ACT · II
SCENE · 1
Night. The garden, at Laura’s windows, which are nearly to the ground. L. a wall with door in it leading from the park without. Enter by door in travelling costume FREDERICK and TRISTRAM carrying a small portmantle. F. stays behind to lock the door.
TRISTRAM (coming to front).
Here’s a journey: twenty miles about and home again: and no lady. Were it not for the letter I found on the path, I should hold to my opinion that it is all a make-believe, and that there is no lady at all: and that my master wrote that first letter to himself, making the appointment to meet himself, ... he returns so pleased, with his head in the air, like the best satisfied lover. I have a fool for my master. He is but a fool, tho’he needs no humouring. (To F. who approaches.) Well, now we are at home again, sir; and as it were partly returned to our senses....
FREDERICK.
Silence, Tristram. Take off your boots.
T. Pray, sir....
F. Not a word. Obey me.
T. Heaven help us! what is this for?
F. Silence. Are they off?
T. They are coming.
F. Hark now what you have to do. Cross the grass silently, unlock my door, creep upstairs like a thief, and sit in my chamber without a movement till I come.
T. The grass is like a sponge. I have begun to catch cold already: I am just going to sneeze.
F. Sneeze, and I’ll strangle you.
T. Is this your treatment for all my services?
F. Your service is your duty to obey:
And once you served me well: of late you are grown
Questionous and prying; which I have so far borne,
Because I have been in doubt whether it were best
To thrash you or discharge you.
T. And no wonder neither. Thus the world will repay devotion. Can I see you so blind to your good fortune, and when heaven’s door stands open....
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F. Heaven’s door! what is this?
T. You do not know.
T. This court, wherein you serve and get no thanks,
You might rule and be thanked.
F.Just as I thought;
Ere I dismiss you I shall tell the Countess
Your insolence. The whipping you will get
Will save me trouble.
T.I pray you on my knees.
F. Get up, fool, lest you sneeze. And would you escape
Your rich deservings, be off.
T. Betray me not, sir: I will obey you better.
F. Silence: go do as I bid you. Begone, and take your boots. [Exit T.
So my man knows her secret. ’Tis high time
That Laura and I were off. This salves my conscience
From any scruple. ’Tis a rule of art
To make obstructions serve: and my chief hindrance,
Diana’s passion, can but urge me on.
So the mischance, which drew me hence to-night,
Hath brought me hither a more secret way.
The night is still. I would there were a wind.
And there’s the clock. (Clock strikes.) I’ll wait
Till it hath sounded.... No light.... I’ll tap.
(Goes to window and taps. Laura comes to window and opens.)
LAURA.
Frederick, not gone to Milan?
F. I escaped but with a thousand torments—
May I come in?
L.We can talk here.
F.The night
Is very still, our voices will be heard:
They run along the wall.
L.Then I’ll come out.
F. We shall be seen.
L.The maids are all abed.
There’s none to see us; and the moon is clouded.
We’ll walk by the yew hedge. Give me your hand.
F. ’Tis but one step.
L.I know. (Comes down.)
F.My kiss. (Kisses her.)
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L.O Frederick,
You have broken your own rule, and kissed me thrice.
F. One kiss a day, with two days in arrear,
Makes three.
L. Alas! I thought ’twas love’s excess,
And still I am kissed by rule.
F.And be content, love,
To keep the little rules we make ourselves,
Since thou must break such great ones; and canst dare
Deceive the Countess, disobey thy father,
And brave the world’s opinion: all which sins
I come to stablish in thee. There’s now no choice
But fly with me or take St. Nicholas.
L. That name is desperation. Have you no plan
To save me?
F.If you dare fly with me to Milan.
L. To-night?
F.Would ’twere to-night.
L.But when, love, when?
F. Trust me to find the time.
L.And why to Milan?
F. My friend the Duke, being now away from home,
Lends me his palace. All we else should lack,
Appointment and conveyance, he supplies.
We have his countenance now, his influence after,
To appease your father and sister.
L.Are you such friends?
F. There cannot be two hearts in all the world
Nearer-familiar than are his and mine.
L. You never told me.
F.I had not heard from him
Now for three years.
L.’Tis strange.
F.Nay, ’tis not strange.
Ours was a boyhood friendship; such affection
Born in life’s spring is perfect with the flower.
The memory is a binding intimacy,
Which grows as we grow from it: in its strength
Is our lost tenderness; its truth is proved
By every lie the world has given our hopes:
Absence and age best feed it. We remember
First ecstasies, and the unreserved embrace
Of mutual spirits, and worship the remembrance.
The Duke and I are strangers in the world,
Courteous acquaintance in society,
But to ourselves, twin individual gods.
L. Alas, poor me!
F.Can it displease you, love,
I have such a friend?
L.Ere it is too late, Frederick,
Think if you love me enough.
F.Why, ’tis a question
To make me think you think I think I do not.
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L. Indeed, ere I consent to be your wife....
F. You have consented, Laura.
L.Nay, but hear me.
Before we marry, you must know a thing,
Which, since it might lessen your love for me,
Shall not be kept till after.
F.Then tell it quickly.
L. What you have said, and what I have to tell,
So dwarfs my little humble plant of love.
F. Tell it.
L.Diana loves you.
F.You know it too!
L. You know it!
F.I!—Why, Laura, is this your secret?
L. I see you have guessed it; yet, perhaps, for thinking
Thou shouldst be loyal where thy faith is cherished,
Thou hast never weighed her claim with mine; and that
I’d have thee do. Look to thine interest:
For loving women differ not so much
But all may make good wives; and whatsoe’er
Thou thinkest to see in me, Frederick, I am sure
I lack all excellence. There’s nothing in me
Why I should have preferment o’er another,
And least of all of her who can boast loveliness
To match her love; and add those other gifts,
Which are necessities to one like thee.
Thou, with high friendships shouldst have power and station,
And fitted for the fairest use of wealth,
Thou art wronged in the want of it: and, Love, I love thee
So better than myself, that I would see thee
Happily another’s rather than my own
With the reproach of selfishness, the knowledge
That thou wert sacrificed for my poor love.
F. If women differ little, what of men?
St. Nicholas loves you, and would give you rank.
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L. Thou knowst thou wrongst me, Frederick, turning thus
My love of thee to banter of my love.
F. I only banter where you dare be grave.
L. Because thou knowest, Love, I desire not wealth.
My happiness would be to live with thee
And for thee: but to thee what can I bring?
Think not because I wish thee fortunate,
That I forget my hope, or slight the treasure
So much desirèd of my loving soul.
F. And for that loving soul you bid me take
Some fifty thousand ducats by the year,
A major-domo, and a heap of things
That are a proverb for their emptiness!
L. Diana’s love, I said; that with the ducats.
F. Well, what doth all this come to when ’tis told?
First is Diana’s love. Diana’s love
Is nothing, for I do not love Diana.
Next are the ducats: fifty thousand ducats.
They are nothing either—by the year! Why, Laura,
Were’t fifty thousand ducats by the day
’Twere nothing to me. You can little guess
My prodigal soul. I should expend it all
And sit at home and be as poor as ever.
L. How could you spend so much?
F.Nothing is much.
Man’s capabilities being infinite
And his state pitiful, the simplest scheme
For bettering any faculty he hath,
Would eat up all the money in the world.
