ACT III
Scene—Paulo’s studio in Venice. A bare room of obvious poverty. Paulo painting at a large canvas.
(Enter Lucia.)
Paulo
(Turning happily.) Lucia! At last you return. My love, how I have missed you. (Kisses her.) It seemed so long. (Examining her.) You are excited! Then my uneasiness was not for nothing. Tell me. An adventure, perhaps? An admirer, of course! This flush…! (Laughs.) Little Child…! (Teasingly.)
Lucia
I’ve been but a short hour, my Paulo. And, as for adventures and admirers, they have but one name—Paulo. (Looks embarrassed slightly.) How quick you are!
Paulo
Love makes me quick. I think I guess.
Lucia
(Ashamed a little.) Listen! (They listen. The waves of the sea are audible beating against the outer walls.) You hear?
Paulo
(Patiently.) I hear, but I do not understand. It is the water only——
Lucia
(Lower.) The rising water. (Pauses, while passing hand over her forehead.) Nor do I understand. It is my weakness, I suppose. All women have something that makes them fear without a reason, and this is mine——
Paulo
(Protectively.) For which I love you all the more. For had you reasoned you would not have married me. (To himself.) Strange, strange.… (Recovers gaiety and turns to picture.) See how it grows, Lucia. All that I scraped out yesterday I have repainted. Long before the Competition Day I shall have finished it. (Enthusiastically.) Look!
Lucia
The glow, the warmth, the colour—you’ve caught it all?
Paulo
I hope so. But when my model and my critic desert me both at once like this——
Lucia
Dear Paulo. (Sighs.) And it’s so difficult for me to make five scudi do the work of ten. (Shows agitation.) I know, oh, I know. (Excitement.) Yet somehow, somehow we shall find a way. And it will be wonderful——
Paulo
(Noticing her mood and wondering.) It is you who are wonderful—(shakes finger at her) intriguing with Fate as ever——
Lucia
(Quickly.) No, not intriguing. I am but your wife—and model. (Laughs.)
Paulo
And inspiration——
Lucia
And critic——
Paulo
And manager! That is the wonder—that you who fled with a painter to learn poverty like this (shows bare room) and this (shows clothes) and this (touches heart) should bargain so cleverly in the market-place and carry home our fish and vegetables in your coloured apron—the Lady Lucia, a house-wife of the people!
Lucia
Forgetting the wine as usual, and dropping half the fish on my way! (Seriously.) Love makes it beautiful. It is for love’s sake, Paulo.
Paulo
(Emphatically.) And the work’s sake.
Lucia
(Quickly.) The work, ah yes, the work’s sake. (Excitedly.) Oh, my Paulo, what would I not do—what would I not sacrifice for your advancement—I mean, for your art, your wonderful great art. (Confused.)
Paulo
(Quietly.) This shall be our love’s first-fruits (pointing to canvas).
Lucia
(Repeats low to herself.) Our love’s first-fruits.
Paulo
(Rapt.) When you and I float over the lagoons as dust upon the wind—(turns to her from picture, and lowers voice) when you and I are gone—remembered, perhaps, only as Paulo the painter, and Lucia his inspiration—this beauty—ah, that is my dream—this beauty shall still shine out for the world.
[They watch the picture for a moment.
Lucia
I fear one thing only for you—poverty. You should have everything.
Paulo
I have. Everything that matters to an artist, and its name is inspiration.
[Looks with passionate admiration at her.
Lucia
(With growing agitation.) You left Florence for my sake. But for me, the great Princes—(with an effort) the Medici—would have helped.
Paulo
(Brusquely.) We agreed—(pretended severity)—solemnly, you remember—never to mention your princely lover’s name. Nothing stops good painting like jealousy, and at that name I see blood.
Lucia
(Smiling.) Our Palace is too poor to house even that thin ghost. You have no need to think of jealousy.
Paulo
No need now, Lucia. In Venice we are safe from Damiano di Medici. Now, will you sit for me? I burn to work. Come! You must have roses in your hands. I will go to the flower-sellers by the bridge.
Lucia
I would have brought them with me from the market-place—one scudi each! I hesitated——
Paulo
And bought ten sprats instead! My wonderful, clever house-wife. Without sprats to eat I never could paint roses! But I must have them. I shall be but a moment away, my love—a single moment (throwing kisses from the door) that will seem like years! Farewell … Little Child.
Lucia
Little Child! Ah, how I love that name, given to me with our first kiss. I love it better than my own. (Thinks a moment, puzzled.) For somehow it seems my very own——
Paulo
It is your own. The little love-name that seems to travel like memory up the ages. I shall be back as soon as you are ready.
[Exit
[Knocking at the door startles her.
(Enter Damiano di Medici.)
