura, Gregory, and St. Nicholas; with attendant musicians and singers, who go out when the music is done.

MUSIC.

Fire of heaven, whose starry arrowPierces the veil of timeless night:Molten spheres, whose tempests narrowTheir floods to a beam of gentle light,To charm with a moonray quenched from fireThe land of delight, the land of desire.

Fire of heaven, whose starry arrow

Pierces the veil of timeless night:

Molten spheres, whose tempests narrow

Their floods to a beam of gentle light,

To charm with a moonray quenched from fire

The land of delight, the land of desire.

179F.(to R.). That is the major-domo GregoryWith the white locks. Take him aside, he is deaf.

F.(to R.). That is the major-domo Gregory

With the white locks. Take him aside, he is deaf.

(During next verse R. makes his way to G., and they are seen talking aside during the other dialogue.)

Music continued—Smile of love—a flower planted,Sprung in the garden of joy that art:Eyes that shine with a glow enchanted,Whose spreading fires encircle my heart,And warm with a noonray drenched in fireMy land of delight, my land of desire!

Music continued—

Smile of love—a flower planted,

Sprung in the garden of joy that art:

Eyes that shine with a glow enchanted,

Whose spreading fires encircle my heart,

And warm with a noonray drenched in fire

My land of delight, my land of desire!

DIANA.

I envy much the melancholy spiritWho wove that strain. The verses too were fetchedOut of a deeper well than common passionHath skill to draw from. Frederick, who is the poetThat I must love for this?

I envy much the melancholy spirit

Who wove that strain. The verses too were fetched

Out of a deeper well than common passion

Hath skill to draw from. Frederick, who is the poet

That I must love for this?

191F.Love for my artHath made your ladyship too generousTowards a most humble workman. ’Tis my own.

F.Love for my art

Hath made your ladyship too generous

Towards a most humble workman. ’Tis my own.

D.Ah me! what must it be to be a poet,And in the abandoned humour that men take with,To give forth! O ’tis godlike! but the music,—’Tis that you excel in: it hath a melancholyWhich springs of love.

D.Ah me! what must it be to be a poet,

And in the abandoned humour that men take with,

To give forth! O ’tis godlike! but the music,—

’Tis that you excel in: it hath a melancholy

Which springs of love.

F.The whole world sprang of love;And art is but the praise the creature makesTo the Creator.

F.The whole world sprang of love;

And art is but the praise the creature makes

To the Creator.

200D.True: and the best praiseIs but love’s echo. I mean you love some lady.She is very happy. Would I knew her name.

D.True: and the best praise

Is but love’s echo. I mean you love some lady.

She is very happy. Would I knew her name.

F.When I shall love a lady, and have meansTo court her, you shall hear gay music.

F.When I shall love a lady, and have means

To court her, you shall hear gay music.

D.Means!Is she so mercenary?

D.Means!

Is she so mercenary?

F.Your ladyshipMust take this lady of your own creationWith all her faults. Love is a luxuryYou may suspect in me when I have moneyTo spend in presents.

F.Your ladyship

Must take this lady of your own creation

With all her faults. Love is a luxury

You may suspect in me when I have money

To spend in presents.

D.Whom you love I know not:210But whether it be a queen or peasant girl,’Tis all one. Love exalteth above rankOr wealth; yet in Love’s ritual ’twere well wishedTo express your homage fully. Ho, Sir Gregory!Sir Gregory!

D.Whom you love I know not:

But whether it be a queen or peasant girl,

’Tis all one. Love exalteth above rank

Or wealth; yet in Love’s ritual ’twere well wished

To express your homage fully. Ho, Sir Gregory!

Sir Gregory!

GREGORY.

Your ladyship!

D.Give FrederickA hundred ducats at my household charge.

D.Give Frederick

A hundred ducats at my household charge.

G.(to F.). What said my lady?

F.(aside). An open insult.

T.(to G.).Thou’rt to give my masterA hundred ducats for a wherewithalTo make his lady presents.

T.(to G.).Thou’rt to give my master

A hundred ducats for a wherewithal

To make his lady presents.

F.(to T.).Silence, idiot.