L. But to use riches rightly—
F.I have no desire
That earth can satisfy, but one; and that
Shall I play false to?
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L.Nay; I trust you well.
F. Then waste no more the precious moments, Laura,
To question the great blessing we enjoy.
Our hours will all be as this hour to-night;
Either to step with in eternity
Towards our perfection with unwavering will,
Or with a questioning purpose let it slide,
And leave us far behind. A man’s desires
Are his companions and by them he is known;
But he himself is what he grows to be
Using his time.
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F. First to assure thee, dearest, that all the joys
I have had or hoped are nothing to thy love.
And next, that we may make it sure, I ask thee
To say thou’lt fly with me.
L.When, Frederick, when?
I fear ’twill never be; we have but two days.
F. Therefore be ready at any moment, Laura.
All’s fixed except the time: that must depend
Upon occasion. If I cannot see thee,
Ricardo, whom I have made my confidant,
Will bring thee word. He cannot be suspected,
And thou mayst trust him.
L.Dare I tell my father?
F. That’s my chief scruple; and yet we dare not tell him.
If only Providence would give him back
His hearing for one day! After one day
Spent with St. Nicholas, I should not fear
To broach our matter.
L.He has the marriage contract
Ready to sign.
F.Not as he thinks. By luck
They entrusted it to me; and as I have drawn it
He cannot sign it. He must give it me back,
And that will make delay.
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L.Of all these chances,
If any one go wrong....
F.All will go well.
See, here’s my portrait, Laura, which I promised:
’Tis framed like yours; that is its only merit.
L. O, let me have it.
F.Take it. That you should care
To look upon it, makes me ashamed.
L.O, Frederick!
If you knew all my foolishness, I think
You would despise me. By this little light
I can see nothing. Is’t well done?
F.So, so.
It flatters me: but that’s the artist’s trick.
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L. Flatters you!
F.Well, it taints me with the fashion,
Which is the vulgar dress of imitations,
And a less blunder than mere naked skill.
The individual ideals are given
To genius only.
L.I would have had you painted
Just as you are.
F.Nay.—Hark! I hear a step....
L. What can we do?
F.Some one is coming hither.
L. Where can we hide?
F.I cannot think; unless
You creep along the hedge. I’ll wait and see
Who ’tis. I think it must be Tristram. [Exit Laura.
Enter Ricardo.
RICARDO.
Frederick!
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F. Richard! what is the matter?
R.Forgive my coming:
But if you wish it thought that you are at Milan,
Your room should not be lighted, and your servant
Should not be singing.
F.Singing!—is Tristram singing?
R. Hark! You may hear. [T.'s lute heard faintly.
F.By heaven!—the wretch! Tell Laura
Why I am gone. All will be lost. [Exit.
R.Indeed,
Unless Diana is sleeping very soundly,
The escapade’s betrayed.
Re-enter Laura.
My service, lady.
L. I heard you speak with Frederick, sir, and thank you
For your kind offices.
R.I need no thanks.
I have a deeper interest in your welfare
Than you can guess. I fear that fellow Tristram
May ruin us all.
L.Frederick hath told me, sir,
You know our secret, and will act between us;
For which I thank you. I bid you now good-night:
I should go in.
R.As soon as possible.
Pray you be not observed. But first I beg you
Thank me for Frederick’s visit.
L.You, sir! why?
R. Why, but for me he had been at Milan.
L.Ah!
I thank you very much.
R.He doth not scheme
Well for himself. He needs a wife.
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L.Indeed
I cannot scheme.
R.And ’tis the fairer wish
You neither may have ever need. Good-night.
L. Good-night, sir. [Exit in at window.
R.She’s a good creature, quick and sensible;
She’ll fly with Frederick. It provokes my soul
That that conceited inconsiderate loon
Should put us all in peril. I have half a mind
Re-enter Frederick with a lute.
F.Is Laura gone?
R. And not too soon. If your fine musical man
Have waked the Countess she may have heard you too.
He is silenced now, I hope.
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F.Here’s his curst lute:
I took it from him.
R.Ha! then give it to me.
The very thing. I’ll step into the gap,
And take the blame of this untimely singing
Upon myself. Go in and leave me here:
And if to-morrow any ask who ’twas
That played and sang at midnight—why ’twas I.
Go in.
F.Well, bravo, Richard: you’re a genius.
R.Leave me.
F. I go. Good-night. [Exit.
R.Now must I sing.
And when there’s none to hear I am sometimes able
To please myself: else I must ask indulgence.
Sings.
My eyes for beauty pine,
My soul for Goddës grace:
No other hope nor care is mine;
One splendour thence is shed
From all the stars above:
’Tis namèd when God’s name is said,
’Tis love, ’tis heavenly love.
And every gentle heart,
That burns with true desire,
Is lit from eyes that mirror part
Of that celestial fire.
NICHOLAS (heard entering unseen).
Very sweet!
R. (aside). Ha! have I an audience after all?
N. Ricardo, I believe.
R.St Nicholas, is’t not?
N. Your lute, sir, as Amphion drew the trees
Up by the roots, hath drawn me from my bed.
R. Would I could make the lyrical apology
With which, I doubt not, he replanted them.
N. Nay, no apology. And, to say truth,
’Twas not so much your music as my wish
To catch the singer brought me out. I thought
’Twas Frederick’s servant. He should not forget it
If I should catch him breaking rules.
R.I hope
I break no rules.
N.You see you are very near
The ladies’windows.
R.True: of course I must be.
N. And serenading is among the offences
Punished with diet.
R.Being a stranger, sir,
I cannot be suspected of the knowledge
That might incriminate me. You, no doubt,
Are more familiar.
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N.Yes, there is one window
Which I should know: and as you chance to stand
Just underneath it, I will not dissemble
That when I saw you first I felt the pangs
Of maddening jealousy. To find ’twas you
Relieved me entirely.
R.Nay then, truly, sir,
I owe you apology: for if your mistress
Should have mistook my falala for yours,
The poor performance may have hurt your credit.
N. Nay, sir, I sing so seldom, I only fear
I cannot be suspected. If I might
I’d ask you sing again. There’s nought affects me
Like music in the moonlight.
R.I would oblige you
But for the rules you speak of. Were’t not better
We should go in? ’tis midnight.
N.Oh, I could sit
And sigh beneath that window all the night.
Is there not wondrous softness in the thought,
That she one loves is sleeping?
R.I will leave you
To your love thoughts.
N.Nay, nay, no reason, sir.
I have full leisure for sweet meditation.
I will go in with you. ’Tis a rich comfort
To dream of the belovèd. [Exeunt.
SCENE · 2
On the terrace, in front of the house. Enter DIANA and RICARDO. FLORA attending Diana.
DIANA.
What time is’t, sir?
RICARDO.
I heard the bells of the town
Strike ten but now.
D.Ah! you can hear the bells,
Because they are strange to you. I note them most
The days they miss.... And so ’tis only ten....
I hope you are comfortable here, Ricardo:
Gregory took care of you? The clocks for example
Did not disturb your rest?
R.Your ladyship
Means to reproach me with late hours: but if
I had thought my singing could be heard....
D.Your singing?
How musical the world is now-a-days—
Yet I heard not your singing.
R.I am very glad:
I feared I had offended. For myself
I can assure you that though some things here
Remind me of Milan, where the Duke....
D.Remember,
Speak not to me of Milan.
