THE SILVEE HEAD THE DOUBLE DECEIT COMEDIES LAUGHTON OSBORN NEW YORK DOOLADY PUBLISHER 448 BROOME STREET 186T O .04- S^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 186T, by LAUGHTON OSBORN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New Yorli. ALVOED, PRINTBR. THE SILVER HEAD MDCCCXLV CHARACTERS Sir Henkt Feegusox, formerly a Colonel in the British Army, — having living with him the children of a deceased brother and sister, whom, he has adopted. Manfeed, ] ^ V his nephews, sons of his deceased brother. OSOAE, j ^ ^ Theodoee Vincent, friend of IJanfred. Maek Mattison, father of Helen. RicHAED, his son. Meddleham, a distant kinsman of the yoiing Fergusons by their mother^ s side, and, in the same icay, of the Mattisons. Helen, a poor girl, beloved of Manfred. Sybil Veenon, a young icidoio, orphan niece of Sir Henry, through a sister. Saffise, a Creole from Neio Orleans; a casual acqiiaintavce of Helen's, and, in secret, the inistreM of Oscar Ferguson. Scene. Baltimore. Time. Tliat occupied in the representation. THE SILTEE HEAD Act the First Scene I. A Parlor in the lioxisc of Sir Henry. Enter^ Manfred and Oscar. Osc. Now, b J my soul ! — which, praised be Heaven ! is not Like yours, poetic and most righteous 'Fred, Made of the willow, swaying with all winds, Though 'twere a breath too light the veil to crimple That wantons with the lips you dare not Mavf. Ilnsh! — Yet is not broken by the strongest storm That splits your heart of oak — Osc. Splits ! Prythee, how ? Feel here [striking his ireast.] — 'T is not your mis- tress' breast — Now God Forbid! you 'd faint if 't were — ha, ha! — Does tliis [striMng it again heartily. Sound like a riven heart, or, 'faith, like one THE SILVER HEAD That anything is like to rive? — at least Anything driven with a feather's impulse, Like woman's pithless and unweighable love — A woman's too, that Man/. Brother Oscar, peace ! Your jests are scurril, and I like them not. Osc. Prodigious! 'Tis exceeding rare, no doubt, For men to wince, when, edg'd to do them good, The surgeon's scalpel — scurril would you call it? Bites to the quick ! eh ! Man/. "Well, well, well! Have done. Your willows and your knives, prosaic sage. Have swept and cut your purpose off. Osc. That 's true. "We come of a poetic race, you know ; Our grandsire rhym'd — as you do ; but my vein Is good sound satire, not a lover's whine. Enter Vincent. Vin. "When satire serves to point the sting of spleen. Or give an edge to envy, nobler far It is, I deem, to be the weakest lover Osc. That splutters fustian when he's half seas over. — There 's a rhyme for you ; and, as one can't be Long in your presence or my brother's here. And not be made to love the Muse, or muse, I '11 give you, sir, another, which is this : '' T were folly to he icise, tohere folly 's hliss. You 've heard the sense before ; but, if you choose. ACT I. SC. 1. 7 May have a variation : — thus it reads : He most fears satire, who its lash most needs. Manf. Brother! — Dear Vincent! Oscar, well you know Osc. Never likes meddling. Vine. And so little likes His brother's friend, that even his uncle's house Is no protection from unmanner'd spleen. [Oscar hoips lota to Yinccvt. Manf. Peace! you are both my friends [taking a hand cf eacK\ ; why should you jar ? Osc. Because Manf. You rogue ! 't is but a trick, I see. To put me by. Come on: what did you mean By thanking Heaven your soul was not as mine? Osc. [shrugging Ms shoulders.'] 'Faith, that it sav'd my feet from getting wet. Vin. [significantly.'] Truth without flaw, though in false quibbling set. Osc. Did I not tell you, brother Manfred ? See ! Your presence is contagious. I '11 withdraw, To — ponder well the truth without a flare. [with deep expression., looking full on Vincent^ and howing tery loir. Manf. [arresting him as he is going.'] Yes, but you don't escape me in this wise. Since we all rhyme, why here the question lies : [laughingly., — in a well-meant effort to Tceep peace hetween 0. and V. What lacks to make the adjuration whole, THE SILVER HEAD You even now began? "Now, by ray soul!" — 'T was thus you swore, then talk'd about a " willow I" Oic. As the Moor's bride, ere fell on her the pillow. [Changing his manner.] I '11 tell you, Manfred. Thus I would have said : Now, by my soul, you are the veriest ass That ever thistle brows'd for wholesome grain. Occasion courts you, and you turn your back ; Love woos you, and you smite him on the cheek ; Like Duncan's doom'd assassin, in the play, "Letting I dare not wait upon I would.'''' Vin. Where Conscience says I dare not, and I would Is Passion's voice, to fear 's the braver part. Be, Manfred, still that honest ass, and prize The lawful thistle more than stolen grain. Ose. Sage maxim-dealer — maker you are not. Or else past ages borrow 'd from your books, — I might have reckon'd on your tongue. Enough ! Manfred, there 's Helen waits you, with her eyes That light to opening Paradise ; and here — Is Solomon, whom moderns Vincent call. Now choose. But, by my soul, which, I thank Heaven again Melts not like yours, you 'd better quickly choose, Ere I leap Eden for you ! Man/. You dare not ! — Osc. Pshaw ! care not ; and Saffise contents me still. I meant to play the Devil but for your good. Vin. Manfred! [sadbj.] I hope What is this Eve? Osc. [hiting his lips with vexation.] Indeed? ACT I. SC. 1. y Plague on 't ! I thought this meddler knew. Qood- day [to Vin.] : Some day, sir, you and I may talk apart, [retirinr/.] Vin. That 's as you please. [Exit Oscar.] Man/. Brother ! for shame ! — He 's gone. You will not quarrel? [anxiously to Vincent. Promise me. [talcing both his hands.] Vin. Fear not : Not of my will. But, Manfred, was this well ? A secret of such import ? — Was my heart Less fit to trust to ? Manf. Than a hrother's? No : And your head fitter. Not to him — though well, I deem, he loves me, [Vin. shrugs his shotdders in- credulously. Manf. has his eyes cast down and does not observe the movement. did I bare my heart : He found my folly out I know not how. And you — how could I brook your censure, face Your laugh ? Vin. Can this be possible? [talcing gently his hand.] J/// laugh? [Manf. holes upfranUy and confidingly. Manf [pressing his hand.] Forgive me; T was wrong; I should remember Your pleasantry is never for the sad, ' Nor your wit pointed at your friends. And yet [hesitating. Vin. And yet? 10 THE SILVER HEAD Manf. Your rule of duty is so stern ! This folly, of a kind How grave you look! Hear me at once : hear all. A few days back, My cousin Yernon's period to mourn For her dead lord expired, and she must needs, So custom and our uncle will'd, do off Her weeds of wo, to the last shade of black, "With each month lessening, fashion still had left them. Most women of her station, figure, youth, Would straight have driven to the gayest shrine Of Fashion's gayest priestess, there to assume Her votaries' newest mode; but not so she; For Sybil is a glorious creature ; though She '11 jest by the hour, when her light-arm'd wit Rides tilt with even your own, yet, like to you, "Within, where the world sees her not, there Duty Eules like an empress, and admits no check. One of Her laws is Charity, and Sybil "Would, where she can, make labor's wages just, Quiting' the workman's product, not his name. Vin. Noble! [id ith emotion. Man/. Is 't not? [Looking at him attentivehj.] Hence, for her new attire, A poor girl has she working here at home, At generous rates. 'T was in my cousin's rooms, AYhere gallantry, my uncle's wishes more. And true regard for Sybil, made me spend Many glad hours, I first met this young maid. ACT I. SC. 1. 