Lucia
You! And so soon. It is too soon. I’ve had no time to prepare him yet——
Medici
A painter receives his patron without preparation surely——
Lucia
Patron! You must not use that word to him, or all is ruined before it is even begun. You must remember——
Medici
(Bows ironically.) “Must” to me! And “must” again! My gracious Lady Lucia forgets——
Lucia
Nothing. She remembers that her husband, first of all, is proud, as I have already warned you. He does not yet know that I have been to see you—you, of all men in the world.
Medici
(Frowning.) When you say “proud” you mean, I take it, jealous.
Lucia
I mean both. (Manner changing.) Oh, Prince, you promised—I have your word that you would be guided in this by me.
Medici
(Unbending.) I was in haste to see the picture——
Lucia
But too great haste——
Medici
(Ignoring her interruption.) For he is, I swear truly, the man I need—his work, that is to say. (Threateningly.) As once, my Lady, you were the woman that I needed. But needs do not last for ever, nor is any indispensable—perhaps.
Lucia
(More control.) Oh, give me time, Prince, please. You do not want to lose him. I have your word and trust it. (Anxiously.) Will you not take your gondola to the islands—the sun is sweet upon the water—and return in half an hour? I—by that time I——
Medici
The light is sweet upon your face as well. What do you offer me in return for so great a favour?
Lucia
I am the wife of Paulo Salviati.
Medici
And have, as I see, married poverty as well as genius! I was too slow for once, as now, it seems, I am too hasty. I should have asked—and taken—all before this fellow——
Lucia
(Scorn.) Poverty with Salviati is beauty for eternity. The wealth of a Florentine princess belongs to time.
Medici
And, therefore, you come humbly to ask me a favour.
Lucia
One it should be an honour for you to grant (with earnest persuasion)—that you may share in giving eternal beauty to the world. Had I asked the Collona or the Calviere to see the work of a great painter whom poverty——
Medici
You came, instead, to me.
Lucia
You have bought the palace on the Grand Canal and need a great—the greatest—painter for your ceiling——-
Medici
Enthusiasm becomes you. You look divine with that passion in your eyes.
Lucia
(Cunningly.) I am his model too, you see.
Medici
And that delicious gesture. (Steps nearer.) A little more fire, a touch more of abandon, and I swear that—on certain conditions—oh, very small ones!—I would grant everything you ask.
Lucia
(Icily.) An hour ago, when we talked together, you passed me your word. I appealed to you as lover of the beautiful—the best, the noblest in you. I was, it seems, mistaken, and our interview now had better end. (Moves to window.) I will call my husband.
Medici
This change from fire to ice is exquisite! (Admiringly.) But why so proud, fair Lady Lucia? (She stands listening.) You hear him coming? (She hears the water lapping. Hides her face a moment.) It is only the waves. The tide is rising still. That’s all.
Lucia
(Distraught.) Yes, rising, rising. Please leave me, Prince. No, no—please stay—a moment longer. (Frightened.) Forgive me. Something—a vision-flashed upon me out of darkness. I am confused. I fear. (To herself.) Oh, I have done this very thing before——
Medici
But not with me, alas!
Lucia
(Goes to his side.) Forgive me. I thought only of myself. For a moment I forgot the work, the beauty that is his divine, his holy mission. Now I’m myself again. The water, the rising water—somehow—in some strange way—reminds me. Oh, I will be wise and loving in the noblest way. (Looks into his eyes. Imploringly.) It is his need, his poverty, that drive me to ask a favour of you who once aspired to be my lover. Have you no pity? We fled from Florence to escape you—it is true. I would rather ask favours of any in the world but you—— (Confused.)
Medici
And yet—(To himself.) And you are his model. You could live for ever on my ceiling! (To her.) You are, indeed, a Goddess belonging to eternity! (Admiringly.)
Lucia
And yet—yes, I came to you an hour ago—as patron. It is true. It was for his sake and for his great art I came. (Voice singing outside.) Oh, I ask no favour now more than a little time to talk with him. That is his voice. I will persuade him. I will gain his consent, and he will do the picture for you—for your palace. Leave me, I beg, a few moments with him alone, and then return—to find—I promise it—the greatest painter in all Italy——
Medici
In all the world.
Lucia
Prepared to give you of his best.
[Clasps her hands and stares into his face.
Medici
To have you in my palace so (admiringly) is, perhaps, the next best thing to—have you in my——
Lucia
Oh, I implore you. Leave me with him. (Singing comes very close.) I promise.
Medici
(Shrugging.) You have chosen the one spell that moves me. Even more strong than the love of a fair woman is my love of art—its wonder, its beauty, and its triumph. His picture will outlive even your loveliness. (Sighs.) My name and my great palace will remind a later world of me, and of what I did for beauty. Well, well, my Lady Lucia, you win me over—for the moment, at any rate. I will stand behind this screen and listen. I must hear how you persuade genius to abjure its principles!