R.A thousand pardons,
I am schooled to hide my thoughts, and shall obey:
Tho’in your sight they wander to the duke,
Who for that grace in such sad sickness pines.
A lord so loving, and so fair a lady,
Would she be also kind,—would make their courtiers
As envied as themselves.
D.Enough, forget him.
But say you that he is really sick, Ricardo?
R. Hopelessly he languishes. I do not think
He is long for this world.
D.So consumed with folly!
R. I too thought that his love was folly, lady,
Till I came here: but now I know he is wise.
D. I half suspect he sent you here to try me
With soft insinuations.
R.’Twere his wish
I do not doubt: although he spake no word
That I could wrest to such instruction, madam.
D. You serve him well.
R.May all your servants ever
Love you as I do him. Yet that’s too much.
D. ’Tis all too much. But I can truly boast
I have very faithful servants. There’s Sir Gregory:
I think you could not better him at Milan.
What say you?
R.Sir Gregory is the very mirror
Of knightly reverence.
D.He is sadly deaf.
Then there’s my secretary.
R.Your secretary?
D. Frederick.
R.Ah, Frederick: on so short acquaintance
How can I judge?
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D.You have a faculty
Of observation, which I am pleased to prove:
Besides, since you are a stranger,—as you note
Our clocks,—your eyes, no doubt, while yet they are fresh,
Will pounce upon a thousand little things,
Which we are blind to, seeing every day.
Tell me your first impression.
R.Your ladyship
Would never task me thus, but in security
Of finding perfect praise. I’ll rather think
You ask me my opinion, as do poets,
To judge of my capacity.
D.Nay, nay.
Nor will I force your flattery. Speak your mind.
I hold him not in wondrous estimation.
What of his person?
R.He has a good deportment,
Yet stoops a little.
D.You have a soldier’s eye.
He is tall, and hath the scholar’s negligence.
A martial stiffness were much out of place.
R. True: and his open grace seems less a manner
Than very nature; being itself unlinked
With any distant bearing.
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D.Now you teach me.
You might have known him long to hit him so.
Have you talked with him much?
R.Enough to prove him
A most ingenious gentleman.
D.Ah!—ingenious!
Ingenious;—that is a doubtful word.
You do not mean contriving?
Enter F. and T. in their travelling costume as before.
R. See, madam: ’tis he that comes.
(Aside.) Her love is but a fancy; else would she never
Provoke discussion on him, and seek to praise him.—
D. Frederick: returned so soon!—miraculous.
Such expedition. Thou canst scarce have rested.
’Tis two hours ere thy time.
FREDERICK.
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’Twas my good fortune
To meet no hindrance.
D.But thy health, good servant;
Thy sickness?
F.Madam, let my quick despatch
Bury my late reluctance. I confess
I was unreasonable. Indeed, the journey
Hath quite restored my spirits.
D.Yes, so it seems.
I hoped that it might be so. Hast thou my answer?
F. ’Tis here. (Handing letter.)
D.Thou must have roused the Duke from sleep.
F. ’Twas such an hour as one might look to find
A duke a-bed.
D.And he was not? Pray, tell us
Exactly how he was employed.
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F.I chanced
To find him banqueting in merry company;
Such as make war on night, and march their force
Across the frontier, for a long campaign
In the enemy’s country.
D. (to R.).Banqueting, you hear.
And at that hour.
F.All night they kept it up.
D. (to R.). Hark you.
R.I hear and wonder. (To F.) Say you, sir,
The Duke was merry, that he held a feast
Within the palace?
F. (aside).Heavens!—how I have blundered!
Nay, sir, I said not so: I said expressly,
Or should have said, he was another’s guest.
R. And yet I have never known him....
F.Indeed ’tis true:
He said to me himself those very words.
I have never known myself do this, he said.
TRISTRAM (aside).
Now, they are at their fooling again, and not a single
word of any sense. ’Tis enough to drive a man mad
with bewilderment.
R. (to D.). To plunge into distraction so unwonted
Argues despair. Grave men use dissipation
To drown their misery.
D.No doubt: and yet
Answer not for him.
F.True it is, my lady,
He did confess as much to me a stranger.
Despair;—that was his word. He seemed, withal,
Wondrously put out at all I chanced to say:
And very sick he looked.
T. (aside). Madness and lies! I’ll hear no more of
this. (Goes aside to Flora.)
D. It seems that dissipation
Agrees not with grave men.
R.Heaven smite me dead
If I protest not ’gainst the wrong you do him.
D. So hot!—Well, thrash this out between yourselves:
’Tis nought to me. And, Frederick, when you have dressed,
Rested, and breakfasted, attend me here.
I thank you for your service.
F.You are welcome, madam,
To all such offices. (Going.)
D.Please leave your servant.
I have some papers ready indoors to send you.
R.I crave permission: I would follow
To ask of my particular affairs;
How they are spoke of whence he comes.
D. (bowing permission).I hope
You will hear good.
R. (aside, going). My Frederick needs fresh prompting.
He is so preoccupied in his own love,
That I am forgotten. [Exit.
Diana opens the letter.
T. (to Fl., shewing and shaking purse). Look here! Listen here!
FLORA.
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What have you there?
T. Money,—ducats: all ducats.
D. (reading aloud). I could not have chosen, among all my friends, one more discreet and serviceable than is Ricardo. There is nothing so difficult that he has not experience for it ... nothing so private but that he may not well be trusted with it.... He has been accustomed to manage all my affairs....
Fl. (to T.). But where did you get them, Tristram?
T. Ah! She gave them me.
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Fl. The Countess! What for?
T. Secrets: and there’s more where they came from.
Fl. More secrets, or more ducats?
Fl. How nice for us.
T. Us! Who d’you mean by us?
Fl. I mean when we are married, Tristram.
T. Married, say you, now? I thought you had not promised. When I had no money you hung off. Now you see me as rich as Plutarch, you’re quick enough. But it’s a hoax. I filled this bag with curtain-rings to deceive you: and where are you now?
Fl. O, Tristram, let me see.
D. Tristram!
T.Your ladyship!
D.I’ll speak with you.
Flora, depart. [Exit Flora.
Now, Tristram, tell me shortly,
What you have learned.
T.I have found a letter, madam,
Writ by the lady. (fumbles for it.)
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D.Indeed!—that is good news.
Nothing could please me better. In so short time
This is done excellently. Who is she, Tristram?
T. I think she is chained up somewhere in the court.
D. Chained in the court! What mean you?
T.Here ’tis, my lady:
Read for yourself. (giving.)
D.Why this is poetry;
And in St. Nicholas’hand.
T.I hope and trust
Your ladyship will not take his part.
D.His part!
What does this mean?
T.I picked that up in the garden:
St. Nicholas found me with it, and said ’twas his.
I stood by it firmly ’twas the lady’s piece,
And written to my master. He called me a thief;
And if your ladyship....
D.Stay, Tristram, stay.
This paper is nothing: take it, and right yourself,
As best you are able, with St. Nicholas....
Tell me now all that happened on the journey
I sent you last night with your master.
T.Your ladyship
Sent him?
D.Of course. I sent you both to Milan.
When did you arrive there?
T.At Milan! Is’t possible
Your ladyship should think I have been to Milan?
D. Not been to Milan?
T.Me!
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D.You accompanied
Your master?