T.He heard not: you may lose the money.

G.My lady,A gentleman from Milan. (Presenting R.)

G.My lady,

A gentleman from Milan. (Presenting R.)

221D.(half aside1). Milan, say you?I thought we had done with Milan.

D.(half aside1). Milan, say you?

I thought we had done with Milan.

R.Queen of Belflor,This letter from the Duke explains my coming.

R.Queen of Belflor,

This letter from the Duke explains my coming.

D.Welcome, sir, whencesoe’er: but if from Milan,Bringst thou this letter, or did it bring thee?

D.Welcome, sir, whencesoe’er: but if from Milan,

Bringst thou this letter, or did it bring thee?

R.I bring the letter, madam: and ’tis writBut in my favour.

R.I bring the letter, madam: and ’tis writ

But in my favour.

D.Good: on that assuranceI’ll read. (Opens letter.)

D.Good: on that assurance

I’ll read. (Opens letter.)

(F. has passed across to make way for G. and R., coming near Laura, front, side.)

LAURA(to F.).

You have my glove?

F.Yes.

L.When I drop the other,229Exchange them secretly.

L.When I drop the other,

Exchange them secretly.

D.(reading to audience).The bearer, my servant Ricardo, having hurt his challenger in a duel, I beg for him a few days’protection in your court, till some consequent rancour be appeased. Let my long silence and absence win for me this little grace.With reason and good courtesy asked. Ricardo,Make your asylum here. Sir GregoryWill tell you that such residence impliesCertain restraints, in which we look to findCompliance.

With reason and good courtesy asked. Ricardo,

Make your asylum here. Sir Gregory

Will tell you that such residence implies

Certain restraints, in which we look to find

Compliance.

(Laura drops a glove, which F. snatches up, and is seen by the audience to exchange for another.)

NICHOLAS(stepping forward between F. and L.).

I pray thee, sir; nay sir, I pray.My duty.

I pray thee, sir; nay sir, I pray.

My duty.

F.Is’t thy glove?

240N.Yes, when it falls.

N.Yes, when it falls.

F.How so? When heaven doth rain, it rains for all.Thou shouldst have picked it up.

F.How so? When heaven doth rain, it rains for all.

Thou shouldst have picked it up.

N.I ran to do so,But thou anticipatedest me. I prayGive’t me, that I restore it to my lady.

N.I ran to do so,

But thou anticipatedest me. I pray

Give’t me, that I restore it to my lady.

F.Claim not her gloves, sir, till her gloves are thine.Now thou anticipatest.

F.Claim not her gloves, sir, till her gloves are thine.

Now thou anticipatest.

N.Sir Gregory!A question.

N.Sir Gregory!

A question.

G.Eigh!

D.What is this, St. Nicholas?

N.I beg Sir Gregory judge ’twixt me and Frederick.My lady Laura, having dropped her glove,250He picks it up, and would return it to her;Which I forbid, claiming the privilegeAs her accepted lover.

N.I beg Sir Gregory judge ’twixt me and Frederick.

My lady Laura, having dropped her glove,

He picks it up, and would return it to her;

Which I forbid, claiming the privilege

As her accepted lover.

D.A mighty question.Who can determine it?

D.A mighty question.

Who can determine it?

T.That can I. The ladyShould drop the other, and let each have one.

T.That can I. The lady

Should drop the other, and let each have one.

D.St. Nicholas would claim both, Sir Solomon.(To F.). Give me the glove. I thank you much; and nowI offer better matter for discussion:The chairs were set on purpose. Let all be seated.259Laura, take back thy glove; and sit thou there.You, Frederick, on my right. (To R.) ’Tis what I callThe Muses’matinée. These morning hours,Which others waste, we may devote to wisdom,And solve some learned question, as was doneIn ancient Athens; where, as Plato shows,Nothing was more admired than dialoguesIn science and philosophy. I will holdSuch an assembly: we will each in turnMake answer to the question I propose.And that shall be of love. I’ll question whyLove is called bitter-sweet.

D.St. Nicholas would claim both, Sir Solomon.

