Marinelliand presentlyAngelo.
The carriage is returning slowly to town. So slowly? and at each door a servant? These appearances do not please me; they show the plot has only half succeeded. They are driving some wounded person carefully, and he is not dead. The fellow in the mask comes nearer. 'Tis Angelo himself--foolhardy! But he knows the windings of this place. He beckons to me--he must know that he has succeeded.--Ha! ha! Count Appiani. You, who refused an embassy to Massa, have been obliged to go a longer journey. Who taught you to recognize apes so well? 'Tis true, they are malicious (walks towards the door). Well, Angelo?
EnterAngelo,with his mash in his hand.
Be ready, my lord. She will be here directly.
How did you succeed in other respects?
As you wished, I have no doubt.
How is it with the Count?
So, so. But he must have had some suspicions, for he was not quite unprepared.
Quick, tell me--is he dead?
I am sorry for him, poor man.
There! Take that for thy compassion (gives him a purse).
And our poor Nicolo too, he has shared the same luck.
What! Loss on both sides?
Yes. I could cry for the honest lad's fate; though I come in for another quarter of this purse by it; for I am his heir, since I avenged him. This is a law among us, and as good a law, methinks, as ever was made for the support of friendship and fidelity. This Nicolo, my lord----
No more of your Nicolo! The Count----
Zounds! The Count finished him, and I finished the Count. He fell, and though he might be alive when they put him into the coach, I'll answer for it that he will never come alive out of it.
Were you but sure of this, Angelo----
I'll forfeit your custom, if it be not true. Have you any further commands? For I have a long journey. We must be across the frontier before sunset.
Go, then.
Should anything else occur in my way, you know where to inquire for me. What any other can venture to do will be no magic for me, and my terms are lower than any other's. (Exit.)
'Tis well--yet not so well as it might have been. Shame on thee, Angelo, to be such a niggard! Surely the Count was worthy of a second shot. Now, he may die in agony; poor Count! Shame, Angelo! It was a cruel and bungling piece of work. The Prince must not know what has happened. He himself must discover how advantageous this death is to him. Death! What would I not give to be certain of it!
The Prince, Marinelli.
Here she comes up the avenue. She flies before the servants. Fear gives wings to her feet. She must not suspect our design. She thinks she is escaping from robbers. How long will her mistake last?
At least we have her here.
But will not her mother come in search of her? Will not the Count follow her? What can we do then? How can I keep her from them?
To all this I confess I can make no reply. But we must see. Compose yourself, Prince. This first step was, at all events, necessary.
How so, if we are obliged to recede?
But perhaps we need not. There are a thousand things on which we may make further steps. Have you forgotten the chief one?
How can I have forgotten that of which I never thought? What mean you by the chief one?
The art of pleasing and persuading--which in a prince who loves can never fail.
Can never fail! True, except when it is most needed. I have already made a poor attempt in this art to-day. All my flattery, all my entreaties could not extract one word from her. Mute, trembling, and abashed, she stood before me like a criminal who fears the judge's fatal sentence. Her terror was infectious. I trembled also and concluded by imploring her forgiveness. Scarcely dare I speak to her again--and, at all events, I dare not be present when she arrives. You, Marinelli, must receive her. I will listen to your conversation, and join you when I am more collected.
Marinelli,presently his servantBattista,andEmilia.
If she did not see him fall--and of course she could not, as she fled instantly But she comes, and I too do not wish to be the first to meet her eye (withdraws to a corner of the apartment).
EnterBattistaandEmilia.
This way--this way--dear lady.
Oh! I thank you, my friend--I thank you. But, Heavens! Where am I? Quite alone, too! Where are my mother, and the Count? They are surely coming? Are they not close behind me?
I suppose so.
You suppose so? Are you not certain? Have you not seen them? Were not pistols fired behind us?
Pistols? Was it so?
Surely. Oh, Heavens! and the Count or my mother is shot.
I'll go in search of them instantly.
Not without me! I'll go with you! I must go with you. Come, my friend.
Ha! fair lady! What misfortune, or rather what good fortune--what fortunate misfortune has procured us the honour----
How!--You here, my lord!--This then is doubtless your house. Pardon my intrusion. We have been attacked by robbers. Some good people came to our assistance,--and this honest man took me out of the carriage and conducted me hither. But I am alarmed to find that I alone am rescued. My mother must be still in danger. I heard pistols fired behind us. Perhaps she is dead,--and yet I live. Pardon me. I must away, I must return to the place, which I ought not to have left.