D. (holding R.'s letter). And he has been to Milan.
T. It’s true, your ladyship, I understand
Nothing my master says, and very little
Of what you say to him: and if you say
He 'as been to Milan, I’ll not meddle with it.
But if you say that I have been to Milan,
I am very much deceived. I do not like
That any man should think such things of me;
That I can go and not go, and be here
And there at once.
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D.Stay, Tristram; tell me plainly
All that your master has done since yesterday.
T. Well, first I found him with another letter,
All sighs and groans: then suddenly he bade me
Order the horses, and prepare myself
To drive with him to the devil at six o’clock.
At six we started on the Milan road
And came by dark to Asti; there we changed
Both horses and postilions and drove on:
And after three hours’jolting, when I guessed
We should be nearing Milan, the coach stopped
In a ferny glade, and we got out; and then
I saw we were at Belflor, and the trees
Were in your ladyship’s park.
D.Ah! Then what did he?
T. Came in and locked the gate of the park behind us,
And sent me on to his room, and bade me wait
Till he should come.
D.What hour was that?
T.Eleven.
D. (aside). The hour, no doubt, when he should meet his mistress—
When came he in?
T.By midnight.
D.He locked the gate....
The lady is in the palace.
T.So he pretends.
D. He let slip nothing on the journey?
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T.He lit
A pocket-lamp, and sat, mute as a fish,
Counting the minutes on his watch; and then,
As if it served as well to tell the time,
He fetched the jewelled portrait from his breast,
And gazed on that.
D.A portrait?
T.Certainly.
D. Carries he a portrait, say you?
T.Certainly.
D. You know not who ’tis of?
T.Not I, my lady.
D. Could you get sight of it?
T.Impossible.
At night ’tis neath his pillow, and all the day
He keeps it in a little special pocket
In his doublet here, just under his heart; or if
He pulls it out, he holds it by his chin
Where none may see.
D.You should have told me of this,
This portrait: have you no guess who ’tis of?
T. I guess ’tis part of the pretence, my lady;
For when the fit is on he’ll talk to it:
And once I saw him kiss it.
D.Thank you, Tristram.
Take now these papers to your master at once
And tell him....
T. (going). I will, your ladyship.
D.Stay yet....
This letter which he brought me, did you see
Whence he procured it?
T.I suppose, my lady,
He wrote it himself, no doubt of it. Where else
Should he have got it?
D.Tell Ricardo, Tristram,
I wish to see him here, at once. Your master
May wait on me at noon.
T.About that gentleman....
D. Begone, and do my bidding. [Exit T.
They have met in spite of me—they have met: and he
Hath dared to disobey me and lie to my face.
Who can it be? who is she? she is in my house....
Ah! what a prey I have netted! One of my maids....
One of my maids, it must be.... O detestation!
And he hath her portrait. Ah, he loves, he loves.
The love that taught me to dissemble and scheme,
Hath taught him to meet plot with counterplot.—
Frederick, dear Frederick! ’tis unworthy of you:
This is too hard upon me.... I loved you well.
Shame, shame, shame, shame! Indeed he cannot know
How much I love him ... he cannot. Am I too old
At twenty-seven? out-matched! I had taken too
This letter for the Duke’s. Ho! the insolence
To assume his fulsomeness! to forge in terms
Of a humble obedient lover, so he might
Keep tryst with.... O shame, shame! and then to write it
He must have broke my seal, and read my letter—
He has gone too far: here is a slip in honour
Which I may work on. I’ll not give him up,
Not yet. He can be shamed: and first I’ll prove
The forgery, and then wring confession from him.
’Tis well I have at hand so trusty a witness.
Re-enter Ricardo.
1440
D.I did, Ricardo.
In answer to the favour, which most gladly
I do you at the Duke’s request, I beg
A service for myself.
R.My honoured master
Commands me, lady; and you command my master.
I am twice yours.
D.Again! well—Look at this!
Is this your famous master’s writing? Look.
You know it? (giving letter.)
R.As my own.
D.Is that then his?
R.It is,
And writ his best.
D.Why, ’tis a forgery,
And you are deceived.
R.Nay, ’tis no forgery.
1450
D. You are certain?
R.Certain.
D.You may read it through,
Though ’tis about yourself. Examine it well,
If ’tis authentic. You will only find
Prodigal praise to make you blush.
R. (aside).No wonder
If I do blush, faced with my own device.
(aloud, giving back.) I’ll strive to make this good.
D. And ’tis his hand?
R. It is.
D.I am glad, because it came as answer
To a letter I wrote but yesterday, and gave
To Frederick, ordering him to ride to Milan
And give it the Duke. This morning, as you saw,
He hands me this. His servant who was with him
Tells me that he has not been to Milan at all,
But slept in the court.
R. (aside).Pest on that sneaking dolt!
D. What say you now?
R. May he not have used some other messenger?
I had my doubts when he brought in his tale,
That history of the banquet.—Did I not say
The Duke was wronged?
D.True, true; and tho’I am glad
He is quit of forgery, he is not of lying.
What can I think?
1469
R.I thought your ladyship
Trusted in Frederick wholly. When this morning
You praised him to me....
D.Praised him! stay, I beg:
I praised him not, save to draw words from you.
And you described him well; did not you say
He was contriving?
D. See how he acts. Ah, if I told you all!
And yet to tell argues much confidence....
(Ricardo is silent and Diana continues.)
I have strange sympathies, affinities,
Magnetic or electric it may be,
Which rule my trust and liking: if all feel them
I cannot say: in me they are intimations
Of supernatural efficacy: I find
My first impressions never prompt me wrong.
Some men I see only to avoid,—You know
A strong example of that;—on the other hand
There are some faces,—eyes, I think,—that draw me
At first encounter; so that I often fancy
There must be a subtle emanation thrown
By the spirit, as light from fire. Now yesterday
When I saw you, I felt the secret shock
Which told me I was in presence of a soul
In harmony with mine, one I could trust,
If I should need a friend: and when I wrote
To the Duke, it was not that my judgment wanted
The assurance which his letter gives. I knew
How it would be.—I hardly think, Ricardo,
That, had I asked for his own character,
Your master could have writ more praise.
R.I wish
To please my lady, as I have pleased the Duke.
I have kept his secrets.
D.I shall tell you mine.
Frederick hath had for some time an intrigue
With a lady—you understand,—a liberty
I never have allowed, nor will: besides
In him ’tis most intolerable....
Now yesterday it chanced I came to learn
He had made appointment with this certain person
To meet by night: I know not who she is;
But, wishing to prevent it, I contrived
To send him on my message to the Duke;
With what result you have heard.
R.The Duke, my lady,
Is the only gainer here.
1510
D.And are not you?
R. Yes, I too, if I am raised in your esteem.
D. Then you must help me.
R.I can truly vouch
Your ladyship has read my heart and soul.
I feel heaven-drawn to serve you to the death.
What is’t to do?
D.Only seek out this matter
For me; discover who this lady is.
For private reasons I feel justified
In using any means to learn the truth
Dishonestly held from me by my servant:
And so I have questioned Tristram. He assures me
They met last night: but he is profoundly dull,
And not in Frederick’s confidence.
R.Has he no notion
How Frederick got this letter?
D.No.
R.Nor a hint
Of this mysterious lady?
D.He cannot help you.
R. Your ladyship must have a near suspicion.
D. Only a suspicion that’s unfit to tell.
Enter Laura.