11 Helen "What makes you start ? Vin. It is the name Your brother mention'd. Manfred ! — Manf. Do but hear. Helen Husli ! hither come Sir Henry's self And Sybil. I am not in humor now To meet them. Let me go. {breahing from him. Vin. For what? and whither? Ah, Manfred ! [Exit Manfred, as Enter Sir Henry Ferguson and Sybil. Sir H. Has he left you all alone ? Syh. "Without the fellowship of even his wits ; For, uncle, see ! poor Mr. Vincent 's dumb. Vin. Dumb with surprise his friend liad power to fly The centre of attraction. Syl). O good sir. My cousin is eccentric, well you know ; The laws of vulgar planets rule not him. Sir H. Well, let his orbit take him where it will, Here 's Mr. Vincent shall revolve with us. "We 're for tlie flowers : to-day some rare ones bloom. Vin. "Whose beauty will grow lovelier in the light Of this contrasted Syl). Uncle, stop his speech ; He makes the dullest compliments on earth. Vin. For there 's a grace beyond the brightest powers Syl. Is there? Come then; we '11 seek it in my flowers. \Exeunt. 12 the silver head Scene II. A smaller room, or houdoir, very elegantly yet chastely fur- nished, leading from the reception-room of Mrs. Vernon s suite. The large door of cominunication, which directly faces the S2)ectators, is icide open, and, standing in the en- trance, zcith his arms loosely folded, is seen Manfeep, gazing 2)enslvely on Helen, who is seated on a divan, hefore a table, near the upper end of the room, or left"^ wing of the scene, sewing. Various articles of needleiDorlc are on the table before her, and on the divan beside her, where lies a silk dress, partially made up. She does not appear aware of Manfred's presence. He comes forward softly, and with some timidity, yet tcithout appearing to wish to escape no- tice. As he ap)p)roaches, Helen looks up, betrays emotion and confusion, and, casting down her eyes, endeavors to resume her work; but her embarrassment seems to set at nought her efforts. Manf. I — I thought, Miss Helen \^p)ausing in confusion. Rel. {with an effort.'] Mrs. Vernon, sir, Has just stepp'd out. Manf. No doubt, will soon return. I "11 wait her here [taking a seat near the table; at ichich Helenas embarrassment increases so evi- dently, that he hastens to add — hut his tone is tender and timid, and perplexes her so much that she lets fall her icork. if 't will not hinder von. ACT I. SC. 1. 13 Your work, Miss Helen, [handing it respectfully . She takes it with a mute motion of thanl's^ icithout ever raising her eyes. l^ow, were I a judge, I 'd think you 'd have me praise your gentle art. There, see ! your needle is unthreaded. Stay, Let me essay ; your fingers seem unsure, [talcing her needle from her^ tchich in her agitation she has teen unahle to thread. She seems to have no foioer of resistance or refusal. Are you not well ? [falteringly and icith great tender- ness. You tremhle. Ah ! you work Too steadily. So young, and so confin'd, It is not well, believe me. There ! you see [drawing a thread through the eye of the needle. My hand is steadier than yours, though silk And needles have not been my playthings. He hands the needle^ and in the act of her talcing it, which she does without raising her eyes, their fingers touch. A deep silence, Helen trying vainly to use the needle, Manfred gazing at her fixedly. — Suddenly — springing t/^i and clasping his hands violently together. Oh: This is pure madness ! Helen ! nel. O my God ! Sir, [with a sudden effort.^ Mrs. Yernon You will find her, sir. 14 THE SILVER HEAD In tLe conservatory with Sir Henry. They went to see the blooming of the [ Gaining courage as she speaks, she nentures here to looTc up, and meeting the impassioned gaze of Manfred, stops short : her worh falls again — her eyes are cast doicn — her hreathing is audible. Manf What? \_A pause, while he steadily regards her. Helen \taking his seal beside her on the divan.], to trifle thus — to cheat ourselves — Or try to, — for we cannot, — is waste torture. Helen — dear Helen ! — [taking her hand. She makes a faint effort to withdraw it, and bursts into tears.] do not cry ! [staunching her tears with his owii handkerchief. to know I love you — dearly, — can it be such pain ? [Helen suddenly disengages herself, and rises. Hel. You are — Sir Henry's nephew — and I am — [again bursting into tears. Manf. [springing impetuously to her.] Poor Helen Matti- Bon [mournfully.]: and you are, too. Pure Helen Mattison, and sweet, and good, And beautiful as gentle ; and I am — Oh, very wicked thus to steal your heart! For God has made me stronger, and I should Have crush'd this dangerous feeling [Hel. with- draws her hand, which he had retaken. ACT I. SO. 2. 15 Hel. [desjjairinglyJ] Let ine go. Oh me ! this house ! what shall I do ? \iDringing her hands and weeping. Manf. Ah yes ! Yes, yes, I am as mad as sinful. Oh sit down ! [leading her l>ack to the divan. Resume your woi'k, your innocent work ; wipe dry Those bitter tears that I have made to flow. There! there! becalm; I will withdraw ; I '11 meet My cousin and detain her 'T is too late ! I hear her coming. [Loioering his voice.] Try, do try, to sew. He turns his l)ach on her., and wallcs to the open door, as Sybil enters. She has a hunch of flowers in her hand. Syl). You are wondrous dull, to be a wise man, Cousin ; And as for seeking, trust me, never care To Cupidize your eyes in bliudman's-bufF, — They see as well unbandag'd. Manf. I 'm at fault : What mean you ? {He steals an uneasy glance at Helen. Syh. Mean ? Why that you were at fault. I, with Sir Henry, seek you, and you steal Out of our sight, before our faces ! then. Go hunting for me, in the place I had left ! For I would swear you came not here to sew. Bless us! how pale you look! There [giving him the hunch of Jlowers.'] ; 't will revive you ; Though you deserve it not. But are you ill? 16 THE SILVER HEAD Manf. O yes ; the heat is stifling here. Come out, The hour is fine for walking : the fresh air I think will do me good. Do come ! {^endeavoring to lead her out. Syh. The air? Surely jow dream : this room can not be close. Sit down. Tou naughty cousin ! you have torn My best flowers all to pieces ! And there, now ! You are mad ! or getting so ; you 're biting off The heads of those you had left ! [tahing the stock frora him^ and heating him ivith it. Is 't my turn next? Begone ; or T shall scream for help. [He does not pre- tend to more, Init gazes stealthily at Helen. Indeed, Sir Heni'y wants you, and your friend. Do go ; You 'II find them in the billiard-room. Manf. Yet Coz, I would you 'd pity me, and come to walk. Do now ! [endeavoring again to lead her from her scat. Syh. And let you in a revery tear My hair from out my head, or gnaw my hands ! No, sir, the mischief you 've done here will do : \_8he looTcs in her turn at Helen., hut, in liTce man- ner, stealthily. And 't is to pity you to send you off. Besides, did you not hear ? our uncle waits. Manf. [rising.'] You will not come? Syh. No, flower-breaker, no ! ACT I. SC. 2. 17 Manf. Unkiud! [at the door. Syh. Ah? Look at this. [Pointing to the remains of the nosegay. He steals a look at Helen, and Exit, — Helen half lifting, timidly, her eyes a moment. Sybil observes them hoth. Unkind, indeed I And so they 'U bruise . Oh ! but I thought that you, whose heart is good, And feels spontaneously, like a god's. All human sorrow, would have griev'd to hear Of such a gentle creature so distress'd, — A girl so guileless, tliat her inmost soul Is visible as her lips, so loving too. That fondness wakes in her for being ask'd. Manf [musingly.] True — true ! — and very beautiful I — her voice The sweetest, save your own, I ever heard. Syd. It is a hard fate for an humble girl, "With such a soul as this poor seamstress owns. To see, as happier, richer women see. Hear with like voice, and feel with sense as keen, The tempter Love, and have no other choice. Than to forego his ecstasies, or pay "With shame and ruin every thrill and sigh. ACT 11. SC. 3. 