Compose yourself, dear lady. All is well. The beloved persons, for whom you feel this tender anxiety, will soon be here.--Run, Battista; they may perhaps not know where the lady is. See whether you can find them in any of the lodges, and conduct them hither instantly.
(ExitBattista.)
Are you sure they are all safe? Has nothing happened to them?--Oh, what a day of terrors has this been to me! But I ought not to remain here; I should hasten to meet them.
Why so, dear lady? You are already breathless and exhausted. Compose yourself, and condescend to step into this room, where you will find better accommodation than here. I feel certain that the Prince has already found your gracious mother, and is escorting her hither.
Who do you say?
Our gracious Prince himself.
The Prince!
He flew to your assistance at the first intelligence. He is highly incensed that such a crime should have been committed so near to his villa, nay, almost before his eyes. He has sent in search of the villains, and if they be seized, their punishment will be most severe.
The Prince!--Where am I then?
At Dosalo, the Prince's villa.
How strange!--And you think he will soon arrive?--But with my mother too?
Here he is, already.
ThePrince, Emilia,andMarinellies.
Where is she? Where is she?--We have sought you everywhere, dear lady.--You are well, I hope? Now, all is well. The Count and your mother----
Oh, your Highness! Where are they? Where is my mother?
Not far off, close at hand.
Heavens! In what a situation shall I perhaps find one or other of them! For your Highness conceals from me--I perceive----
I conceal nothing, be assured. Lean on my arm, and accompany me to them without fear.
But--if they be not wounded--if my suspicions be not true--why are they not already here?
Hasten then, that all these sad apprehensions may at once be banished.
What shall I do? (wrings her hands).
How, dear lady! Can you harbour any suspicion against me?
On my knees I entreat you----
I am quite ashamed.--Yes, Emilia, I deserve this mute reproach. My conduct this morning cannot be justified, or even excused. Pardon my weakness: I ought not to have made you uneasy by an avowal, from which I could expect no advantage. I was amply punished by the speechless agitation with which you listened to it, or rather did not listen to it. And if I might be allowed to think this accident the signal of more favourable fortune--the most wondrous respite of my final sentence--this accident, which allows me to behold and speak to you again before my hopes for ever vanish--this accident, which gives me an opportunity of imploring your forgiveness--yet will I--do not tremble--yet will I rely only and entirely on your looks. Not a sigh, not a syllable shall offend you. Only wound me not with suspicions--do not for a moment doubt the unbounded influence which you possess over me--only imagine not that you need any protection against me. And now come--come where delights more in harmony with your feelings, await you. (Leads her away, not without opposition.) Follow us, Marinelli.
(ExeuntPrinceandEmilia.)
Follow us! That means of course--Follow us not. And why should I follow them? He will now find how far he can proceed with her, without witnesses. All that I have to do is to prevent intrusion. From the Count I no longer expect it--but from her mother. Wonderful, indeed, would it be, were she to have departed quietly, leaving her daughter unprotected. Well, Battista, what now?
BattistaandMarinelli.
The mother, my lord chamberlain----
As I suspected. Where is she?
She will be here immediately, unless you prevent it. When you ordered me to pretend to look for her, I felt little inclination to do so. But in the distance I heard her shrieks. She is in search of her daughter, and will discover the whole plot. All the people who inhabit this retired spot have gathered round her, and each vies with his neighbour to show her the way. Whether she has been told that you are here, or that the Prince is here, I know not. What is to be done?
Let us see (considering). Refuse her admittance when she knows that her daughter is here? That will not do. She will certainly open her eyes when she finds her lambkin in the clutches of the wolf. Eyes! They would be of little consequence; but Heaven have mercy on our ears! Well, well. A woman's lungs are not inexhaustible. She will be silent, when she can shriek no longer. Besides, the mother it is whom we should gain over to our side--and if I be a judge of mothers--to be a sort of prince's step--mother would flatter most of them. Let her come, Battista, let her come.
Hark, my lord!
Emilia! Emilia! My child! Where are you?
Go, Battista, and use your endeavours to dismiss her inquisitive companions.
Claudia, Battista, Marinelli.
AsBattistais going,Claudiameets him.
Ha! You took her out of the carriage. You led her away. I know you again. Where is she? Speak, wretch.