Here is my sister, whom I wish to question.
Come to me soon again; I have meanwhile
Myself a stroke to play. When we next meet
I may know more.
R.Your most devoted servant. [Exit.
D. Good morning, dearest Laura.
LAURA.
Good morning, sister.
D. Did you sleep well last night?
L.I slept till nine.
D. What hour went you to bed?
L.Not very late....
D. Nay: but what hour?—before eleven?
L. (aside).What’s this?
Are we discovered?
D.Was it before eleven?
L. I cannot tell. Why do you ask, Diana?
What is it has happened?
D.Answer me, I beg,
And you shall know. About that hour of the night
Did you hear any noise?
L. (aside). Ricardo’s singing.—
What kind of noise?
1540
D.Why, any noise, between
Eleven and midnight.
L.Did you hear a noise?
D. No: but did you?
L.O no: I heard no noise.
What made you think there was a noise?
D.I have reason.
L. Was there a robbery?
D.Nay: no robbery.
And yet there was, Laura, a robbery:
Of honour,—our honour,—of woman’s honour.
Laura, thou knowest the sacredness of love:
Love is the one thing in the world which women
Must guard from profanation; for by love
They rule; and if they trifle with their power,
They come to be men’s chattels, not their queens.
Thou’lt soon be married, Laura, and I can talk
Freely of these things: I have taught thee the religious
And philosophic doctrines; but to-day
We deal with facts. And first, then, I rejoice
Thy husband will be a man whom thou wilt rule,
One who adores thee reverently, who holds
Of love, as I, and with some special fancy:—
He is quite a poet.—Why, now, shouldst thou smile?
Thou hast no taste in poetry, but suppose
St. Nicholas had lacked that inner sight,
Had fancied thee merely because he thought thee
A fine girl, and had used the common tricks
Of odious trifling, till he dared to kiss thee,
And meet thee alone, and put his arm about thee....
L. Good heavens, Diana! I hope you do not think
He has ever done so.
D.No: of course he wouldn’t.
But ’tis a fact men do such things; and that
Not with one woman only. And ’tis true
That there are ladies who admit the addresses
Of more than one man.
L.O Diana!
D.Indeed,
’Tis true: and women are to blame if men
Make them their sport. Thou’rt shocked: but ’tis a fact
That this detested pestilence invades
Earth’s every nook: my palace doors and bolts,
My strong precautions, my well-known regard
For strictness, my injunctions, my example,
Cannot expel it.
L.Pray, Diana, tell me
What it is: you frighten me. Was any caught
Breaking the rules, or is it but suspicion?
D. Of the two criminals, the man I know,
The woman I know not; but if I knew her,
I am in the mood to kill her.
L. (aside).Thank heaven, she does not guess me—
Who is the man?
D. Better not ask; it matters not to thee:
But thou canst help me find this erring Eve.
If thou’st observed in any of the maids
Conscious behaviour, scrupulous regard
To petty adornment, or, what most betrays,
An inconsiderate blushing....
1590
L. (aside).The maids, she says!
One of the maids! Good heavens!—
D.Marcela:
Could it be she? She is handsome.
L.’Tis not she:
She tells me all her secrets.
D.Dorothy?
D.Katharine?
L.No, not Kate.
D. I’ll find the traitress out.
L. (aside).To save myself
I had best fall in with this.
D.What do you say?
L. I have not a suspicion,—but....
D.But what?
What?
L. If there’s any one who might be charged
With levity....
D.Who is it?
L.You’ll not be angry,
Diana?
D.Nay: but tell me.
1600
L.I should say,
If there’s one frivolous, and more than others
Unapt to profit by the rules....
D.’Tis who?
L. I think ’tis your own maid.
D.Flora?—pooh! pooh!
Flora’s almost a hoyden.
L. (aside).How stupid of me!
D. They meet at night, Laura: unless he dares
To pass my chamber-door, ’tis in the garden.
Your window looks that way. I thought last night
You might have heard them.
L.Why, it’s very unlikely
I should hear through the window.
D.Still, your window
Gives you an opportunity to watch.
You could step out and hide in the garden.
L.Alone?
D. I would not ask my sister to play spy,
If it were possible that any scandal
Dared with its spotted finger point at her.
L. But who is the man, Diana?
D.If I tell,—
And you must know,—promise you will not breathe it.
L. You need not ask.
D.’Tis Frederick.
L.Frederick!
Incredible!
D.No, ’tis not incredible.
Nothing is incredible of any man.
And, Laura, I know that he is in love. He carries
A portrait of his lady in his pocket.
L. (aside). Ah!
D. I’ll make an effort first to get at that.
But if I fail, I must ask you to watch
To-night, just for one night, only one hour.
L.So are you, Diana.
D. I am angry.
L.So am I.
D.No: you are frightened.
Dare you not watch the garden?
L.O yes: I promise
I’ll watch the garden well to-night, Diana.
If he should venture again, I’ll see him. I think
I could wait longer than one hour.
1630
D.Do so:
I shall set guard within. Eleven’s the time.
L. (aside). Could kindest ingenuity contrive
Better than this? But how shall I warn Frederick
About the picture?—
Enter Sir Gregory and St. Nicholas.
D. Good-morning, gentlemen. I need not ask
The reason why you visit me thus early.
NICHOLAS.
Early is late to them that find their sunrise
In seeing thee, my lady.
D.Better speak, sir,
Your poetry to Laura.
N.She is my rose,
The rose of my sun’s garden-ground, and I
The nightingale forlorn that steal to woo her.
D. That’s very well. But I now, by my name,
Should be your moon.
N.I have a verse to fit. [Reciting.
The flowers of dawn are uplifted to hear
The birds’enamoured tune,
Which tell their love in the pale ear
Of the far-flying moon.
D. That’s very beautiful. Now, tell your love:
I fly. [Goes to Sir Gregory.
Sir Gregory, sit you to the table:
These are the articles. [They sit, D. shews papers.
GREGORY.
1650
I much regret
The small provision that I make for Laura.
But if St. Nicholas doth as he has promised,
That will suffice. I see the treaty lacks
Nought but the seals.
D.He will make Laura rich.
G. My elder brother, as your ladyship knows,
Is childless, and next heir to such estates,
As fairly promise Laura twenty times
As much as what St. Nicholas gives her now.
Meanwhile we must not reckon on this chance.
1660
D. Read it, Sir Gregory.
L. (to N.). The day is fixed, and there my father sits
Reading the settlement: what would you more?
N.O Laura,
More gracious words. Who that now heard us talk
Would guess we were to marry in two days?
L. Maybe we are not.
N.Nay, dear one, do not doubt me:
Have I not sworn my faith a thousand times?
And were I an emperor....
L.Who wants emperors?
N. Or even a prince.
L.I do not care for princes.
G. (aloud). Heigh! heigh! Why this will never do.
What’s this?
N. But what can now prevent our marriage, Laura?
1671
L. Human affairs are ever so uncertain,—
And one of us might die,—and if ’twas you,
Think how much needless sorrow I then should suffer
For having loved you now. And, seeing the risk,
’Twere scarcely prudent to commit myself
More than is necessary.
N.O cruel wisdom!
Are women all so careful of their feelings?
G. Why, what a blundering fellow!
D.What is’t, Sir Gregory?