45 Manf. Sybil I — you torture inc. {in a very low voice. Si/b. I must, to Ileal, [so/tbj. Cousin, you are a man, in form and mien, Fram'd of tlie kind, not to make woman false. As says the playbook, but to keep them frail. When everywhere around you where you move You see the best among us, and most proud. Eager to catch your glances, and the hearts Of the more youthful, to whom love is new, rintter with pleasure at your mere approach. Is it to be expected a poor girl. Such as is Helen, sliould be more unmov'd ? That pressure of your fingers tells me, cousin, You know it is in kindness that I pain you. Oh it were very wicked in us both, If Helen ever should come here again. Or you go near to her ! [He malces a movement of gain- ful surprise.] Now, do not speak : But promise me who, as you often say. And truly, know you better than all else, Save one alone, and know you to hold dear, Promise you will exert your generous soul To curb this passion ; and to time and me Leave Helen's cure. Manf. I will ; for you and Vincent Are truly friends, who dare to give me pain, And punish me, like Heaven, to do me good. But do — be kind to Helen. Sj/h. Kind ? I love the girl, 46 THE SILVER HEAD Have vow'd to be her friend — her mate, I mean, Not patroness, — and friend I will be. Manf. [in extremity of astonishment.^ You? You peerless creature ! \lcissing Tier hand rajpturously . "Where shall bo the man That shall deserve you ! Syh. Truth, coz, he must be A different man from you. I should not choose To play the game of life with such a knave Of hearts as you. Manf. No, a more sober suit {assuming a little of her gayety. Is like to win more points. I know of one. [signifi- cantly^ while Syhil endeavors^ iy rising, to conceal confusion. SyT). Our talk is done in time : there 's Cato coming "With his crook'd legs, to call us botli to dine. Let us spare his studies on the Line of Beauty. Manf. Be gay ; for you deserve it. [Reaching his hand to her. Syb. [as she taTces it.^ And be true To your own self; and who more gay than you ? [Exeunt, hand in hand. ACT III. SC. 1. 47 AoT THE Third Scene I. ManfrecTs StudT/. The furniture indicates the character of the owner'' s mind; everything teing rather elegant than costly, and rather costly than fine. A tahle in the centre covered with iooks, drawings^ music, etc. In various parts of the room, hooks, musical instruments, ^^ic^^^res, copies of antique vases, statuettes, etc. Among the latter, are con- spicuous — the group of the Graces, the Venus of the Medici, the {so called) Antinous, and the Laocoori. Enter Oscar. Osc. I wonder he Las .appetite to dine. Till his return, I '11 have my talk with you, Meet emblems of your owner's showy parts, [taking off his hat and bowing with m,ocTc reverence to the objects round the room. Me then bows, in the same manner, to each par- ticular cast as he addresses it. You, faultless three, \to the Graces.] whose delicate outline bears The unmistakable charm of yet green youth, Are symbols of my brother's classic taste, And the fine sensualism which he would term 48 THE SILVER HEAD Voluptuous love of beauty. I salute, [to the Venus. Madam, in your immaculate limbs, his lust, Veil'd with a simulate pudency as yours. In thee, thou melancholy minion-boy ! [to theAntinous. His hero-grace, as cousin Vernon calls it. Sweet liar! But ah, before thy mass I bow, [to the Laocoon. Thou double type of Manfred's self and me ! I am the snake, tliat round those muscular limbs, And body's writhing trunk, shall twine, and twine — In spirit, or the laws might make me hang — Till little is left for uncle to admire. — The gods and godlike of the place saluted, Let 's see what 's on the table to adore. "Why this is good ! [bending over a hook. H, E, — here 's Helen's name "Writ on this leaf of Dante ! Here 's her nose ! And hair, and scallop'd lips, and girlish cheeks! But these are not her eyes. The lovesick youth Doubtless could never long enough gaze there, To catch the physical shape would make them hers. Drawn on his rarest copy! [loolcing at the title-page of the hool:} — on the page "Which tells Francesca's very innocent love! By your good leave I '11 trace a comment here. Takes xqi a leadpencil from the tahle, and musing a hrief moment writes on the page. There, that will sting him. — Yes, 't is Helen's face, [contemplating the page again. ACT III. SC. 1. 49 Done con amore^ with an artist's touch. These hps! I mean to touch their freshness too; But 't is not with a Brookman's lead I '11 do it. And here 's again her name — writ once, twice o'er. Why this is capital ! [alo>td. Enter Manfred. Man/. What is so? Osc. ^This, [^indicating the leaf with his finger. "Where Dante takes the pains, in black and white, To show the pretty seamstress tickles still. But have you din'd already ? Manf. Yes, I am ill. But Vincent's spirits make me little miss'd. And you ? Osc. Too late, — must make the pantry serve. Besides, your friend 's a side-dish rather stale: I like no warm'd-up hashes at my meals. Nor do I see that you digest him quite. Manf. How so? [witli- surprise. Osc. [looking doion on the iooh. H, E, L, Hel,— E, "N", en; Helen: That 's Helen's name I think that 's written here. And this is Helen's pretty face as well. Not much of Vincent in all this, I think. Don't sigh, man : Vincent is a fool ; and you — Look at that figure [jjointing to the Venus. — — and now gaze on these, [the Graces. 50 THE SILVER HEAD Can all the musty maxims of your friend Give dreams like these? or is the waking sense Of flesh and blood made in that imaa:e less [2)ointing again to the Venus. Than a prude's proverbs or a cold friend's cant? Enjoy your fortune, or let some one else. Man/. Oscar! — [biting liis lips with anger. Osc. Frown, if you will ; but to my sense A seamstress and the friend of ray Saffise Seems scarce entitled to such grave respect. Manf. What do you say! a friend of -[seizing his arm. Osc. [witJi distinctness, emjjhasizing each tcord. My fair friend. No doubt they have rare sport at your expense, When, meeting in the evefiing, Helen tells How you have made a goddess of her, when She was so willing to be thought a girl ! Manf. Stop, sir! I am choking! This is your foul tongue. Osc. Ah? I must look : you have no mirror here? [affecting to looh about him. I really thought, this morning, it look'd clean. Brother, stop in your turn ! your walk, I mean, And beating of your forehead like a fool. Now let me ask you one plain question : this ; Have you not ever in boyhood, when your nose Was in our mother's applebarrels, observ'd How the bad fruit soon rotted all the sound By merely lying next it ? Well, I say Saflise is a bad woman, and her friend ACT III. SC. 1. 