(To F.). Give me the glove. I thank you much; and now

I offer better matter for discussion:

The chairs were set on purpose. Let all be seated.

Laura, take back thy glove; and sit thou there.

You, Frederick, on my right. (To R.) ’Tis what I call

The Muses’matinée. These morning hours,

Which others waste, we may devote to wisdom,

And solve some learned question, as was done

In ancient Athens; where, as Plato shows,

Nothing was more admired than dialogues

In science and philosophy. I will hold

Such an assembly: we will each in turn

Make answer to the question I propose.

And that shall be of love. I’ll question why

Love is called bitter-sweet.

DIANATRISTRAM StandsLAURAFREDERICKNICHOLASGREGORYRICHARD

270N.Now, by my heart,A pretty question. May I speak the first?

N.Now, by my heart,

A pretty question. May I speak the first?

D.In turn, in turn. Hark, if I put it thus,What is love’s chiefest pain? How think you, Frederick?The speech lies with Ricardo, as our guest.

D.In turn, in turn. Hark, if I put it thus,

What is love’s chiefest pain? How think you, Frederick?

The speech lies with Ricardo, as our guest.

R.Am I to answer?

D.Ay, sir: you must tellWhat, in your judgment, is love’s chiefest pain.

D.Ay, sir: you must tell

What, in your judgment, is love’s chiefest pain.

R.’Tis well, my lady, I am not one of those,Who, when they would speak wisely, go aboutTo weigh their pros and cons; in doing whichThey but confess their common thoughts are folly,281Which they must mask. I have a steady mind,Which thinking cannot mend: and well I knowThe greatest pain in love is when a manHath loved a lady most deservedly,And been most undeservedly refused;Yet, spite of her contempt, is silly-true,And wastes his days. This is the pain of love;Or if another can be shewn to match,289I forfeit claim to wisdom in such matters.

R.’Tis well, my lady, I am not one of those,

Who, when they would speak wisely, go about

To weigh their pros and cons; in doing which

They but confess their common thoughts are folly,

Which they must mask. I have a steady mind,

Which thinking cannot mend: and well I know

The greatest pain in love is when a man

Hath loved a lady most deservedly,

And been most undeservedly refused;

Yet, spite of her contempt, is silly-true,

And wastes his days. This is the pain of love;

Or if another can be shewn to match,

I forfeit claim to wisdom in such matters.

D.Very well said, sir, if your speech be takenTo include the parallel, the equal painOf any woman who thus loves a man.What say you, Frederick?

D.Very well said, sir, if your speech be taken

To include the parallel, the equal pain

Of any woman who thus loves a man.

What say you, Frederick?

F.Ricardo is in fault,For love being not returned is but half love;In which imperfect state love’s pain or blissCannot be known: to love and be belovedIs the required condition. But when two hearts,Encountering in this mortal maze, have knitTheir preordained espousals, and together300In moonlight meeting and sweet conference,Signed the surrendering treaties of their love;If fate, or circumstance, or other’s willShould then oppose them, and thrust in to severThe new-spun cords with which they are bound; I sayThis is the hardest pain that love can shew.

F.Ricardo is in fault,

For love being not returned is but half love;

In which imperfect state love’s pain or bliss

Cannot be known: to love and be beloved

Is the required condition. But when two hearts,

Encountering in this mortal maze, have knit

Their preordained espousals, and together

In moonlight meeting and sweet conference,

Signed the surrendering treaties of their love;

If fate, or circumstance, or other’s will

Should then oppose them, and thrust in to sever

The new-spun cords with which they are bound; I say

This is the hardest pain that love can shew.

D.Ha! you speak logic; that love’s perfect painCannot exist but in love’s perfect state.Laura, ’tis thou to speak.

D.Ha! you speak logic; that love’s perfect pain

Cannot exist but in love’s perfect state.

Laura, ’tis thou to speak.

L.What shall I say?

D.Give thy opinion; or, in want of matter,310Be critical. A gloss may hit the markWhere the text fails.

D.Give thy opinion; or, in want of matter,

Be critical. A gloss may hit the mark

Where the text fails.