G. Heigh!
N. But when we are married thou wilt love me, Laura?
1680
L. Yes, when we are married.
N.I can wait for that:
’Tis but two days;—and now we speak of it,
I wish that thou wouldst tell me in what colour
’Twould please thee that I dressed. Or wilt thou come,
O’erlook the suits my tailor has prepared,
And say which pleases best.
L.Sir, since you strike
The very root of the chord, I’ll tell you how
You may best please me. There was once a man
I liked, whose custom it was to dress in black:
If you will dress like him....
N.In black!
1690
G. (Laura listens.)
Your ladyship,
I cannot sign this contract—the provision
I look for is not here; the scribe has blundered.
This is no settlement at all. Who drew it?
D. Frederick.
G.Then he’s no lawyer. I am surprised
He took this on himself.
L. (aside).So, well done, Frederick!
D. ’Tis most provoking. Are you sure, Sir Gregory,
’Tis as you say?
N. (to Gregory). Will you not sign the contract?
G. (rising). I cannot sign it.
D.There’s a flaw, it seems,
In the deed, St. Nicholas: but there’s time enough
To have it drawn afresh. Pray come, Sir Gregory,
Come to my study. Here we interrupt
These lovers. [Beckons G. off. Exeunt D. and G.
N. Now they are gone, put off this mask.
L.What mask?
N. Thou dost respect the Countess’eye and ear,
And wilt not love when she is by: but now
Give me at least thy hand to kiss.
L.Why no, sir.
N. Say then thou lovest me, sweetest Laura.—
L. Nay, but I do not, sir. I understand
That women love their husbands, and I promise
To love mine when I am married; yes, as well
As any happy woman on this earth
Hath ever loved. Are you content with that?
N. I should be, Laura; but thou dost not speak
As if ’twere true. I could see well enough
Thou wert not sorry when Sir Gregory said
He would not sign. I know thou wilt not love me.
L. Then why, in heaven’s name, would you marry me?
N. Because I love thee. But I think no man
Did ever love so cruel and strange a mistress.
1720
L. And you, sir, do no less appear to me
Distrustful and impatient. Prithee go,
Busy yourself to get your clothes in fashion:
In two days is my marriage; after that—
N. Well!
L.After that all shall seem different.
N. I made a sonnet of my love for thee,
And would have given it.
L.Why then did you not?
N. I lost it in the garden.
L.It can’t be lost.
N. No. Tristram found it and won’t give it up.
He says that Frederick wrote it.
L.Frederick! nonsense, sir!
Some one is coming. Excuse me. [Exit.
N. O woman, various woman! thus to treat
The man she loves! and yet how well becomes thee
Thy native wit, when sweetest modesty
Is masked thereby in tart indifference,
Which spurs far more than doting tenderness
The passion it rebuffs. What wit she hath!
My Laura! Wit is admirable in woman,
It is so rare; and ’tis the salt of marriage.
Frederick and Ricardo have re-entered.
R. (to F.). Here’s our belated bee, let’s go elsewhere.
1740
F. Nay, drive him to his hole.
R.How now, St. Nicholas!
Musing, I think, on thy good fortune, eh?
N. Good morning, Frederick, and, sir, how do you?
R. Fairly, I thank thee, fairly: but in presence
Of happiness like thine, mine goes for nothing.
F. Thou hast been honey-gathering early, sir.
N. I will confess it: that was my pursuit.
F. True to thy beeship, thy belated beeship.
N. Sir!
R.I am sure our friend means no offence.
The happy expressions of true genius
Stick in the memory.
1750
F.Yes, sir, it stuck fast,
The Sphinx’s tear was somewhat sticky too.
Thou didst not spare us; we were put to shame.
N. Is that a reason, sir, before this stranger
To mock me? I can appreciate ridicule
Prompted by envy at its proper worth.
Affecting to find fault with my expressions!
Good morning, gentlemen. [Exit.
R. You poets treat each other vilely.
1759
F. Now, Richard.
R. My scheme is this: I have written to my servants;
They will receive you. Leave to-morrow night,
And you will find all ready: You shall have
Such a reception and fair bridal trim,
And high festivities as shall dress out
The hasty manner of your coming.
F.But first,
How shall I make my escape? I am watched, suspected.
R. I can arrange that too. By my behaviour
And letter to the Countess I have contrived
To win her trust. First I shall praise her scheme
Of sending you to Milan, and then persuade her
To send you again. You must hit on a plan
How to convey your lady to the carriage,
And all is done.
F.What shall I do with Tristram?
R. Leave him to me: my purse will settle him.
F. ’Tis excellently schemed; but if Diana
Press me to tell how I obtained the letter,
What can I say?
R.She is easily put off:
That question does not touch her. Any tale
Will serve.
F.Yet, Richard, what so generously
You do for me must ruin you with her.
Is’t possible you are cured!
R.No, no: mistake not!
I am more and more in love: and see my way
By certain steps: and first to get thee married.
Her love for thee is a romance, which I
Can shift upon myself when thou art gone.
And that she loves thee, thee the worthiest,
Dearest and nearest of my earliest friends,
Is no impediment. Is’t not half way
To loving me? ’Tis happy for me, Frederick,
Thou hast not seen her worth.
1790
F.And I half question
Whether ’tis not my duty as friend of both
To close with her and save you.
R.Thou dost not know her,
Because, I thank thee for it, thou dost not love her.
And, friend, thy speech is gross; why the truth is
There’s not a man or woman on God’s earth,
However humble, mean, or ill-appearing,
That hath not in his sight some grace and favour,
Which angels see: but mortals overlook it,
Being spiritually blind: for which affliction
They have suffered half their shames, and slain the just.
But Love, God’s gift, is spiritual sight;
’Tis the perception, which man lacks of all,
Given him of one, to see as angels see.
This is man’s marriage: and what now I love
Is not, friend, what thou seest,—though thou mayst see
A beauty unparallel’d,—but rather that
Which by love’s gift I see: so say no more.
F. Forgive me, Richard: ’tis a just rebuke.
I did speak grossly. ’Tis that artist’s pride
Of which you used to warn me: I will confess it.
In my own case I am idealist
At the price of all the world. If I believed
I were as others, I should mock myself.
I have not yet come to that. Now, in my excuse,
Diana is sometimes laughable.
R.And who
Would not be laughable who had his way,
Or if one set his humours on a throne?
F. Well, you will rule her. Still there’s room to fear
You may not win her.
R.I doubt not to win:
At least if you’ll be gone.
1820
F.Trust me to go.
Re-enter Diana with papers in hand. Laura and Flora.
D. Frederick!
F.Your ladyship!
D.This settlement
Is but waste paper. Didst thou draw it thyself?
F. I did, your ladyship.
D.Then pray explain.
F. If I have made any error....
D.Error, sir!
The lady is here left wholly unprovided.
And if Sir Gregory had not by good fortune
Studied the terms, but trusted to thy skill,
He had left his daughter penniless.
F.There is full time
To draw it afresh. I humbly crave your pardon
For my mistake.
1830
D.Stay, I have more against thee.
I will proceed in form. We have an audience:
Stand upon thy defence. I am the plaintiff,
The accuser; and, Ricardo, be thou judge.
Hear all. This gentleman hath been my secretary
Now for twelve months. In all my affairs I have set
No limit to my trust: I have ever shewn him
Absolute confidence: and yet how think you
Hath he repaid me? He hath lied to me.