Are these your thanks?
Oh, if you merit thanks (in a mild tone), forgive me, worthy man. Where is she? Let me no longer be deprived of her. Where is she?
She could not be more safe, were she in heaven.--My master, here, will conduct you to her. (Observes that some people are beginning to followClaudia.) Back there! Begone! (Exit, driving them away.)
Claudia, Marinelli.
Your master? (espiesMarinelli,and starts). Ha! Is this yourmaster? You here, Sir--and my daughter here--and you--you will conduct me to her?
With great pleasure, madam.
Hold! It just occurs to me. It was you, I think, who visited Count Appiani this morning at my house,--whom I left alone with him,--and with whom he afterwards had a quarrel?
A quarrel? That I did not know. We had a trifling dispute respecting affairs of state.
And your name is Marinelli?
The Marquis Marinelli.
True. Hear, then, Marquis Marinelli. Your name, accompanied with a curse----but no--I will not wrong the noble man--the curse was inferred by myself--your name was the last word uttered by the dying Count.
The dying Count? Count Appiani?----You hear, Madam, what most surprises me in this your strange address--the dying Count?--What else you mean to imply, I know not.
Marinelli was the last word uttered by the dying Count.--Do you understand me now? I myself did not at first understand it, though it was spoken in a tone--a tone which I still hear. Where were my senses that I could not understand it instantly?
Well, Madam, I was always the Count's friend--his intimate friend. If, therefore, he pronounced my name at the hour of death----
In that tone!--I cannot imitate--I cannot describe it--but it signified----everything. What! Were we attacked by robbers? No--by assassins--by hired assassins: and Marinelli was the last word uttered by the dying Count, in such a tone----
In such a tone? Did any one ever hear that a tone of voice used in a moment of terror could be a ground of accusation against an honest man?
Oh that I could appear before a tribunal of justice, and imitate that tone? Yet, wretch that I am! I forget my daughter. Where is she--dead too? Was it my daughter's fault that Appiani was thy enemy?
I revere the mother's fears, and therefore pardon you.--Come, Madam. Your daughter is in an adjoining room, and I hope her alarms are by this time at an end. With the tenderest solicitude is the Prince himself employed in comforting her.
Who?
The Prince.
The Prince! Do you really say the Prince--our Prince?
Who else should it be?
Wretched mother that I am!--And her father, her father! He will curse the day of her birth. He will curse me.
For Heaven's sake, Madam, what possesses you?
It is clear. To-day--at church--before the eyes of the All-pure--in the presence of the Eternal, this scheme of villainy began. (ToMarinelli.) Murderer! Mean, cowardly murderer! Thou wast not bold enough to meet him face to face, but base enough to bribe assassins that another might be gratified. Thou scum of murderers! honourable murderers would not endure thee in their company. Why may I not spit all my gall, all my rancour into thy face, thou panderer?
You rave, good woman. Moderate your voice, at any rate, and remember where you are.
Where I am! Remember where I am! What cares the lioness, when robbed of her young, in whose forest she roars?
Ha! My mother! I hear my mother's voice.
Her voice? 'Tis she! She has heard me. Where are you, my child?--I come, I come (rushes into the room, followed byMarinelli).
The PrinceandMarinelli.
Come, Marinelli, I must collect myself--I look to you for explanation.
Oh! maternal anger! Ha! ha! ha!
You laugh?
Had you, Prince, but seen her frantic conduct in this room! You heard how she screamed; yet how tame she became as soon as she beheld you! Ha! ha! Yes--I never yet knew the mother who scratched a prince's eyes out, because he thought her daughter handsome.
You are a poor observer. The daughter fell senseless into her mother's arms. This made the mother forget her rage. It was her daughter, not me, whom she spared, when, in a low voice, she uttered--what I myself had rather not have heard--had rather not have understood.
What means your Highness?
Why this dissimulation? Answer me. Is it true or false?
And if it were true!
If it were! It is, then--he is dead (in a threatening tone). Marinelli! Marinelli!
Well?
By the God of justice I swear that I am innocent of this blood. Had you previously told me that the Count's life must be sacrificed--God is my witness I would as soon have consented to lose my own.
Had I previously told you! As if the Count's death was part of my plan! I charged Angelo that on his soul he should take care that no person suffered injury; and this, too, would have been the case, had not the Count begun the fray, and shot the first assailant on the spot.