Lucia
(Firmly.) Then I do nothing. You must first go.
Medici
Another “must.” Your self-will is adorable. Upon my word! But I, too, have a “must”—his work, with yourself as model, on my palace ceiling! (Yields with a sarcastic bow.)
[Exit.
[Lucia mounts the model’s throne and stands, arranging her drapery, as Paulo enters.
Paulo
(Breathless; carries roses.) Only two! They were so dear. I have not your skill in bargains. (Holds out roses.) We must make them do. (Kisses her.) Have I been very long? I had to go nearly to the Zucca.
Lucia
Two roses added to our love makes a whole garden. And one day soon you shall lack nothing the work needs. (Tenderly.) Oh, Paulo, beloved, by rights everything should be yours now. There is not a painter in Italy who comes near you.
Paulo
(Quietly.) I shall win the Competition. We shall have plenty then.
Lucia
(Lower.) Your art needs it now. (Sighs.) I am so useless to you—and yet——
Paulo
(Looking.) And yet—? Lucia, this anxiety, this nervousness is strange to you. You use unaccustomed words. “Useless”! What can you mean?
Lucia
You would never be angry—you would not scold me, no matter what I might do—for your work’s sake?
Paulo
(Passionately.) You have such darling moods. I love you. The work is ours, not mine. (Caresses her.) I understand so well. It is your love that makes you tremble for the work’s sake: the picture grows, the Competition Day comes nearer. It’s like the sea-tides rising—it affects you—I understand!
Lucia
Yes, yes. You always know. You’re always right. An inner tide seems rising in me as the time draws near. You understand my woman’s moods, and so forgive them.
Paulo
(Painting.) Picture the scene, as we used to do when scudi were very scarce. It always makes us happy—the brilliant forecast.
Lucia
Tell me again. I love to hear it all.
Paulo
The judging will be in the Council Hall where the Doge holds high state, crowded with the noblest and loveliest of all Venice. The pictures chosen for the final verdict—that’s Vernio’s and Marco Gagliano’s, and mine—I mean ours—of course—will stand apart on easels. And on a pillar in front of them shines the jewelled casket with the thousand gold pieces that Venice bestows—a mere trifle—upon him she decrees the greatest artist——
Lucia
And the pillar is garlanded with roses—more than these two, but not more lovely, Paulo.
Paulo
Of course. And the competitors waiting in a hungry, anxious group——
Lucia
You won’t be hungry. I’ll have so many sprats the night before——
Paulo
I shan’t be anxious either.
Lucia
(Happier.) You will be dressed in a new doublet of purple cloth. If we can buy no golden thread for the embroidery I shall weave this across it. (Holds out her hair.) You’ll look magnificent——
Paulo
The picture——
Lucia
Still more magnificent. They won’t know which to look at——
Paulo
(Merry.) Then they’ll squint.
Lucia
The judge will call aloud your name: Paulo Salviati. You will be victor, and all the Assembly will rise to honour you——
Paulo
(Correcting her again.) The work. My art, not me. My art, my work——
[Lucia stands up to show the judge’s gestures. She hears the water lapping. Her face changes.
What is it, Little Child?
Lucia
N—nothing, Paulo. I—I merely thought a moment of those other painters, of Vernio, of Gagliano, the favoured ones who have wealthy patrons, so that they can work in ease and comfort, lacking nothing——
Paulo
(Grandly.) Except my inspiration—and my liberty. Think what that means. My work is done in freedom, and must surpass their best since it is bought of luxury. (Earnest and contemptuous.) What artist, no matter his genius, that can see truth while a patron jogs his brush, bidding him do this and that, set here a touch of gold and there of scarlet, put here a flower, a bird, and there a—a (explodes)—a sprat—! Why not? It is the soul alone that sees truth, and such men have sold their souls. They will be paid accordingly.
Lucia
(Agitated.) There are some patrons who—it is said—give freedom, liberty too.
Paulo
I never heard their names.
Lucia
There are some who know, who understand better. (Confused and rapidly.) They say the Medicis——
Paulo
(Stops painting.) Such painters and their patrons live for time, not for eternity, my Little Child. And among them the worst—the very worst—is that Florentine whose best claim to merit is that he dared to aspire to your love.
Lucia
I hate and despise him. Yet I dread his help—for others. He is as great in influence almost as his elder brother, Cosimo.
Paulo
Bah!
Lucia
Forgive me, Paulo—I reproach myself often that we fled from him—from Florence—where he might—(lower) oh, he could have done so much for you—his patronage.
