Scene III.
The Countess Orsina, Marinelli.
ORSINA (without perceiving 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?
MARINELLI.
The Prince, Countess?
ORSINA.
Who else?
MARINELLI.
You suppose that he is here, then,--or know it, perhaps. He, however, does not expect a visit from your ladyship.
ORSINA.
Indeed! He has not then received my letter this morning.
MARINELLI.
Your letter? But--yes. I remember he mentioned that he had received one.
ORSINA.
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.
MARINELLI.
A strange accident!
ORSINA.
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?
MARINELLI.
You seemed resolved yesterday never to appear before the Prince again.
ORSINA.
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.
MARINELLI.
Dearest Countess----
ORSINA.
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.
MARINELLI (holding her back).
Whither would you go?
ORSINA.
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?
MARINELLI.
You are mistaken, Countess. The Prince does not expect you here. He cannot--will not see you.
ORSINA.
And yet is here, in consequence of my letter.
MARINELLI.
Not in consequence of your letter.
ORSINA.
He received it, you say.
MARINELLI.
Yes, but he did not read it.
ORSINA (violently).
Not read it! (Less violently.) Not read it! (Sorrowfully, and wiping away a tear.) Not even read it!
MARINELLI.
From preoccupation, I am certain, not contempt.
ORSINA (with pride).
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?
MARINELLI.
Certainly, certainly.
ORSINA (with a scornful look).
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?
MARINELLI (aside).
Alas! how prophetic were my fears?
ORSINA.
What do you mutter?
MARINELLI.
Mere admiration! Who does not know, Countess, that you are a philosopher?
ORSINA.
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, will think? 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!
MARINELLI.
Presently, Countess, presently.
ORSINA.
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 to Marinelli.) Dare not again to lead me thus astray from truth.
MARINELLI.
This is going too far (aside)--But, Countess----
ORSINA.
Peace with your but--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.
Scene IV.
The Prince, Orsina, Marinelli.
PRINCE (aside, as he advances).
I must come to his assistance.
ORSINA (espies him, but remains irresolute whether to approach him or not).
Ha! There he is.
PRINCE (walks straight across the room towards the other apartments).
Ha! The fair Countess, as I live. How sorry I am, Madam, that I can to-day so ill avail myself of the honour of your visit. I am engaged. I am not alone. Another time, dear Countess, another time. At present stay no longer--no longer, I beg. And you, Marinelli--I want you. (Exit.)