51 Is Helen Mattison, your saintly maid. Manf. Prove it ! Osc. I swear it ! Manf. Prove it! [grasping his wrist. Osc. And I will. You shall, this very minute if you like, Put your own questions to the Creole ; na}', 'T is ten to one, what will be proof complete, You '11 find your angel merry in her rooms. And if you do, I hope you will not pray? Manf. Don't mock me, Oscar ; it is sore to find One's dream of virtue a mere Osc. Fiddlestick ! Whoever dreamt of virtue in these girls, But such a dreamer by wholesale as you! Come, are you ready ? Manf. la five minutes, yes. Wait for me here, [going out impetuously. Stops sud- denly.] Ah now I do recall, [turning round. I promis'd I would not seek out this gii'l. Osc. And who desires you to? I am sure not I! You merely go to chat with bright Saffise ; And that you owe to me, to prove my truth. If ten to one your angel will be there, Why one to ten she '11 not. But, if she be, I hope again, for your own manhood's name. You will not make a goddess of a — girl. Go now, make haste; you '11 find me in the hall. [Exit Manf. 62 THE SILYER HEAD For were I, weathercock, to wait you here, Some other wind might come to drive you back. As he prepares to go out, hat in hand. Enter Vinxent and Sybil. And here blow too ; sou' westers, by the mass ; Syh. Oscar ! — We thought to find your brother here. Osc. And so did I ; but here, you see, lie is not. I '11 go and seek him if you like, and say, That Parson Vincent is about to pray. [Exit Oscar. Syh, Ha, ha! But Oscar, [calling after him.] Uncle ask'd for you. — You 'd think he fear'd impressment for the clerk ! Shall we proceed without him? Which of these [loohing round her at the statuettes. Divinities deserves your office first ? Vin. [bowing gallantly.'] That which has enter'd in the temple last. Syh. I am congregation then, and idol too. Begin, good father; lo the missal spread, [taking up the Dante. But what is this ? a desecrated jiage ! And here is Helen's name — and face ! Alas I The arrow was well-barb'd. And verses too ! Oh ! this is Oscar's malice. Look there, sir. [handing tlie hooh to Vin. Vin. [reading. Proud man! thus, on the tale of Frances' woes, To write your Helen's name! for Danto shows, ACT III. SO. 1. 53 His dame, tliongh marry'd, found a page to woo lif r, But yours has nothing else that can undo her. Malice indeed, with subtle purpose too ; For "Virtue often wavers at a laugh. Si/I>. 'T is as I judg'd, from Manfred's words, — you know My cousin's peril ? Vin. Only since this hour. Si/?>. We will speak more of it. As for this blow, It shall not reach him. [Takes ujy a hit of rubber /rom the table, and j)roceeds to erase the rhymes. Vin. Generous creature! — Pardon, [i/i co7i/'itsio?i. O that your cousin iis'd my eyes to see! Si/b. What? that his brother is a heartless rake, Who makes all honest feelings theme of jest? Vin. Yet with not less of venom, that he jests. No, I was more presumptuous in my thoughts, And wonder'd at a blindness more complete. At least less natural. [He looks at her icith much ear- nestness^ and Syb. for a moment seems abashed. Syb. Really, in this room [assuming sprightliness. There must be some infection ! for I see As dimly now as Manfred ; or you talk Too darkly, 't may be, for my womans-sense. You shall wait cousin Manfred here alone ; [going. One blind is quite enough at once to cure. She comes back, and in a more natural m,anner, extending her liand frankly to Vincent: 54 THE SILVER HEAT) Dear Mr. Vincent, all depends on you : Promise you will not, while this danger lasts. Leave Manfred to himself. Vin, [cit first seems as if he would I'iss the hand he has tal-en, hut only hoiDS over it. No, on my soul ! [Exit Syhil. All, little do you know that Vincent has To battle with two enemies, and shield His friend not only, but himself as w^ell ! Conquest how glorious! victory over self; And, for the generous Manfred, won ah me! The noblest creature ever yet the heavens Shed light on — and, I think, the fairest. Strange! Most strange indeed, a man so keenly quick* To the perception of all beautiful forms, The very atmospliere of whose study {loolcing around him.] breathes Exquisite tastes, and passions well refin'd, A man of such romantic virtues too, Sliould have preferr'd, to her But let me see. [taking v]) the Dante and looking at it attentively. If this be Helen's face, and truly drawn, 'T is very sweet : but not more so than hers. And then, her generous qualities ! which oft He makes his theme c)f praise ; too oft perhaps, Since I have learn'd to muse on them so junch. ACT III, SO. 1. 55 I 11 question him of this. But where is be? [looking toicard the door, then relapsing into self-commn- nioii again. She must have lov'd him, had he sought her love : And it is right he should, — both right and best. Sigh ing.] My fingers thrill yet with lier touch. — My God ! Let me not, while I seek from Manfred's eyes To pluck the mote, grow very blind myself! — Queen of the Passions! [apostrophizing the Vemis. still thy natural sway Makes man forget his honor ! — No, not so ! Eeason shall aid him, where not willing-weak, Nor conscience torpid by a long neglect. — I '11 seek this loiterer. — What a soft, small hand ! [sighing. Manfred, where art thou ? In a melancholy to■ne.^^ Why wast thou away ? [Exit. 56 THE SILVER HEAD Scene II. Saffise's parlor — Ah in Act II. Sr-. I. Helen and Saffise coming froin an inner room^ lohose door is visP>le. Hei.ex lias her hat and shatcl on. Hel. Now I liave seen those muslins, whicli I think, Saffise, will well become you, I must go. Remember! I shall help you make them up? Saff. Fo. "When you have so much to do, indeed ! Hel. Yes, but then what I do is all for pay. And I should like, so much, to do some work To help a friend, or merely for her love : My fingers would fly twice as fast. Saff. T '11 see. But why, dear, do you hurry so ? your brother Will call for you, you know. Ilel. But not so soon. I am not well [sighinf/.]; and but that I am so, My father never would have let me come: He thought 't would do me good. 'T is almost dark. Good-bye, Saffise. Ah I there is brother now I [delighted^ and moving as if to go. No, there are two. [recoiling. ACT III. SO. 2. 57 Entei\ Manfred and Oscar. Maxfiif.d and Helen gaze at one another in mute amaze- ment^ which ill Manfred immediately changes to a look of dismay and sorrotc^ while Helen drops her eyes. Osc. [pulling Manf. aside. What say yoii now? [Going to Sqff".] Saffise. ' Me touches Saffise on the shoulder as he 2}asses her and iechons to her tofolloic him to the inner room. She remonstrates with him in dumb-show. He gesticulates violently, hut tcithout noise, in retttrn, and after some further resistance, he 2^ushing her hy the arm, and ichispering, she reluctantly follows, lending her eyes on Manfred as she withdraws. The door closes tcithout noise on Oscar and Saffise. Manf, Miss Mattison [gravely. Hel. [who, from her position as well as emotion, is not aware of the retreat of Saffise. Sir! — I am going Manf. Stay! Helen, — [laying his hand on her arm. She trembles, and stands as if incapable of motion, but with her face still turned to the icings of the scene as in the act of going out. sadly.] AVliy are you here? [She looks up with surprise. 58 THE SILVER HEAD Is this — SafRse — Is she your friend ? Hel. O yes ; I like her much. Manf. [in turn surprised. What a strange answer I [lool'S at Iter inquiringhj Do you visit lier — Here — often — in this house ? Eel. Not very often. This is the second time that I am here. I must go now — 't is getting dark. Saffise. [turning round. She starts. Where is slie gone? And sir, — your hrother [/« great alarm. She lools at Manfued once, earnestly, icho has his eyes ient on her, 7iis arms folded, then, rushes to go out. Manfred intercepts her. Manf. Stop. Answer me but one question ere you go. "What brouglit you to this place, my child? Hel. This place ? [looldiig around her toith increasirig terror, at which Manfred tales her hand, his expression losing its harshness. It is SafBse's room. She had me come To look at dresses she is making up. Manf. [eagerly.] Ah! Did she go for you — this girl? Hel. She did. [looling at him icitli fresh surprise. ACT III. SO. 2. 59 I was not well [covfitsed.], and did not wish to come. Mavf. Why did you then? Eel. How could I, sir, refuse Such a slight favor! and my father thought My spirits would be better if I came. Was it then wrong ? and may I now go home ? Man/. [clasjnii(/ Iter hand, and gazing admiringly in Iter face, at which she shrinks. Go home? and wrong? you innocent child! go home? Yes, and I will go with you ; and you shall, Before I leave you, promise, Helen dear. Never to see again this wicked girl. Do not so tremble ! What have you to fear? Do you not see that I am with you now, I, Manfred Ferguson, and none beside? [xhe tremblea and lools round. What then shall harm you ? Jlel. O sir, let me go. Do not retain my hand ! and do not speak, do not, sir [hursting into tears.] in such a voice to me ! 