Paulo
(Staring.) The mere name, as you see, stops me painting. You must not speak of it, here least of all in our place of work, of worship. Patronage—bah! My fire would go out, my inspiration leave me, my soul die in bondage. I must have (loudly) liberty.
Lucia
(Frightened.) The Madonna help me! Paulo, beloved, see what I have brought you—something your picture needs. My present and my surprise. No questions, now!
[Holds out richly-coloured silk.
Paulo
(Delighted, amazed.) That very broidery we saw together! Lucia—Little Child! How did you pay for it, or—or did you steal it? The merchant asked ten lira, I remember—and we had but three. (Examines it.) The colour of wine and pomegranate! Gorgeous! How did you pay for it? Quick, tell me. (Lucia turns her head from side to side.) The long gold earrings! Your last jewel! Lucia! (Takes her in his arms.) I’ll kiss your ears (softly) till they leave blushes you cannot sell, fairer than any jewels, for they are the kisses of my soul which sees eternal beauty.
Lucia
Would that I had a whole casket of both kinds, my Paulo! Of one kind I would sell all. You should have a studio with north light, the best paints that can be bought, the choicest hangings, the fairest models, and—and, oh, everything these others possess who have not risked all for Love and brought a wife from Florence—— (Voice breaks and stops.)
Paulo
Hush, hush, Little Child! You have given all you had—and that is everything. My art, if it is inspired as we dream, is stronger than circumstances, and will conquer. And I have liberty—love, beauty, liberty! What more can I ask of Heaven? Come, see the picture with me a moment. (Draws her to it.) Let us look at it together. (They stand before it.)
Lucia
(Low.) The Gods painted it.
Paulo
(Moved.) Your soul and mine, say rather. The hand is nothing. It is the inspiration. (They look a moment.) It was conceived, at least, in liberty—(Starts and looks at her.) You whispered something? I did not catch it. Tell me, Little Child. You feel—? Why, I declare, you tremble.
Lucia
(Very low.) One thing, I fear, one thing alone! The golden bloom, the warmth, the joyous laughter and the richness all Venetians love. It will be judged with the work of—of others whom plenty and comfort and—and all that help which money can provide——
Paulo
Men who feed from their patron’s hands like obedient lap-dogs——
Lucia
Madonna, help me! They have never to calculate if their blue paint can last till the sky is finished. (Impetuously.) Why, in Florence, the Medici gives his painters——
Paulo
That name again!
Lucia
I chose it at random—by mistake. It slipped out, I mean. (Losing control more.) Oh, my too proud Paulo, if you only knew how I love your pride and worship it. I only thought—for a moment only—the merest foolish moment—that this young Medici—oh, he loves beauty too, he worships art and beauty—perhaps—I wondered—he might have helped in a way that even you could have accepted without losing your liberty. I reproach myself so——
Paulo
(Sternly.) Lucia, I need no man’s help. I have told you. You doubt my art, my power, when you show this fear. It is fear that makes you reproach yourself. Our love knows no fear. (Soothes her.)
Lucia
It is, perhaps, myself I fear, Paulo. A strange dread haunts me like a dream. I fear lest I injure your great work, your mission——
Paulo
You tremble still. You are excited. Tell me, Little Child—do you know something that you hide from me—that you cannot tell me?
[Pause.
Lucia
Nothing, nothing, but my woman’s mood. My passion to help you is so great I sometimes fear lest I guide it wrongly—(breaks off). See, Paulo, the light is good, and we have this broidery you need (replaces old drapery with the new silk piece)—the very thing—exactly the tint and texture. I’ll sit for you. (Shows hurry.) There is no time to lose. Some one might disturb us.
Paulo
(A look of suspicion comes and goes. He watches her puzzled, while mixing his paints.) Your mood is new. That is what disquiets me. You seem expectant almost. And this strange haste, Lucia? We never hurry!
Lucia
(Laughing gaily.) Only that I long to see this colour (touches silk) in your picture—on the very canvas, alive and burning—before it is seen by—by others.
Paulo
(Absorbed.) Yet who should see it before the Competition Day?
Lucia
Of course, of course. Still I am anxious. Time is precious. (Poses.) Oh, how lovely the silk lies on me! Look! And am I right? (Whispers.) Paulo, I feel your brushes on my heart. Paint swiftly, beloved, swiftly.
Paulo
Beautiful! Perfect! Divine! There—just as you are now. Don’t move! Even your heart must stop!
Lucia
Madonna, help me!
Paulo
She does. Have no fear for the result. (Paints hard.) Now, talk to me while I work—no movement, mind! Just words. I love the music of your voice. It soothes and blesses me. The gossip of the market-place, for instance?
Lucia
(Quickly.) Ah, well, then the Eros will interest you—the one we coveted so.… It’s gone from the merchant’s booth at last.