L.If Frederick has said well,That love’s pain is a pain of love returned,The pain of love must come from being loved.

L.If Frederick has said well,

That love’s pain is a pain of love returned,

The pain of love must come from being loved.

D.O, most adorable simplicity!Before thy lover, too! St. Nicholas,What wilt thou say?

D.O, most adorable simplicity!

Before thy lover, too! St. Nicholas,

What wilt thou say?

N.Beshrew my science now,If Lady Laura have not hit the mark.’Tis vulgar error that would make distinction’Twixt pain and joy; which are, as life and death,320Inseparables. The shadowed imagesCast on the wall of this memorial cave,This earth, wherein we dwell, are things of nought,But serving to mislead our darkling sense:Nay health and strength are but the habitudeOf this delusion. Ask your ruddy clownOf love; will he not tell you ’tis a pleasureWhich moves the plain heart of the natural man?But to the poet, what is love to him?’Tis like heaven’s rainbow scarf, woven of all hues330Of pain and joy; an eagle and a snakeStruggling in the void and crystalline abysmOf life and death. And love’s pain, what is that?I have compared it to a sunbeamed tear,Whose single pearl broiders the marble lidsOf some tall Sphinx, that with impassive smileDreams o’er the desert; whence ’twas gathered upOf earthly dew and the pale sparkle of stars,To fall in silent lightning on the sands;Which, at the touch magnifical, bloom forth340In irresistible fecundity.Such is love’s pain, as it hath lit on me;And tinctured by it I would dream my day,Nor count the sailing hour, but when night fallsBe closèd up, like a belated beeIn the pale lily of death.

N.Beshrew my science now,

If Lady Laura have not hit the mark.

’Tis vulgar error that would make distinction

’Twixt pain and joy; which are, as life and death,

Inseparables. The shadowed images

Cast on the wall of this memorial cave,

This earth, wherein we dwell, are things of nought,

But serving to mislead our darkling sense:

Nay health and strength are but the habitude

Of this delusion. Ask your ruddy clown

Of love; will he not tell you ’tis a pleasure

Which moves the plain heart of the natural man?

But to the poet, what is love to him?

’Tis like heaven’s rainbow scarf, woven of all hues

Of pain and joy; an eagle and a snake

Struggling in the void and crystalline abysm

Of life and death. And love’s pain, what is that?

I have compared it to a sunbeamed tear,

Whose single pearl broiders the marble lids

Of some tall Sphinx, that with impassive smile

Dreams o’er the desert; whence ’twas gathered up

Of earthly dew and the pale sparkle of stars,

To fall in silent lightning on the sands;

Which, at the touch magnifical, bloom forth

In irresistible fecundity.

Such is love’s pain, as it hath lit on me;

And tinctured by it I would dream my day,

Nor count the sailing hour, but when night falls

Be closèd up, like a belated bee

In the pale lily of death.

D.Now you all hear!

R.(aside). Heavens! a belated bee!

D.Thy lover, Laura;What say’st thou?

D.Thy lover, Laura;

What say’st thou?

L.O beautiful.

D.And you, Ricardo?

R.Capital, capital!

D.Sir Gregory!Sir Gregory!

D.Sir Gregory!

Sir Gregory!

G.Eigh.

D.’Tis now thy turn to speak.

350G.Pardon, your ladyship; but at the outsetI missed the question, and for lack of itHave followed ill.

G.Pardon, your ladyship; but at the outset

I missed the question, and for lack of it

Have followed ill.

D.The question we discussIs this, What is the chiefest pain of love?

D.The question we discuss

Is this, What is the chiefest pain of love?

G.The chiefest what?

D.Pain.

G.Ah! the pain of love.

D.’Tis now thy turn to speak.

G.Oh, is’t my turn?The chiefest pain of love; I am asked to sayWhat that is?

G.Oh, is’t my turn?

The chiefest pain of love; I am asked to say

What that is?

D.Yes.