I accuse him here to his face before you all.
He said to-day he had been last night to Milan
And brought me a letter, when he had never been there,
And had not brought it. Contradict me, sir,
If I say wrong. You hear he is silent. Now
I say he forged that letter.
F.Silence, my lady,
Is the answer fittest for a charge too gross
To be denied.
D.Then tell me by what means
The letter came to thee. Still silent. I hope
Thou dost mark that, Ricardo.
F.In my defence
I say I have served your ladyship as well
As you have trusted me: and for this matter,—
You gave me a letter for the Duke of Milan
Requiring speedy answer. I procured
That answer in good time.
D.Ah, but thou saidst
That thou thyself didst bear it, as I bade thee.
Silent? Now here’s a secret; there’s some matter
Withheld from me which I have a right to know.
I have cause to think thou hast upon thy person
The explanation. I would see what papers
Thou carriest with thee.
F.I have no papers, madam,
Such as you look to find.
1860
D.Thou sayst that letter
Was not a forgery. I wish to see
If something which I think is in thy pocket
Is not a forgery.
F.If on first appearance
Of having wronged you, you mistrust me thus,
There is no cure. Demand my papers from me:
I cannot take them back.
D.I do demand them.
F. You shall have everything in perfect order
Before this evening.
D.Stay! I wish to see
What papers thou hast with thee.
F.Very well.
This is the only pocket in my dress;
Here the contents. (Offers a few letters.)
D.Is that the only pocket?
I thought there was another little pocket
On the left side.
F. (aside). Ah! ’tis that villain Tristram
Hath told her this.
D.What say you, sir? Is’t true?
No answer. Now I think the explanation
Lies in that pocket. If I am wrong, ’tis easy
To prove me so. But if thou hast a secret....
F. I have a secret, and you are well informed
I carry it on me. And to prove to all
’Tis of a private nature, I will shew it.
’Tis but this little case. (Shews case of portrait.)
D.A portrait-case?
F. A portrait.
D.Ah, then, now we have the truth:
Thou art in love. This is the wondrous sickness
That keeps thee at home when I would send thee forth:
Distracted thee in drawing of the deed....
F. Enough, my lady; you have pushed this far enough.
D. Oh no! I have now another charge of falsehood.
I have long suspected this; and yesterday
When I did ask thee if thou wert in love,
Thou didst deny it. But thou dost not now—
So tell me who the lady is.
L. (aside to R.). All’s lost!
F. (coming quite to front). Your ladyship must grant me in private conduct
Some liberty: my honest duty and service
Never surrendered that, and should avail
To spare me this ungenerous inquisition.
D. And very well, sir, if thou hast not transgressed
The rules of the court: these art thou bound to observe:
And these, as well thou knowest, forbid my ladies
To hide their love affairs from me. Dark meetings,
Intrigue, sly correspondence, and the rest,
Are treason here; nay, they are so well forbidden,
That to conceal them is a breach of trust.
Give me thy word then, Frederick, that this portrait
Is not of any lady in my court,
I’ll ask no more.—But if she is of the court,
I’ll know who it is. Now speak, and quit thyself.
F. I will not say whether it is so or no.
D. That is confession. I must see the portrait.
Ricardo, now thy judgment.
R.I fear, my lady,
I have too short acquaintance with the rules
Appealed to; and if I offer you my judgment
By such unwritten statutes as obtain
In the best circles that I know, for instance,
The court of Milan....
D.What is the court of Milan?
Are we not here at Belflor?—You know the rules,
Laura; speak for me.
L.He must shew the portrait.
(Coming forward to F.)
(Aside.) All’s lost unless I do it.
(To F.) Sir, give it to me.
Judgment hath gone against you. I can promise
No eye shall learn thy secret but the Countess.
To her ’tis due. So give her up the portrait.
(Aside to F.) I will exchange them.—
F. gives L. the portrait: which the spectators see her exchange for another. She turns, and, going to D., presents her with that.
D. (taking). I thank thee, Laura; and now to learn the secret:
Who is this wanton traitress? (Opens case.)
Ah!—ha! ha!
Impossible,—’tis true. Who would believe it?
Why, friends, there is no secret after all:
No lady,—’tis himself.—
He carries a portrait of himself; himself
Leaning upon his elbow. Now, heaven save me!
This I was told; but tho’my own eyes see it,
I cannot credit it. O, gracious sir,
I have wronged thee, and beg pardon. Yet, I think,
Thou losest in acquittal. O Frederick, Frederick!
Although thou art a poet, and mayst think
Thou hast a touch of rarer stuff, to make thee
Self-centred;—nay, tho’thou wert more than that,
More than I ever thought thee....
To carry thine own portrait! to have a pocket
For it! well, well! ’tis a fair picture enough,
Not undeserving of its jewelled case.
Poor little image! now I’m sorry for thee;
Thou hast no lady-lover, but must live
In thine own pocket, as it were.—Let me have thee,
I’ll keep thee—may I not, Frederick?—a remembrance
Of better hopes. Come, Laura: doth your poet
Carry his portrait, too? He is distanced quite.
[Exit D. and L. with Flora.
R.What is’t? I understand not.
’Twas your own portrait?
F.Yes; but that I had
Was Laura’s. She having mine, stepped in between,
And interchanged them.
R. I never saw it. Bravo!—most deftly done.
1951
F. ’Twas touch and go. That meddling devil, Tristram,
He must have told her of it.
Re-enter Laura.
L.The Countess, Frederick,
Bids me return the portrait. You may die
To look on it, she says,—here ’tis. (Giving her own.)
F.Be sure
This is the right one. Well: she says not ill. (Kissing it.)
L. I tremble still.
F.O, you did well.
L.To-night
Be in the park again—under my window—
I am set to watch for you.
F.You!
L.Yes,—by Diana.
Eleven,—I dare not stay. Farewell till then. [Exit.
1960
F. Well, there’s the end of it, Richard.
R.Yes: and ’tis plain
She never really loved you. Yet, if I am right,
Here’s a new difficulty arisen. Diana,
If she believes this nonsense, will no longer
Be jealous for you; and I shall never manage
To get you off to Milan.
F.’Tis worse than ever.
What can we do?
R.’Tis best I undeceive her,
And set things as they were. Her jealousy
Is ground to work on; but this foolery
Is bottomless.
Re-enter Flora.
Fl. (to R.). Her ladyship has sent
To beg you await her, sir. She hath a matter
To speak of with you in private.
1970
R.Bear my respects
Back to your mistress;—say I await her here.
[Exit Flora.
See how I prosper. Get you gone, while I
Step in your shoes.
F.Richard, do not be rash:
And if you find she is cured, leave well alone.
R. Trust me: in serving you I serve myself.
[Exit F.
Diana hath not been honestly in love.
If ’twere the virtual Frederick she adored
She could not so mistake him. ’Tis but fancy,
Which jealousy hath magnified to passion:
And now she eyes him as the fox the grapes,
And rather than be crossed, she’ll be persuaded
That he’s an idiot. That’s not honest love,—
Fanciful consolations are the comfort
Of fancied passion,—love needs better food.
Re-enter Diana.
D. How now, Ricardo? I have not done laughing yet.
What of my ingenious secretary? I think
’Tis well I trapped him: we might else have searched
For a lady long enough.
R.You are satisfied
By this discovery?