Paulo
Our Grecian Eros! Our little statue! I shall miss it. I wonder who bought it. Or has it flown back to Samos, starved with yearning, on our summer wind? Some day we’ll follow it. Greece! Glorious mother of artists! My heart lies there—sometimes, I almost think, my memory too. (Pause.) Who bought our Eros? Did you hear that as well?
Lucia
The critics say that in your art Greece has come back to life again.
Paulo
Who bought it, Lucia? Your head to the right a little—so.
Lucia
A great Prince, a stranger to Venice, they said, who has bought the Cavaliere Palazzo on the Grand Canal. Gossip is full of it. He has sworn to make it more beautiful than Cosimo Medici’s in Florence——
Paulo
That odious name again! (Smiling.) It haunts you, Little Child! (She starts.) Don’t move! don’t move! The pose is perfect.
Lucia
Haunts the gossip of the town, rather—for which you asked me, Signor! The ceilings are to be painted with classical scenes alone—the loves of Apollo, and Athena’s triumph.
Paulo
What subjects! And I know that Palazzo. Its ceilings are superb, enormous! Painting the very sky! (Steps back to examine his work.) It’s coming, it’s coming, the very colour I wanted. Yes, yes, they are the biggest in all Venice, so I’m told. (Turns to her.) Now, just suppose, Lucia—just suppose that one day——
Lucia
(Nervous.) Paulo, beloved, do not stop. Paint on quickly. You are in your best vein. Paint on before—before the light changes. Yes, and I heard one other thing.
Paulo
(Painting.) Ah!
Lucia
That this Prince will commission the winner of the Competition——
Paulo
(Looking up.) To paint those ceilings! Not unlikely, Lucia! There are menial fellows enough with talent who would do it. I—win or lose—I accept no commission tainted by patronage. And I shall win. What was this Prince’s name?
Lucia
(Excited.) And those ceilings might be yours!
Paulo
Who is he?
Lucia
S—some said one thing, some another. I——
Paulo
The merchant must have delivered his Eros—to somebody—somewhere.
[Watches her.
Lucia
He didn’t say. I didn’t ask him. It was the gondolier as I came home. Oh, Paulo, I cannot sit well for you if you cross-question me like this! You’re like a judge. I love you so. Why should you suspect——?
[Rises agitated.
Paulo
Suspect! You! Clear water cannot hide the reflections in it. (Expression of comprehension dawns on his face.) Even if your love guided you amiss, I—I could never think, and far less use—that ugly word! Lucia! Little Child! You tremble—— (Starts forward.)
[Enter Old Woman, flustered. Lucia’s hand flies to her heart.
Woman
Signor! Signora! A great gentleman comes for you. His gondola is already at the steps. I heard him give orders to wait. I ran on to warn you.
Lucia
(Cry.) Already!
Paulo
(Half incredulous still.) Great gentleman! (Looking at Lucia.) Asking for—us!
[Lucia silent, face in hands.
Woman
He is no Venetian. By his liveries he must be a Prince at least, and a great one. Your dress, Signora! (Arranges it.) He’s come to buy the Signor’s pictures! Your fortune’s made. Oh, happy day! I will open the gate for him, so he will not know you have no servant.
[Exit.
Paulo
(Grim.) I do not understand. (Makes to fasten door, hesitates, then turns to Lucia.) You can explain this to me—Little Child—perhaps?
Lucia
Paulo, Paulo, do not be angry. Oh, forgive me, I implore. For your dear sake—for your work, your art—for you, I did it. It is not me he comes to see. It is your work, your picture. I went this very day—but an hour ago—to make him come. Oh, tell me, tell me I have not done wrong!
(Old Woman opens door. Enter Medici.)
Paulo
(Aghast.) Damiano di Medici! Here!
Lucia
(Hand on his arm.) Paulo! Paulo!
Medici
At your service, Signor Salviati. (To Lucia.) Signora bellissima! Am I too early still? My promise—you remember—I was impatient to fulfil it.
Paulo
Promise! What can a Prince of the Medici promise to my wife?
Medici
(Gravely.) That which only the proudest painter may receive gladly from a humble prince: appreciation of his work.
Paulo
(Coldly.) My work is not done for the appreciation of princes. I have no work to show.
Medici
Your wife, Signor, said otherwise. And she is a rare judge of values. (Bows.) A faultless critic! (Bows to her.)
Paulo
The Prince di Medici knows.
Lucia
(To Paulo.) Oh, do not anger him. And think a little of me. You forget the risk—for your sake—that I ran—(imploring) your career——
Paulo
(Watches her thoughtfully, weighing things that perplex him.) Love led you a strange errand.