1 am very weak, you see, my nerves are shook. And though it shames me much, I needs must weei). Manf. God help you, Helen ! and God help me too ! For I am weak as you ; and here — alone ! [gazing at her passionately, and folding her hands in hoth of his. Hel. [endeavoring to extricate herself Sir — let us go, at once! — for Heaven's sake! For your sweet cousin's sake ! do let me go! 00 THE SILVER HEAD Manf. My cousin's! Yes, yes, come! to stay Would make me, what I never yet liave been. And shame to speak — a liar of me ! Come. Are you wrapt warm? [timidly endeavoring to adjust her shawl. She treml>lett. this shawl is very thin. But yet, the niglit-air is not chill. And were it, 'T were better face it than stay here. Come, come ! [He draws her arm throvgh his, and Exeiinf. Enter Oscar, bursting from the inner room, followed coolly hy Saffise, who shrugs her shoulders. Osc. Curse on your house ! Saff. Your folly, man, curse that! Did I not want to stay? Ose. V faith, you did! You hop'd to catch my brother in your nets. Saff. No matter what I hop'd, sir. Had we staid. Would those nice questions have been put, d' you think. Or the girl answer'd? Osc. How could I foresee The milk-and-water fool would parley thus? — The patriarch Joseph Avas a rake to liim! Saff. Goodness! d' you read the Bible? Osc. Do you dare To pass your jokes on me at such a time? Now, when my plans are all blown to the devil? Saff. I don't see that. You ruin'd me in the street, — ACT III. SC. 2. 61 Met me there first, and then we met again, And from the street came houses, — and then came Saffise to be Osc. What Manfred may make Helen. I '11 follow the game, and see what comes of it. [Exit, impetuovuli/. Saff. And may you break your neck in the pursuit ! If scoundrels, like yourself, alone be men. We women had better marry our own kind, And save us from the sin of stocking Hell. Ali ! I 'd go there ten years before my time For one kiss from your "milk-and-water fool "! She mores to the inner-room door, and Scene closen. 62 THE SILVER HEAD Scene III. A public square, with streets opening into it. It is nightfall, and the lamps are lighted. — Enter, from one of the streets on the left wing, and furthest in the depth of the stage, Maxfked a?i<:Z Helen. As they come forward to the centre of the square, Oscak is seen to issue from the same street, xcrapped closely in his cloak, with the collar dratcn round his cheeTcs, He skulks into the angle of the steps of one of the Jionses on the left, and remains there covered hy its shadow. Hel. Pray, do not, do not farther with me go? Yonder 's the street I live in [pointing to her rigltt. and not far. It is not right that you should see me home. My brother too will seek me. Should you meet I — [with alarm. O me ! it is a dreadful thing, to feel So guilty ! Manf. Guilty, Helen ? you ! And why ? Uel. I know not, — but I feel it must be wrong, To be with you — I should feel so asham'd To have the eyes that love me see me now. O sir, pray let me go ! I — sir Good night God bless you for your kindness! and —good night. [Going. Manf. Helen, [she stojis directly.] —dear Helen! [taking her hand. ACT III. SO. 3. 63 I — It is so hard To part thus and — forever. [Helen hiirnU into tears. Do not cry ! Hel. O sir, forgive me ; it is very childish : It seems to me I have done nothing else But cry, by the hour, ever since Manf. I durst, "Weak, wicked that I was, avow my love. There, now the word is said, that never again. Never can be recall'd, — though thus to say it, To you, you innocent cliild, is deadly wrong, — Helen ! — dear Helen ! — Helen of my soul ! He already holds her hand in his left hand, and at these expressions of endearment, each of wJiich is tenderer in tone than the one that precedes it, he passes his right arm round her waist, and j)resses her to him. Say, if you must now leave me — and you must, 'T is terrible risk to your pure fame to stay — Say you will come again. Hel. O no, no ! Manf No? Do you not love me tlien? [inournfully. Husli ! do not sob; Think, we are standing in the public street. Helen, [with dee}} tenderness. I know you love me. [His head droj^s over hers, and their faces seem to touch. Helen! [miti')nuring.] 64 THE SILVER HEAD hissinr/ he?' passionaielj/.] love I Fo7' a moment, l>nth aeem overcome: then Manfred contimies, with ardor, hut still in a loio voice. Our breaths have mingled, and our souls are one: ISTo more you will refuse me ; now to part, After so brief a moment of delight, "Would be to kill us both with vain regret. You will come back to me ? Hel. [mournfully, yet with much tenderness. Alas! for what? Since parting is such pain — and oh, I own That it is very bitter — why again? Manf. "Would I renew it? Oh, because! Ask not! I know but that I have you with me now : To part with you forever Helen, speak! Could you endure it, and your lieart not break? ITel. Where then? and when? [m a low, agitated voice. Manf. Here, where we are. The moment you can come to me. Hel. O me ! My father! \in a t07ie of deep anguish. Never from his good, fond heart. Have I hid anything. Do not ask me ! pray, Do not ! indeed, indeed, I dare not ! I Should die of grief, to look on his white head. And feel in my heart I 'd done him such a wrong it is better in my lonely bed to weep For not having done it, than to weep it done ! ACT in. SC. 3. Manf. You are an angel! Yes, it is a sin To have concealments from the heart that trusts us, And trusts us for it thinks that we have none : And from a parent, folly it is as sin. Helen, I cannot lie Yet, oh ray God ! Have mercy ! it is but for once — but once ! Hel. O no, no, do not tempt me! do not! Sir — I — I am going — God — God bless you ever ! [endeavoring to leave him. Manf. Ah! You do not love me then ? Hel. O, I will come ! I will! do not say that ! Ijiuttinr/ her hands into his with great eagerhom. Manf. Heaven bless you now ! [He hisses her again^ folding her in his embrace. But, can you escape without its being known ? Hel. I shall go up to my room [bursting into tears. Manf Hush ! do not cry. Hel. I cry to think of my father — nothing more. Manf. Fear not; lie will not know it. — The house-door? Will not the noise betray you ? Hel. At that hour It never is bolted ; the room-doors are all clos'd. Yet, should they open, should my brother come Out in the passage, ere I pass the door! — ■ It is a fearful risk, [shuddering. Manf Do not think so. [jjressing her sooth- ingly to him. 66 THE SILVEK HEAD Your soft light step, their dreaming uot of this, The winti-y night, and the dark hall Is 't dark? Hel. Yes, there is no light burning there ; we are pooi', Manf. Hush, darling! It is Manfred that you speak to. Rel. And oh, it is for that, I should not come I Manf. Hush, hush again ! [hissing her. When will this be? what hour? Hel. The soonest I can take. Be near the door Within an hour, say, from now. But oh, You never will ask this of me again ? Promise it, or I come not ! Manf. By my soul — By honor, by my God, and by — our love ! [again kissing her. Hel. And you will not detain me long ? Manf No, no ; even now I hurry you off: go, Helen ; or no, come! [putting her arm binder his. Hel. But at the head of the street, we part. Manf. And then. I follow you till I see you in your home. Hel. Bat not too near. Ah see ! see what a thing It is to be so guilty ! Manf. Helen, peace! [softly. The guilt is mine ; for you are innocent still, And yield to this deception for my sake — For my love, Helen, is it not? [embracing and kissing her again. Ah ves! ACT III. SC. 3. 