G.Your ladyship knows wellYou ask of one who has lived to study truthFrom nature’s only teacher;—without whichI would not speak. But since you have often heard361Your sainted mother tell from what sad causeShe made my Laura your adopted sister,Saving my orphan in the only lossThat can befall a babe, its mother’s care,You know how by that loss there came to meThe chiefest pain of love; which can, I think,But hap to wedded spirits, who have joyedIn mutual life: wherein, may heaven forgive meIf the remembrance of my joy awake370Sorrow with thankfulness, the balance beingSo far on the good side, spite of the pain:Yet if I speak of it now without more tearsThan ye can see, ’tis that the founts are dried:Time hath not helped me otherwise. I prayGod, who is merciful, to shield all hereFrom like calamity.

G.Your ladyship knows well

You ask of one who has lived to study truth

From nature’s only teacher;—without which

I would not speak. But since you have often heard

Your sainted mother tell from what sad cause

She made my Laura your adopted sister,

Saving my orphan in the only loss

That can befall a babe, its mother’s care,

You know how by that loss there came to me

The chiefest pain of love; which can, I think,

But hap to wedded spirits, who have joyed

In mutual life: wherein, may heaven forgive me

If the remembrance of my joy awake

Sorrow with thankfulness, the balance being

So far on the good side, spite of the pain:

Yet if I speak of it now without more tears

Than ye can see, ’tis that the founts are dried:

Time hath not helped me otherwise. I pray

God, who is merciful, to shield all here

From like calamity.

F.I say AmenTo good Sir Gregory.

F.I say Amen

To good Sir Gregory.

R.And amen for me.

Enter Flora to D.

D.What is it, Flora?

FLORA.

My lady, the merchant’s come.

D.What merchant?

Fl.The Venetian with the silksYour ladyship bespoke.

Fl.The Venetian with the silks

Your ladyship bespoke.

380D.(rising).Do you hear, Laura?Your stuffs at last. Our matinée, my friends,Is interrupted, an important matterUnfortunately calls me away. Come, Laura:There’ll scarce be time to get the silks made upBefore your wedding. Come and choose them with me.St. Nicholas, we shall need thee too; ’tis nothingUnless thine eye is pleased.

D.(rising).Do you hear, Laura?

Your stuffs at last. Our matinée, my friends,

Is interrupted, an important matter

Unfortunately calls me away. Come, Laura:

There’ll scarce be time to get the silks made up

Before your wedding. Come and choose them with me.

St. Nicholas, we shall need thee too; ’tis nothing

Unless thine eye is pleased.

N.I dote on silks.I love their fine prismatic cadences.Yet these Venetian colours to my taste390Are over-saturate: I’d have them castWith the Doge’s ring in the sea. A good year’s soakingWould bring them down into that faded softness,Which is a banquet to the cultured eye.

N.I dote on silks.

I love their fine prismatic cadences.

Yet these Venetian colours to my taste

Are over-saturate: I’d have them cast

With the Doge’s ring in the sea. A good year’s soaking

Would bring them down into that faded softness,

Which is a banquet to the cultured eye.

D.Ricardo, do you attend Sir Gregory,And see your lodging. Come, St. Nicholas;Come, Laura![Exit with Laura and St. Nicholas. Flora following.

D.Ricardo, do you attend Sir Gregory,

And see your lodging. Come, St. Nicholas;

Come, Laura![Exit with Laura and St. Nicholas. Flora following.

G.(to R.). I wait upon you, if it please youTo visit your apartments. Tell me prayWhat men you bring.[Exit with R. making signs.

G.(to R.). I wait upon you, if it please you

To visit your apartments. Tell me pray

What men you bring.[Exit with R. making signs.

F.(taking out the glove with the letter). Thank heaven, now I may read.(Aside.) What saith my love? what hope?

F.(taking out the glove with the letter). Thank heaven, now I may read.

(Aside.) What saith my love? what hope?

T.(aside).Another letter!Whence got he this?

T.(aside).Another letter!

Whence got he this?

F.O blessed paper!

400T.(aside).Watch him!

T.(aside).Watch him!

F.(reading, away from T.).Dearest; all is lost. They mistake my hesitation for consent. My father has fixed the marriage for three days hence. I dared not say the truth. I know not what I said. My senses left me....

(Aloud.) Death! death!

Back to Index Next