Indeed! he ought to have understood the joke better.
So that Angelo was enraged, and instantly avenged his comrade's death----
Well, that is certainly very natural.
I have reproved him for it.
Reproved him! How good--natured! Advise him never to appear again in my dominions; for my reproof might not be found so good-natured.
Just as I foresaw! I and Angelo.--Design and accident; all the same.--It was, however, agreed, and indeed promised, that I should not be answerable for any accidents which might happen.
Mighthappen, say you, ormust?
Still better! Yet one word, your Highness, before you say in harsh phrase what you think of me. The Count's death was far from being a matter of indifference to me. I had challenged him. He left the world without giving me satisfaction, and my honour, consequently, remains tarnished. Allowing, therefore, what under other circumstances I deserved the suspicion you allude to, can I in this? (with assumed anger.) He who can so suspect me----
Well, well!
Oh that he were still alive! I would give all that I possess--(with bitterness)--even the favour of my Prince--even that treasure, invaluable and never to be trifled with, would I give.
Well, well! I understand you. His death was accidental, merely accidental--you assure me that it was so, and I believe it. But will any one else believe it? Will Emilia--her mother--the world?
Scarcely.
What, then, will they believe? You shrug your shoulders. They will suppose Angelo the tool and me the prime mover.
Probable enough!
Me! me, myself!--or from this hour I must resign all hopes of Emilia.
Which you must also have done, had the Count lived.
Marinelli!--(checking his warmth)--But you shall not rouse my anger. Be it so. It is so. You mean to imply that the Count's death is fortunate for me;--the best thing which could have happened--the only circumstance which could bring my passion to a happy issue--and, therefore, no matter how it happened. A Count more or less in the world is of little consequence. Am I right?--I am not alarmed at a little crime; but it must be a secret little crime, a serviceable little crime. But ours has not been either secret or serviceable. It has opened a passage only to close it again. Every one will lay it to our door. And, after all, we have not perpetrated it at all. This can only be the result of your wise and wonderful management.
If your Highness have it so----
Why not?--I want an explanation----
I am accused of more than I deserve.
I want an explanation.
Well then, what error in my plans has attached such obvious suspicion to the Prince? The fault lies in the master-stroke which your Highness so graciously put to my plans----
I?
Allow me to say that the step which you took at church this morning--with whatever circumspection it was done, or however inevitable it might be--was not part of my programme.
How did that injure it?
Not indeed the whole plan, but its opportuneness.
Do I understand you?
To speak more intelligibly. When I undertook the business, Emilia knew nothing of the Prince's attachment. Her mother just as little. How if I formed my foundation upon this circumstance, and in the meantime the Prince was undermining my edifice?
Damnation!
How, if he himself betrayed his intentions?
Cursed interposition!
For had he not so behaved himself I should like to know what part of my plan could have raised the least suspicion in the mind of the mother or the daughter?
You are right.
And therein I certainly am very wrong.--Pardon me.
Battista, The Prince, Marinelli.
EnterBATTISTA(hastily).
The Countess is arrived.
The Countess? What Countess?
Orsina!
Orsina? Marinelli!
I am as much astonished as yourself.
Go--run--Battista. She must not alight. I am not here--not here to her. She must return this instant. Go, go. (ExitBattista). What does the silly woman want? How dares she take this liberty? How could she know that we were here? Is she come as a spy? Can she have heard anything? Oh, Marinelli, speak, answer me. Is the man offended, who vows he is my friend--offended by a paltry altercation? Shall I beg pardon?
Prince, as soon as you recover yourself, I am yours again, with my whole soul. The arrival of Orsina is as much an enigma to me as to you. But she will not be denied. What will you do?
I will not speak to her. I will withdraw.
Right! Do so instantly; I will receive her.
But merely to dismiss her. No more. We have other business to perform.
Not so, not so. Our other things are done. Summon up resolution and all deficiencies will be supplied. But do I not hear her? Hasten, Prince. In that room (pointing to an adjoining apartment, to which thePrinceretires)--you may, if you please, listen to our conversation. She comes, I fear, at an unpropitious moment for her.
The Countess Orsina, Marinelli.
What means this? No one comes to meet me, but a shameless servant, who endeavours to obstruct my entrance. Surely I am at Dosalo, where, on former occasions, an army of attendants rushed to receive me--where love and ecstasy awaited me. Yes. The place is the same, but----Ha! you here, Marinelli? I am glad the Prince has brought you with him. Yet, no. My business with his Highness must be transacted with himself only. Where is he?