Lucia
For the work’s sake, my Paulo.
Medici
The Medici have short memories for their failures. (Laughs.) Her courage—in coming to visit me—was even more rare than her (glances at the picture)—her judgment.
Paulo
(With effort.) She went to see you—yes. It was a mistaken courage that earned you a favour of that kind.
Medici
(Suave.) Even in Venice a Medici does not receive strangers—without a name—or, shall I say, whose name is yet to win. Your wife, Signor, had the courage to get her way to me past half a hundred lacqueys. But more! She had the eloquence and wit to persuade my return visit—here. She assured me your picture was worthy of my personal, my immediate inspection.
[Goes to it. Paulo starts forward to prevent him.
Lucia
(Catches his arm.) Paulo, beloved—by our love, by little Eros (frantic), by everything!
[Medici moves the picture into better light.
Medici
(Watching them out of corner of his eye.) With your permission. (Bows.) You will, perhaps, forgive the liberty. The light fails suddenly a little. So—(examines critically, with signs of pleasure).
Paulo
(Back turned.) For your sake, Little Child, I endure this cruelty.
Lucia
I yearned to help——
Paulo
So it was he who bought the Eros too? (To himself.) This is an evil omen. (To her.) I thought us safe in Venice.
Lucia
You are so calm, so quiet. You terrify. I would fear your anger less. Oh, my great Paulo, my dear, listen to me one moment. This family—this man—vile though he be—loves art and beauty, and in so far is not—Oh, I mean—oh, Paulo, it is his ceilings, his palace, his help to your career that have betrayed me! You could bring Greece to life in Venice—and for ever. Think not of him. Think only of your beauty—lighting the world when he is dust——
Paulo
(Quietly.) Is my art so poor a thing—have you so misunderstood it—that you think it is for sale?
Lucia
(Distraught.) Have I done that!
[Medici turns from the picture to Paulo.
Medici
(With reverence.) You have been taught of the Gods—the Gods of Greece.
Paulo
(Frigidly.) Your praise——
Lucia
Hush, oh, I beg you—for my sake.
Medici
The drawing is the equal of del Sarto’s and the composition no poorer than da Vinci’s. I swear it. Yet—the colour—hmm—I miss Titian’s glory. Those shadows (pointing) are out of tone a little——
Lucia
(Quickly.) We ran out of blue that day, alas——
Medici
Your model was, certainly, perfect. But why have you painted the nymphs from her as well as their divine mistress?
Lucia
Models demand impossible prices——
[Paulo puts his hand on her mouth angrily.
Medici
(Reflecting.) So little more, and it were a masterpiece. Even now it should win the Competition, by rights. Yet Vernio’s is just a shade more rich, more splendid. I have seen it. And Gagliano has a purer colour. But then, of course, Gagliano buys his paint from that fellow by the Zucca who has a secret method—and charges accordingly, the scoundrel!
Paulo
(Unable to contain himself longer.) I paint as I desire, and as I can. The picture is mine. And not for sale!
Medici
(Kindly.) I admire your spirit, Signor. It has the independence of ancient Greece herself. Yet at what price? You may be satisfied with yourself, but your art thereby suffers. It becomes a slave of your conditions—if you will allow the language.
Lucia
Oh, it must be so! Paulo, it must be so! You see?
Paulo
(Proudly.) Conditions that leave the spirit free, at least. The spirit of beauty owns no master——
Medici
The husband of such beauty should be more gracious. (Frankly.) Ah, Salviati, you speak to a Medici, indeed, but also to one who loves beauty as you yourself do. I might—had I persisted—have taken your golden bird in my own net. (Pauses.) It is my pleasure now to set you free from the hard conditions that enslave you. In this way can a Medici reward good for evil. Signor, I forgive all for the sake of your genius. I admire your picture—its true classic spirit. Yet it has not quite the warmth, the fire, the bounteous splendour we Italians ask. Give but your sky a deeper hue, add to that robe the undertone of scarlet it needs to make it felt, flood our prodigal Italian sunshine over it all—and I will buy your picture at your price.
Lucia
Yes, yes. Oh, Paulo, what an offer! Think!
Paulo
It is not for sale.
Medici
While you may still enter it for the Competition. The judges—er—may hear that Damiano di Medici has bought it for his new Palazzo—and—judge—accordingly.
Paulo
(Low.) The gold, the blue, the scarlet you desire—I mean, suggest—are not in my scheme.
Medici
Yet they would add the perfect touch now lacking—in my judgment, Signor. Come, now, I will go further. I have sworn that my Palazzo shall surpass even that of Cosimo, my ambitious brother, in Florence. I will have a Gorgione for his Lippo Lippi, and—if you will—a Salviati for his da Vinci. I offer you, further, the painting of my ceilings, Signor—seven years’ inspired and happy labour.
