HILDA (clasping her hands). The passionate South!
GIOCONDA. The fellow gave the letter, gasped, went red,
And straightway horse and lackey fell down dead.
I scanned the note, observed the flowery phrases
In which the writer smothered me with praises;
Compared them with the style of Bernard Shaw,
And told him straightway that he might withdraw.
HILDA. If I could see that letter!
GIOCONDA.So you shall,
Sweet friend—or, rather, right you are, old pal.
I'll read it.(She produces a letter tied with rose-coloured ribbon.)
HILDA.Do!... I see his passion's flood
Demands red ink.
GIOCONDA.Oh dear no—that's his blood.
Now, listen. Did you ever hear a style
Quite so absurd? I call it simply vile.(Reading.)
'Adored Gioconda—glittering star
Unsullied by the dusty world,
Rich rose with leaves but half uncurled,
New Venus in thy dove-drawn car—
Have pity: drive thy wrath afar.
Let Cupid's war-flag be upfurled,
Lest by thy gentle hand be hurled
The mortal bolt that leaves no scar.
'So prays upon his aching knee
Thy humble vassal, once the fear
Of Christendom, but now—woe's me!—
One whose wild prayers Love will not hear,
Who treads the earth and has no home—
Giulio Pandolfo, Duke of Rome.'
HILDA. Gioconda, what a lover!
GIOCONDA.So I think—
His brain a dictionary, his blood mere ink.
HILDA. I mean how rare a lover! Would that mine
Had brains to pen a letter half so fine!