D.Clearly; all is explained.
I came to tell you the campaign is over.
Finding there’s nought to seek, the search is ended.
The wonder is, Tristram had solved the mystery,
And told me; but I laughed.
R.Now you believe?
D. Ha! ha!
R.How you must now despise him!
D.I do, indeed.
R. You laugh. ’Tis strange that it should please you.
D. Ah!
I laugh to think there was no cause for all
My....
R.Your....
D.My needless trouble, my anxiety.
R. Anxiety,—you mean, lest?...
D.For my maids.
R. (half-aside). Indeed!—indeed!
D.’Twas more than laughable
To see him; and you there with your face so grave.
2001
R. I thought you were deceived.
D.I was deceived,
But now I understand.
R.Your ladyship,
I think, is more mistaken now than ever.
Frederick hath told me himself that he is in love;
And that’s the truth, both likely, and well-confirmed,
Even by the accident you set against it.
You find on him a portrait of himself
Set in a jewelled case; just such a gift
As he might make to his lady. I know, from him,
He hath her picture.
D.Ah! you have seen it?
2010
R.No.
D. Then I am assured there is no other picture
Than that I saw. His servant guessed the truth:
’Twas part of a pretence, for which I think
There may be a cause. There is no lady at all.
R. Tristram’s a fool; and wrests what wit he hath
To outwit himself.
D.What then do you believe?
R. I see the stroke your ladyship prepared
Was excellent: the merest chance in the world
Enabled him to escape.
D.Impossible.
This is a dream. Besides, how could he dare
Deceive me again, and wish me to believe
That he is a fool?
R.A false opinion wrongs
The holder most.
D.Never! I cannot think it.
R. You do not wish to think it.
D.And what dost thou, sir,
Think that I wish?
R.One thing at least is clear....
D. (aside). Good heaven! if I have betrayed myself—
Well, sir!
R. You are vexed to think Frederick should be in love.
D. How so, pray?—how should I be vexed at that?
2030
R. The fear to lose so good a secretary.
D. So good a secretary!—Ha! now, Ricardo,
I am vexed, that’s the truth, at Frederick’s love.—
I see how likely it is you are right—I am sorry—
I do not wish to believe it: I thought at first
His lady, whoever she was, might be in the town:
Or, if the affair had sprung within my court,
It might be one of my guests: but now it happens
We have no visitors. If last night he kept
An appointment here in the court,—who can it be
But one of the maids? Are you surprised I am vexed?
I thought well of him, and still would think the best:
I’ll not believe it.
2041
R. (aside). I shall not act this out.
I almost dare to tell her all: she tortures
Herself for nothing.—I cannot....
D.What say you, sir?
R. ’Tis out of the question, madam.
D.Nay, tell not me.
I know what men will do.
R.If you believe it,
There’s but one plan.
D.And that?
R.To send him away.
D. To send him away? Of course I might; I’ll do it:
To-night, Ricardo.
2049
R. (aside).Now we go too fast—
The sooner he goes the better: and yet your plan
Was good, to watch to-night. Now that he thinks
Suspicion lulled too, he will be more rash.
Let Lady Laura watch the garden, and I
His room: even if that fail, ’tis time enough
To send him off to-morrow.
D. ... I thought when I came in here, Ricardo,
I had come to the end of the matter: I find instead
’Tis ten times more involved, doubtful, and difficult.
For after this exposure, if Frederick stayed,
Our mutual trust is sapped: and if, as you urge,
I send him away, there’s none to take his place.
Nor can I do without him. In two days hence
The wedding is fixed, for which a host of guests
Are bid to the house. Sir Gregory being so deaf
Would be overwhelmed: Frederick cannot be spared.
Yet would he stay if I asked him? Did you hear him
Threaten he would not take his papers back?
He sees, no doubt, how necessary he is.
R. No doubt, my lady, he sees that when he is gone
He cannot be here to help you.
D.Who can help me?
What is your counsel?
2070
R.Not to ask a favour
Of one whom you so hotly have charged with wrong.
R.Sir Gregory then must do his best.
D. ’Tis no solution that.
R.Then what, my lady,
If I should take the place awhile? I offer
My service, I would do my best.
D.I thank you,
Ricardo. I hardly like to accept; and yet
You have come to know much that I could not tell
To another.
R. (aside). I win. But she must ask me herself.
D. I think I might accept.—What say you?
R.My lady,
I see one difficulty,—I have offered more
Than is quite my own: for being the Duke’s servant
I cannot without his leave give pledge to another.
D. Cannot you get his leave?
R.Yes. I will ask it.
And what if Frederick be our messenger?
Send him again to Milan; the very mission
That he played false in: so your dignity
Is salved and explanation saved.
D.’Tis good.
To-morrow he goes. If you will act in his place—
For some ten days, say?
R.Longer, if it should please you.
2090
D. I thank you, I shall not need it.
R.But if....
D.If what?
R. If Frederick should resign, and if the Duke
Gave me permission, might I keep my place?
D. I thank you, sir; I hope there’ll be no need.
R. But may I hope?
D.In truth I know of none
I’d rather see in his place.
R.A thousand thanks!
D. Why thank me so, sir? I am here the obliged.
R. Your ladyship knows not the great desire
I have felt to serve her.
D.I am happy to have inspired it.
It comes to me as a sort of consolation
In my distress—
2100
R.Agreed then that to-night
We watch. If nothing come of that, to-morrow
Frederick is sent to Milan with my letter.
Only your ladyship must be prepared
To lose him. Whoever it is he loves, I am sure
When we discover her, we shall find a passion
Worthy and deep, from which he’ll not be moved:
Therefore....
D. O, you are mistaken. I know him better.
I know he is cold. Well, well: I thank you. I wish you
Good-evening, sir.—To-morrow speak we of this—
But I have been much deceived.—Be not concerned,
’Tis nothing. [Faints.
2111
R. (supporting her to a chair). Flora!—Here is a chair, my lady,
You are over-wrought. (Aside.) By heaven, what brutes we are!
’Twere kinder far to tell her at once—Diana!
Dearest Diana! (Aside.) What am I doing?—Flora! Flora!
Re-enter Flora.
Fl. My lady in one of her fits!
R. What is it? Look at her, Flora!
Fl.To fan her face,—that’s all.
She will come to herself. See, see!
R. (aside). This lump 's not fit to touch her.—
My lady!—Diana!
D. (awakening). Who’s there? Ah, Flora!
Fl.My lady
Has fainted again.
2120
D.Ricardo!—yes, I remember.
How foolish.
Fl.All’s well, my lady.
D. (to Fl.).Give me an arm.
I’ll go within.
D.Oh, no.
’Tis nothing,—a silly habit I wish I were rid of.
I thank you. Good evening, sir.
R.Good evening, madam.
I promise to bring this all to a happy end.
D. I thank you, sir: I would you might. So, Flora.
[Exit with Fl.
R. Now, by my soul, Frederick’s atrocious!
’Tis brutal of him. He has let this go too far.
She loves him much too well. Good heaven! to think
He might have had her. I owe him everything
For being so blind, and eager for his marriage
With Lady Laura. Yes, and thanks to her
For being so ready; and to St. Nicholas
For setting her on: for he in the end appears
As my good genius, tho’he little dreams it.
So far, all prospers—all is in good train.
To-morrow will decide my fate.