The Prince, Countess?
Who else?
You suppose that he is here, then,--or know it, perhaps. He, however, does not expect a visit from your ladyship.
Indeed! He has not then received my letter this morning.
Your letter? But--yes. I remember he mentioned that he had received one.
Well? Did I not in that letter request he would meet me here to-day? I own he did not think proper to return a written answer; but I learnt that an hour afterwards he drove from town to Dosalo. This I thought a sufficient answer, and therefore I have come.
A strange accident!
Accident! It was an agreement--at least as good as an agreement. On my part, the letter--on his, the deed. How you stand staring, Marquis! What surprises you?
You seemed resolved yesterday never to appear before the Prince again.
Night is a good councillor. Where is he? Where is he? Doubtless in the chamber, whence sighs and sobs were issuing as I passed. I wished to enter, but the impertinent servant would not let me pass.
Dearest Countess----
I heard a woman's shriek. What means this, Marinelli? Tell me--if I be your dearest Countess--tell me. A curse on these court slaves! Their tales! their lies! But what matters it whether you choose to tell me or not? I will see for myself.
Whither would you go?
Where I ought to have gone long since. Is it proper, think you, that I should waste any time in idle conversation with you in the ante-chamber, when the Prince expects me in the saloon?
You are mistaken, Countess. The Prince does not expect you here. He cannot--will not see you.
And yet is here, in consequence of my letter.
Not in consequence of your letter.
He received it, you say.
Yes, but he did not read it.
Not read it! (Less violently.) Not read it! (Sorrowfully, and wiping away a tear.) Not even read it!
From preoccupation, I am certain, not contempt.
Contempt! Who thought of such a thing? To whom do you use the term? Marinelli, your comfort is impertinent. Contempt! Contempt! To me! (In a milder tone.) It is true that he no longer loves me. That is certain. And in place of love something else has filled his soul. It is natural. But why should this be contempt? Indifference would be enough. Would it not, Marinelli?
Certainly, certainly.
Certainly! What an oracle, who can be made to say what one pleases! Indifference in the place of love!--That means nothing in the place of something. For learn, thou mimicking court-parrot, learn from a woman, that indifference is but an empty word, a mere sound which means nothing. The mind can only be indifferent to objects of which it does not think; to things which for itself have no existence. Only indifferent for a thing that is nothing--that is as much as saying not indifferent. Is that meaning beyond thee, man?
Alas! how prophetic were my fears?
What do you mutter?
Mere admiration! Who does not know, Countess, that you are a philosopher?
Am I not? True; I am a philosopher. But have I now shown it; ah, shame! If I have shown it, and have often done so, it were no wonder if the Prince despised me. How can man love a creature which, in spite of him, willthink? A woman who thinks is as silly as a man who uses paint. She ought to laugh--do nothing but laugh, that the mighty lords of the creation may be kept in good humour--What makes me laugh now, Marinelli? Why, the accidental circumstance that I should have written to the Prince to come hither--that he should not have read my letter and nevertheless have come. Ha! ha! ha! 'Tis an odd accident, very pleasant and amusing. Why don't you laugh, Marinelli? The mighty lords of the creation may laugh, though we poor creatures dare not think. (In a serious and commanding tone.) Then laugh, you!
Presently, Countess, presently.
Blockhead! while you speak the proper moment is for ever past. No. Do not laugh--for mark me, Marinelli, (with emotion) that which makes me laugh, has, like every thing in the world, its serious side. Accident! Could it be accidental that the Prince, who little thought that he would see me here, must see me?--Accident! Believe me, Marinelli, the word accident is blasphemy. Nothing under the sun is accidental, and least of all this, of which the purpose is so evident.--Almighty and all--bounteous Providence, pardon me that I joined this poor weak sinner in giving the name of accident to what so plainly is Thy work--yes, Thy immediate work. (In a hasty tone toMarinelli.) Dare not again to lead me thus astray from truth.
This is going too far (aside)--But, Countess----
Peace with yourbut--that word demands reflection, and--my head, my head!--(Puts her hand to her forehead)--Contrive that I may speak to the Prince immediately, or I shall soon want strength to do so. You see, Marinelli, that I must speak to him--that I am resolved to speak to him.