Paulo
Seven years of bondage to another’s taste and purse.
Lucia
(To Paulo.) You could do your own work too.
[Looking at Medici.
Medici
Why not?
Paulo
To add this gold and blue and scarlet is—for me—a lie.
Lucia
Oh, my beloved, think, think a little, and weigh your words!
Medici
My offer stands—but not against unreasonable resistance. I repeat it: this picture at your figure, and seven years to paint the ceilings, with a certain freedom in design and subject, and permission to do your own work in your leisure. It is a matter to conclude now quickly. (Ominously.) It is not amusing, though it may be novel, for a Medici to be thwarted of his will—his deep design. (Bows.)
Paulo
A poor painter dares the novelty.
Lucia
(Cries.) You forget everything, Paulo—me you forget even—when you say such words!
Medici
(Impatient, half-threatening.) Beauty has turned your head, maybe. Excess, I have heard it said, (significantly) can affect the reason. You have (glancing towards Lucia) too much beauty. But there are remedies——
Paulo
(Startled.) I do not understand you.
Medici
As a great patron, I have my duties too. (Slowly.) If the possession of too much beauty threaten your great gift, I owe it to the world to (sinister tone and look) help—to save you.
Paulo
(Facing him.) I prefer plain spoken language from a man—even though he be patron.
Lucia
Oh, guard your tongue at least! The Prince is patient with us.
Medici
(Softly.) You robbed me once of beauty I desired. You fled from Florence. I accepted with a smile, and did not bestir myself to follow and prevent—as I could well have done. I was too kind, perhaps——
Lucia
(Breaks in.) But, great Prince, you—you have forgotten all that. You swore——
Medici
(To her.) The sight of beauty stirs my memory again. (Suggestively.) For beauty grows, it seems. (Smiles admiringly.)
[He moves a little towards her. Paulo, with clenched hands, is held back by Lucia.
Lucia
(To Medici.) My Lord! (To Paulo.) Oh, Paulo, hold yourself! Am I so little to you?
Medici
And this increase of beauty makes me remember something I had—(to Lucia) as you say—forgotten. To see him who robbed me become my dependant—would have the true Grecian touch of comedy. (Turns abruptly to Paulo with changed tone.) Salviati—before the light fails, will you now dip your brush in the gold and scarlet we suggested?
Paulo
Never! Even in fading light I see only truth.
Lucia
Ah! Oh!
Medici
(Looking from one to the other, then to the picture.) There are many flowers in my gardens, but Italy holds one Salviati only. (Reflects.) My ceilings need him. I swore, besides, to Cosimo——
Lucia
(Distraught.) My Lord, my Lord, you promised——!
Medici
(Brusquely.) That I would see the work and offer my patronage—if it pleased me. That offer still holds good. But your husband is obstinate——
Paulo
I am true. I claim only liberty.
Medici
(Darkly.) So I must remember my duties as a patron—and apply remedies that may save his unreason—and his—art.
Lucia
(Alarmed.) What can you mean——?
[Medici claps his hands.
Medici
Ho! Ho! Without there! (Four Men in livery rush in.) Take the woman, but do not hurt her.
[Men seize her.
Lucia
(Struggling.) Ah, Dios! Madonna, help me! Alive—never! Paulo! Paulo!
Paulo
(Tries to fight his way to her.) Never while I live either.
[Draws a dagger.
Medici
(To Men.) Disarm him—gently, gently. No injury. Who bruises that right hand of his answers with his life, remember! Strike up the dagger instantly.
Men
(Struggling.) For a painter he fights well.
Careful there! His hand—your sword’s point!
His right hand, yes. Be wary.
This is rare sport.
Have you got the arm? Hold fast.
I’ve got the dagger.
He’s safe, my Lord.
[They hold him, disarmed.
Lucia
(Held.) Paulo, my Paulo! (Moans.) Oh, that I were dead, to have done this thing!
Paulo
(Firmly.) My soul stands by yours. I know you true. Fear nothing!
Medici
(Quietly.) Signor Salviati, I regret that my sense of duty—my deep desire that you shall achieve your greatest—force me to this unpleasant remedy. But poverty is not helpful to your work, and I must—as patron of unreasonable genius—protect your art and yourself. I offer, therefore, the best help in my power. If you accept—then I need take nothing (glancing at Lucia) from your store of beauty.
Paulo
Dios! This cruelty—this treachery!
Lucia
No, no, no. Paulo, do not think of me——
Paulo
It is too late. (To Medici, with effort.) Your vile scheme means this, then: that I submit my art to your paid dictation, become your creature, or you will—(struggles violently). Let me free! (to Men). This bastard is not fit to live.