7 ITever shall you repent it. And now come. They move diagonally across the scene^ arm in arm ; and Oscar, at the moment^ comes out from his hiding-place, and folloits them cautiously, yet near enough to hear the final tcords. In less than an hour from now, remember, sweet, Manfred will wait vou. They part at the corner, or wiiig of the scene, in the remotest part of the stage. Oscar again receding into the shadoic, though now on the right hand, until Helen disappears, and, after a moment, MANFREoyJ^ZZows, ichen Oscar comes forward again. Osc. Like a dog, in the street. I thought the pretty scene would never have done. Pest on the fellow ! And I must wait still, To know where this rare meeting is to be, And when; for nothing could I hear but this: ''Manfred will wait you." How egregious fine! Could not the gentleman have said, / HI wait? So much for having a fine name ! Now, had Our father — but pei'haps it was our dam Was so romantic in her tastes — but chosen To call you Tom, I think you had been more plain. Thomas will wait you, would have sounded rare ! Pomposity! — But wlio the devil is this? 68 THE SILVER HEAD He has been moving hack again to the left^ and now, with his hack to the audience, is about encountering RiciiARn Mattisox, xoho is seen coining from the street at lohich Manfred an^il:s into abstraction^ gazing on the sea ttered flower-leaves. Enter Manfred. Manf. [Smiling sadly. "What, cousin, musing on your misused gift! Syh. Musing to moralize. Man/ On Helen's fate. Even as you said before. — I might so t(jo. [taking up some of the leaves. Broken unwittingly, broken by a hand That lov'd in other times to use you well. Flowers, in whose fragile forms the spirit of beauty Made rapturous worship for the impassion'd heart, Nor God dissented, — broken by my hand, Who can unite your scatter'd leaves again ? [He drops the petals.^ and clasps his hands earncsth/. O ! 't was an oath well sworn ! Syh. Wliat was? and when? Manf. Ah, Sybil ! I have seen — have that to tell ! Hush? 't is our uncle ; we must be alone. Enter Sik Hesky. Sir H. At last, my dear boy ! And where have you been ? It was not well, nor was it done like Manfred, ACT IV. SO. 1. 77 To leave without excuse your friend alone, — Oscar too gone. But what is rather odd, Vincent, the moment he is given to know Yourself and Oscar have gone out together, Mutters his own excuses, and is off! Manf. Indeed! He fears to trust me; [to himself. and has cause. Sir H. Are you so slippery ? And, in truth, I see, Now I look at you, all is not quite well. But I am nowise curious, — nor need be : With such a Mentor, though his beard 's still brown, My good Telemachus cannot travel wrong, Even where such Circes intercept his way. [twining Ms fingers affectionately in one of SyMVs curls. Si/b. Strange compliment! Good uncle, you are dull As Manfred's Mentor at a flattering speech. Oh that I had the enchantress' cup awhile, To put a bristling hide on both your backs ! Sir H. 'T would be no new requital for the pains Men take to please, to steal away their minds ; Would it be, Manfred ? Manf. [vacantly — starting from, a fit of deep abstraction. Sir? Sir H. [shahing his head Icnowingly at Sybil. 'T is done already. Come, you will make a poor Ulysses' heir; You play Elvino better ; Circe here Shall chamre to sweet Amina. I am come, 78 THE SILVER HEAD In fact to lead you to the music-room : Uncle must have liis favorite Scene again, — Tutto e sciolto ! Manf. Pray excuse me, sir. Sybil will take some other part, alone. To sing well sadly, one's heart must be gay. To bid, in song, adieu for evermore To consolation and the light of love, "Would not be easy, cousin, for me now. [looking appealingly to Sybil. Syh. Not if the song and truth must needs be one. But then, Rubini never had grown fat. Manfred jsresses the ends of her fingers ; and they go out thus, hand in hand. Sir. H. [loitering. Ah ! this looks well ! I shall be blest at last. And Sybil's heirs will bear her uncle's name. And such an offspring! 'T will outshine the stars. [^Exit, after them. ACT IV. SC. 2. 19 Scene II. A room in a tavern. A lighted lam,]) suspended from the ceiling. Richard Mattison is seen standing with his hat on and tack to the fireplace., his hands in the pockets of his over- coat : Vincent walking up and down with his arms folded, his cloak and hat still on. — "Vincent is at the furthest end of the roo^n, and with his hack to the audi- ence, as Enter, Oscar. Osc. [throicing hack his cloak and taking off his hat, both ofwJiich he tosses on a table which is standing in the middle of the room. You see I have not kept you waiting long. And now, to work. [As he faces about, sees Vincent. Wliat 's this? Whom have you here? Vincent turns and looks at him steadily, his arms still folded. Vincent ! Rich. The gentleman profess'd to have Some business with you too, and would coine in. As Richard speaks, Vincent throws off his cloak deliberately, and lays it and his hat on the table where Oscar's are: Richard still standing, with his hat and overcoat on, without shifting i^is position. 80 THE SILVER HEAD Osc. Fool ! 't is my brother's friend and prompter I liich. A scoundrel's friend, and prompter for the Devil ! Vin. Indeed? [maJcmg directly toioard him with a deter- mined air : Eich., with eqtial resolution, liif icith more violeiiee^ rushiiig to meet him. Oscar steps hetween them. Osc. Stop! Loth of you : this quarrel 's mine. First, sir, for you, [turning severely to Rich. let me not have' again To bid you, when my brother is your theme, To characterize him by some milder name. And now, sir, \to Vine, with a malignant smile. what occasion brings you here ? To gloss for me tlie " truth without a flaw .?" Vin. To find its illustration, rather say ; To penetrate the schemes, and make tliem null, Of a false friend and brother, and reopen The eyes of this rash boy [indicating Rich, hy a, slight motion of the head. your arts have clos'd. Osc. [jyutting coolly hach, with the palm of his hand, Rich' ard.1 who.1 at these words.; is rushing upon Vincent. And did your wisdom calculate the risk Of this ambition to enact the spy, Or think what heavy premium must be paid For insight into schemes, which — say they be — Can not concern you anywise at all ? Vin. For spying.^ sir, my open dealing now Makes that sneer harmless : harise. Vin. [who has laid doicn his weapon and 2>ut on his cloak. Mr. Ferguson, good night. 88 THE SILVER HEAD The play is ended here: you may renew it, Even when you please ; but on a fitter stage. \^Exit^ hat ill handi — while Richard hastily re- stores the implements to the cane, and hurries out with it. Oscar lets go of Meddleham, tcho seems to talce the affair in 2>erfect good part^ tchile Oscar gazes on him with both rage and surprise. Medd. Ferguson too ! Why what the dense is this ? Which one is Ferguson ? Are you, sir, he ? Osc. (An odd fisli this!) I am, sir, at your pleasure. [howing sarcastically. Is it to kick you from the room at once. Or first to beat you handsomely, to teach you A meddler gets less thanks than broken bones? Medd. You have not hit it quite, sir, there : my name Is Meddleham, not Meddler ; 't is so spell'd. That is to say ; but people choose to call it, And so my grandsire did among the rest, Middleum. As for broken bones, young man. Perhaps Ralph Meddleham gives as well as takes. Osc. Will you then give me, sir,, the satisfaction To see Ralph take himself out of this room. I pay for it, and want no meddlers here. Whether their hams be Middle hams or Meddles. Medd. That 's right enough, although 't is wrongly said. But first, my young impertinent, will 't please you Who are so ready with your fist and pistol. Or boast to be, to tell me if you be ACT IV. SC. 2. 