ACT I, SCENE I
CHARACTERS: Count of Lara, a poor nobleman; Beatrice, his wife Miriam, a maid, who personates a page.
SCENE: Count of Lara's villa. A balcony overlooking the garden.
LARA. The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice! It hangs in the still twilight, large and full, Like a ripe orange.
BEATRICE. Like an orange? yes, But not so red, Count. Then it has no stem. Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud, With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark, 'Tis like some strange, rich jewel of the east, In the cleft side of a mountain. And that reminds me--speaking of jewels--love, There is a set of turquoise at Malan's, Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace--ah! If they were mine.
LARA. And so they should be, dear, Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lamp To fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice, All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours, Although your hand is heavy now with gems That tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness. Oh! so you pout! Why make that full-blown rose Into a bud again?
BEATRICE. You love me not.
LARA. A coquette's song.
BEATRICE. I sing it.
LARA. A poor song.
BEATRICE. You love me not, or love me over-much, Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear! You do not deck me as becomes our state, For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyes Of Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest-- A precious set! You're jealous, sir!
LARA. Not I. I love you.
BEATRICE. Why, that is as easy said As any three short words; takes no more breath To say, "I hate you." What, sir, have I lived Three times four weeks your wedded loyal wife, And do not know your follies? I will wager (If I could trap his countship into this!) The rarest kisses I know how to give Against the turquoise, that within a month You'll grow so jealous--and without a cause, Or with a reason thin as window glass-- That you will ache to kill me!
LARA. Will you so? And I--let us clasp hands and kiss on it.
BEATRICE. Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss--nay, nay! I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.
LARA. And I'll not lose the forfeit.
BEATRICE. We shall see.
[_Exit_ BEATRICE.
LARA. She has as many fancies as the wind Which now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles, Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea! Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess. To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow, With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death-- With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay, But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throw So rare a wonder in the lap o' the world! Jealous? I am not jealous--though they say Some sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet, I would I had not wagered; it implies Doubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I'll walk awhile And let the cool air fan me. 'Twas not wise. 'Tis only Folly with its cap and bells Can jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too. What if, to pique me, she should overstep The pale of modesty, and give bold eyes (I could not bear that, nay, not even that!) To Marc or Claudian? Why, such things have been And no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close. There, now, I wrong her.
Yet if she, To win the turquoise of me, if she should-- O cursèd jewels! Would that they were hung About the glistening neck of some mermaid A thousand fathoms underneath the sea!
[A PAGE _crosses the garden_.
That page again! 'Tis twice within the week The supple-waisted, pretty-ankled knave Has crossed my garden at this self-same hour, Trolling a canzonetta with an air As if he owned the villa. Why, the fop! He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed. I'll teach him better if he comes again. What does he at the villa? O! perchance He comes in the evening when his master's out, To lisp soft romance in the ready ear Of Beatrice's dressing-maid; but then She has one lover. Now I think she's two: This gaudy popinjay would make the third, And that's too many for an honest girl! I'll ask the Countess--no, I'll not do that; She'd laugh at me; and vow by the Madonna This varlet was some noble in disguise, Seeking her favor. Then I'd let the light Of heaven through his doublet--I would--yes, That is, I would, were I a jealous man: But then I'm not.
When he comes out again I'll stop him, question him, and know the truth. I cannot sit in the garden of a night But he glides by me in his jaunty dress, Like a fantastic phantom!--never looks To the right nor left, but passes gayly on, As if I were a statue. Soft, he comes! I'll make him speak, or kill him; then, indeed, It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh! I'll speak him gently at the first, and then--
_The_ PAGE _enters by a gate in the villa-garden, and walks past the_ COUNT.
Ho! pretty page, who owns you?
PAGE. No one now. Once Signor Juan, but I am his no more.
LARA. What, then, you stole from him?
PAGE. O! no, sir, no. He had so many intrigues on his hands, There was no sleep for me nor night nor day. Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes! He's gone abroad now, to break other hearts And so I left him.
LARA. A frank knave.
PAGE. To-night I've done his latest bidding--
LARA. As you should--
PAGE. A duty wed with pleasure--'twas to take A message to a countess all forlorn, In yonder villa.
LARA. [_aside_]. Why! that villa's mine! A message to a countess all forlorn? In yonder villa?
PAGE. Ay, sir. You can see The portico among the mulberries, Just to the left, there.
LARA. Ay, I see, I see. A pretty villa. And the lady's name?
PAGE. The lady's name, sir?
LARA. Ay, the lady's name.
PAGE. O! that's a secret which I cannot tell.
LARA. No? but you shall, though, or I'll strangle you! In my strong hands your slender neck would snap Like a fragile pipe-stem.
PAGE. You are choking me! O! loose your grasp, sir!
LARA. Then the name! the name!
PAGE. Countess of Lara.
LARA. Not her dressing-maid?
PAGE. No, no, I said the mistress, not the maid.
LARA. And then you lied. I never saw two eyes So wide and frank but they'd a pliant tongue To shape a lie for them. Say you are false! Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich, I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.
PAGE. Well, then--I lie.
LARA. Ay, now you lie, indeed! I see it in the cunning of your eyes; Night cannot hide the Satan leering there. Only a little lingering fear of heaven Holds me from dirking you between the ribs!
PAGE. What would you have? I will say nothing, then.
LARA. Say everything, and end it! Here is gold. You brought a billet to the Countess--well? What said the billet?
PAGE. Take away your hand. And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all. There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir? Stand six yards off, or I will not a word. It seems the Countess promised Signor Juan A set of turquoise--
LARA. Turquoise? Ha! that's well.
PAGE. Just so--wherewith my master was to pay Some gaming debts; but yester-night the cards Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet; And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor Juan Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note, For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus, Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night; Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned; Then told his sudden fortune with the cards, And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.
LARA. All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart! A heart, I know, of little, little worth-- An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before, But now quite broken! I have no heart, then; Men should not have, when they are wronged like this. Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news!
[_Exit_ LARA.
PAGE. I did not think 't would work on him like that. How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some ill Will come of this. I'll to the Countess now, And warn her of his madness. [_Exit_ PAGE.