A Man
Hush! He is a Medici—Cosimo’s own brother.
Medici
My gondola waits. My new Palazzo lies but half an hour distant—ready to welcome its first fair ornament.
Paulo
(Wild.) To be broken and thrown away when done with! Death is better now.
[Tries to injure his right hand against a sword.
Medici
(To Men.) Careful. Hold him. Or your lives——
Lucia
(Frantic.) Beloved, it is not too late. Forget that I live—oh, forget me—for your work’s sake! Remember beauty only——
Paulo
(Tender patience.) Little Child! My work and beauty live with liberty. (Very softly.) Had you forgotten? Did belief in me waver, or did love guide you strangely—misconceiving——?
Medici
(Impatient.) The light fails rapidly. The gold and scarlet should be laid on now, before dusk falls. (To Men.) One of you go and prepare my gondola—for a lady. (Man goes to door.) Lay a soft silken scarf upon the cushion—there must be no screams in Venice. (To Paulo.) Oh, I will do it gently, Signor, with my own two hands. There shall be no roughness, no unkindness. (Man gives scarf.) Oh, here is the very thing. (Goes towards Lucia.) You will take this small attention from me, I beg, if nothing else.
Lucia
I hate you! Your touch is poison.
[Struggles.
Medici
You should not ask favours, then, of those who poison you. (Puts scarf round her arms.) For the mouth I have a yet softer silk, as you shall see. Ah, the Medici, they say, are fortunate in love, and I shall find a way to win you. These arms I am forced to bind shall yet twine willingly about my neck——
Paulo
(Shouts.) All I possess to him who kills him!
Medici
All you possess!
Paulo
(Yields.) And more—my liberty. Let her go!
Medici
So reason returns, at last. The remedy works already towards a cure.
Paulo
Set her free. I give my word.
Medici
Though I trust no man, I trust your word, Salviati.
Paulo
(Stammering.) Unfasten me. Give me my palette.
Medici
(To Men.) Release him. Release the lady too. But watch him closely, lest he hide a weapon.
Paulo
(Free.) This is my only weapon (takes brushes, etc.). With it I put chains upon my soul. So—and so.
[Dabs on paint. Lucia silent. Collapses to her knees and hides her face.
Medici
Improved already! So swiftly! You are, indeed, the greatest of them all. We shall beat Verio out of court, and Gagliano will die of envy on the spot. (To Men.) Begone with you! No, stay a moment—take the picture with you and lay it carefully in the gondola. It shall be finished under my own eye—before the ceilings are begun. (Men obey.) Carefully! One smear and your lives are forfeit. (Turns to Lucia and raises her.) You are not quick to thank me, Signora, yet I have fulfilled my promise to you. All that you begged of me is accomplished. Henceforth Salviati, your husband, shall work in comfort and lack nothing.
Lucia
(Faint.) How—how could I have done this thing? What ancient deep perversity—what lack of faith—what hidden destiny in me? (To Paulo.) Paulo, look, look at me! (He keeps his back to her. Medici watches them quietly.) Hark!
[Sound of water lapping heard outside.
Medici
So you will not thank me—either one of you? No matter. I like a little spirit. (Goes to door.) Carefully, now! The edges safe. No flick of dust, mind.
[Stands looking down steps.
Lucia
(Low.) Hark! (To Paulo.) It is another sound I hear. (Whispers.) Paulo! It is water. (Stands listening intently to the lap of the sea. Distress increases. Passes hand over forehead, as if trying to remember something.) The rising water! (She turns her head slowly to look at Paulo. He turns slowly too. Their eyes meet. Very low.) You hear? (Whispers.) That sound is in my soul. Paulo—I half remember—something—that hides behind it, yet comes with it. (Goes up and clings to him.) I have done this thing before—destroyed you—with my selfish love.
Paulo
Hush, hush!
Lucia
You look so strangely at me. Your face changes. Dios! (Frantic.) Speak to me, beloved! If you cannot forgive—say that you understand. Oh, what is it in your eyes? (Fear.)
[Dusk increases.
Paulo
(Tender whisper.) The night is coming—with her stars. In my eyes is only love. (Patiently.) There is nothing to forgive. (Embraces her for several moments. Then breaks suddenly away.) Where is the gold—the scarlet? (Bewildered. To Medici.) What is my Lord’s desire?
Lucia
(Screams.) Oh, I have killed—killed again.
[Falls.
Paulo
(Catching her.) Little Child!
Medici
(Turning at the scream.) She is even more beautiful than I first thought. Well, well, the picture is mine at any rate, and she—(smiles). A good evening’s work. How dark it grows. And the rising tide is at the full. Ho! Without there! My gondola!
[Exit.
[Paulo and Lucia in each other’s arms.
CURTAIN