89 One of the nephews of Sir Henry here, Old Colonel Ferguson ? Osc. [surprised.'] What 's that to you ? Medd. More than you think, and much to you besides. You are not Manfred, surely ? Osc. What comes next? [to Jiimself. Truly, I am. [after looTcing for a moment narrowly at Medd.] What then? Medd. Why then this world Is still more given to lying than I had thought it. [Exit. Osc. [solus.] Then has your charity outweighed your brains. — Meddleham — Middleura — Ralph — Who can this be? [thoughtfully. Yet, now I think, the name resembles one That when a child I heard my mother mention. Whatever though the intruder has to do With me or Manfred, this I thank him for, For bursting-in that door ere quite too late ; For, whether I had shot Vincent, or he me. My schemes to-night had equally fallen through. I must command this temper. But what keeps That would-be man. Miss Nelly's saucy brother, So long away? [loolung at his icatch.] A genteel second that ! It had read well in the prints, a petty clerk. Of some small warehouseman, sole Avitness 'tween 90 THE SILVER HEAD The fashionable Vincent and myself! — How well though Vincent bore himself ! 'T is strange : My hate for him was mortal : since I find The man has blood like other men, and nerve — Devilish good nerve too! — should we never fight, The disappointment will not make me thin. But where 's this stripling ! Heaven send, as yet, He have not shot himself! Mj work once done. He may as soon as he pleases, and so spare Some better man the task of ridding him Of brains he never uses. I must see. [ Goes to the door, and opens it, to listen. Thi Scene closes on him in the act. ACT IV. SC. 3. 91 Scene III. Saffise''s parlor — as in Act 11.^ 8c. I. Saffise, alone, reclining on the couch. A plaiji lamj) hurning on the table. Saff. [sjjringing up. I'll do it! I will, I will, I will. The wretch \comes forward. Shall not make me his tool, to fling avvaj Like a broken chisel, when I've serv'd his turn ; Cursing me too while using me, because He has no skill for his work. The bungling knave ! I'll^cut his fingers for him, to the bone ! — Now let me see : if Helen has been weak Like other girls, and Oscar's brother's blood Is half as hot as it should be from his looks, All 's over, and the Colonel's favor is lost. The more fool he, to cut his darling off For kissing a pale-fac'd girl without his leave ! A thing he has often done himself, I 'd swear, And never ask'd his nephews how they lik'd it. But Oscar shall gain nothing by the chance. Except what he deserves, — a traitor's pay. To exjiose hira, it is true, will shame myself; And so he thinks I will not. He shall find, Saffise will be reveng'd at any cost ! 92 THE SILVER HEAD SaflBse, the '■'■slut''': I have not forgot the words. My God, how should I ! — " that this gentle girl Should mal:e a playmate of a slut lilce meP'' Ah ! they shall cost him dear. I'll tell it all, I will — on the instant — if the " gentle girl " \with bitterness. Herself is standing by, and the poor slut Is turn'd into the street with shame — I will! \swaying herself on her toes, her figure rising and falling with every clause, as she ges- ticulates j)assionately. Walking up, toicard the door of the inner room. They '11 not refuse to let me see Sir Henry. Should he be there — the brother of my Turk ! — [taTces vp) the lamp and goes before a mirror. How dull my eyes look ! I could tear them out. It is this lock of hair that has got misplac'd. [endeavoring to arrange it. I '11 let it all out ; it looks vilely, all. Lets down the whole of her hair ; then gathers it together in her hands, and begins to dress it in the manner of her sex. But everything seems wrong! [letting it all dotcn again. This paltry shawl! [talcing it pettishly off One of my master^s gifts — mean like himself. [thrusts it from her icith her foot. I '11 make my toilet over — liair and all. ACT IT. SC. 4 93 Oh, that I were as Helen I [coming down, in her dis- array. Could I win But one of those sweet words he spoke to her, But one look from his beautiful, thoughtful eyes. One look that did not mock me like his brother's, I 'd make of my hair a cloth to dust his shoes. I would ! I 'd be the vilest thing in the world, So I might for an hour sit at his feet, And hear him say, Saffi.se, you are no slut ! She sohs, and drawing her hair lefore her eyes, uses it to staunch her tears ; and the scene closes on her thus standing. SOEXK IV. The jJfirlor at Mattison'^s, as in Act II., Sc. II. Mattisox and MEnoLEHAM, seated hy a taole lighted hy a plain but shaded lamp. Matt. Yes, that is very true ; my father's sister Marry'd a Meddleham. Medd. Who was my father. Matt. "We are then cousins? {extending his hand cordially to Medd. 94 THE SILVEE HEAD Medd. {talcing itfranhly and heartily.'] Happily, I trust, For both of us, when you know all. Enough For the time present, that, except your own, And one more family, of which anon, I am lonely in the world now, and am come A weary, weary way from the Far West, To lay my old bones with you, if you will. But tell me now, how many, cousin Mark, You have in family besides your son. Matt. One only, but an angel upon earth, If ever were. Medd. A daughter then ? And pretty ? Matt. Beautiful ! as a star in a winter's night. But not more beautiful than good. O sir, Her graces and her virtues are the rose Blossoming in a wilderness to me, Making all garden and perpetual bloom. Medd. Where is she ? Sha' n't I see her ? Matt. Not to-uiglit : She came home from her daily work, poor child, Earlier than usual and exceeding sad, And is but now retired. Medd. Her daily work ! You are poor then? [tcith a hind of exultation.^ and looking alout him, on the furnitur'e of the room, &c. Matt, [gravely.'] We complain not. Are you glad ? Medd. Glad it is in my power to do you good ; Glad You shall see to-morrow! And her name? ACT IV. SC. i. 95 Matt. Helen. Medd. My mother's 1 Matt. Thence deriv'd. 3Iedd. That 's well. IIow I shall love her ! [rulhing his hands. Would I were as sure Of her fine brother ; but the friends I see The young man leag'd with do not promise much. Matt. Howf Mr, Meddleham ! Medd. Bah ! call me Ralph. D' you think, man, that because I have liv'd away. And never look'd upon your face before, You are unknown to me ? I have cherish'd long A world of love, that now has grown so big My bosom would not hold it : so I came To vent it all upon its proper objects, On you and yours, and other kin besides. "Why, cousin Mark, I knew your Helen's name And Richard's long ago, and if I ask'd Those questions of the girl, 't was but to sound Your own affection, and to ascertain If private rumor had reported well. Besides, they tell me that I have a trick Of questioning people where I should be dumb. But if I had not, how should I be wise? Matt. But my boy, Richard ? He is rash, I know, And very wilful, yet his morals still Have seem'd correct: what were those friends you mean ? 96 THE SILVER HEAD Medd. One Manfred Ferguson — Matt What ! Heaven forbid ! [in ')iiuch alarm. Medd. And so say I, although 't is ratlier late : For of all impudent fellows I ever met This Master Manfred will bear off the palm. Matt. You dream ! you are misled ! "What Manfred '3 this ? Medd. The Colonel's nephew, old Sir Ilenry's here The name is not so common, I should think. Matt. Manfred ! Why he 's a hero of romance, A pattern of the rarest qualities Of head and heart a man can well possess. I said not " Heaven forbid !" because of that : I would to Heaven he were my Richard's friend ! Medd. Then you must want to bring your Richard up A duelist, or a champion of the ring : For, hark you, Mark, your " hero of romance " Offer'd to kick me, try'd to beat my brains out, And came near putting a bullet through my leg. Matt. This is some strange mistake ! Explain it : where Was this? Medd. There 's no mistake at all, save what Those wise ones fell into, who tauglit me too This Manfred was a hero of romance — Such a romance as Tom Crib might have writ ! Hear then. The time being heavy on my hands, I stroU'd this evening to the billiardroom ACT IV. sc. i. 97 Of the hotel where I had just jnit up. Presently comes a young man in great haste, His features ruffled strangely, takes aside The keeper of the room, slips in his hand Some money, whispers, and they both go out. Following in a little while, I see them Descending, both, the stairs that led above. The young man having in his hands a case Of questionable shape. They part ; and then. Coming more near, I hear the man observe, "Remember ! 't is no fault of mine, sir !" — " None," Answers the youth : " Say nothing, that is all !" This youth was Richard Mattison, your son. Matt. God help me ! What is coming ? Medd. So said I, — And watching stealthily the young man's course, And following at a proper distance, came To a room of the floor below he just had enter'd. Almost immediately the door is lock'd. " Aha!" thought I, " I see what you are after; But I shall spoil your spoi't, my gentle doves!" I listen'd long enough, and saw enough Through the keyhole too, to make belief conviction, And finally burst the door in, just in time To save two fools from making one fool less. Matt. Don't stop ! [eagerly^ loith an expression of anguish. Medd. I did not ; for my body, coming Prone on the nearest fighter, knock'd liim down. The hair of his pistol being ready set, 98 THE SILVEII HEAD Off goes the weapon, right hetwixt my legs. But, as if risk of maiming were n't enougli, My gentleman, rising, with his popgun's stock Tries to beat out my brains ! Matt, {grasping his arm.} 'T was not my son? Medd. No, your son rush'd between us. Matt. Ah ! thank God ! And yet, he was the other combatant ! Medd. No, he was not: how can you be so silly? He went for the weapons, that was all, and stood. As second in common, by, to see fair play. The other was a man more old than either. And seem'd the decentest fellow of all three. Matt. But sure you said, that one of them was Manfred ? Medd. I did ; I had it from his very lips — After he had offer 'd, courteously, to beat me. Or kick me out of the room, if I preferr'd. Matt. Strange! Medd. True not less. But, to conclude the tale, Hearing this Manfred call your son by name. Politely bidding him knock the meddler down. Or tumble me from the room, — romantic, that! I foUow'd the latter, met him coming back — Learn'd your address, and straightway hasten'd hither, — Chiefly because he told me I must not. And now, what say you, cousin, to my tale? Is this good company that Eichard keeps? Matt. I say still, there is some mistake. But wait: ACT IV. SC. 4. 09 My son must soon be home. Medd. When we shall see. Meantime, this is dry talking, cousin Mark : What have yon got ? Matt. I soon can give you tea. Medd. Tea! 't is not hearty. But perhaps you are One of good Matthew's people ? Matt. No, I am temperate Not by forswearing every mirthful drink, Which were ascetic, but by using them Only as I would have my boy use pleasure, A little at a time, and "far between." Medd. Impressing his hand admiringly and affectionately. Philosopher and poet, as they told me. Let us then have some punch this winter evening, And, if you have no spirit and lemons here, We '11 send your woman for them. What 's her name ? [rising iriskly, and ringing the lyarlor-hcU. Kitty? Matt. No, Molly, [smiling. Medd. Molly, is it ? [kriochs on the floor uiith his stick ; then, running like a hoy to the door and opening it, cries out into the passage. Molly! Put on the kettle, Molly, — not for tea ! Mattison xcatches him with a benevolent smile — and the Drop falls. 100 THE SILVER HEAD AoT THE Fifth. Scene I. The room of the tavern^ ns in Act IV., Sc. IT. The lamp hurning, as hefore. Oscar and Eichaed. Rich. Wherefore not now? [talcing up his hat icith an air of restrained impatience. Osc. Because it is too soon. Have I not said, the high contracting parties Agreed — and seal'd the treaty with their lips — [Rich, restraining an im2)ulse of anger. An honr and more should intervene, between That last dear parting and the auspicious time When the fair Helen, issuing from her chamber, Should make a Meneliius of her 'pa. And meet the Paris, Manfred, in the streets? Rich, [furiously. Stop, sir! What does this language mean ? tome? Osc. [shrugging his shoulders. 'Faith, I might answer you, my lad, in brief. That you may let it mean even what you please. But we '11 not have those pistols brought again ; They go off much too promptly : so, I say, ACT V. SO. 1. 101 It is to curb your temper that I jest. "What should I gain insulting your chaste sister, [Sich. winces again, Or jesting at your father's silver hairs? I sacrifice my brother to spare both. Rich. "Well, well! But do not speak with such an a'r; It seems to mock me, though you mean so well. Osc. And now is the time to prove it. {loohing at hi-i icatch. But remember, [Ztfj'i/i^ Ms hand on RicharcVs sleeve. It is my brother, sir, you go to meet. Though you arrest him in his wicked purpose, You are to use no violence ; no weapons Must be employ'd that may endanger life. And yet — Alas! he is stronger than a lion. And quite as brave. 'T is di'eadful — but I fear I cannot hinder you. But be humane ; It is the law of God as well as tnan. Rich. I will defend my honor at all costs. Let me go, Mr. Ferguson ! {bursting from him. Exit. Osc. \after a momenVs 2^ause of great agitation. No, no ! \to himself. — Galling aloud from the door. Stop, sir ! Come back ! this instant, or, by Heaven ! I '11 mar your purpose ! Re-enter Riohaed. Rich, [speaking with restrained 2}assion. What 's the matter now ? 102 THE SILVER HEAD Osc. [speahing eagerly and rapidly. Promise me, sir, by all that you hold sacred, You will do nothing against Manfred's life ! Swear it ! no matter what may urge you ! Swear it I Swear ! or you shall not quit the room this night. Hich. I do. Now let me go. [breahing away from him. Osc. Go. But remember! [hold- ing him hy the cuff. Dare harm him, and [letting go.] you die, sir, by my hand I [Exit., pirecipitately., Bichard. Osc. 'T is over ! — Ah! — [willing his forehead. God ! what a fearful struggle ! The death-hour must have such a pang as that. — Now I feel better — and my heart is lighter — [sighing. My brother's blood will not lie on ray soul, [shuddering. He will not mind his fortune, — and his name, What 's that to one who knows his heart is honest? I am sweating still ; [again wiping Ms brow. that minute's mental spasm Has torn my nerves to pieces. [Drakes a chair to the table, and sits down as if to breathe. After a brief ptause.l Let me see. I have bargain'd for his safety, in the event This rude boy and himself encounter. Still, By keeping Mattison beyond the hour, I have given Manfred time to work his will. If passion rule, he and his charmer fly — Forever — for he has sworn it : this is best. ACT V. SC. 1. 103 If caught in the street together, — that is weU. la either case, I must come up, in time To jerk the wire of this good puppet Dick, Who does my business, which he thinks liis own, And, like full many another passionate fool, Will give to scandal his young sister's name, And set his foot upon his father's heart, [rising. To gratify revenge, perhaps some grudge. Which he calls honor, but I know is — fudge ! [Begins to put on his cloah, and Scene closes. 104 THE SILVER HEAD Scene II. The Square^ ns in Act III.^ Scene, III. The stage is still darler than in the p?'evious re2Jresentation of the scene — indicating the advance of tlie night. Enter, from the street that leads to Mattison''s house, Manfred and Helen. They come forioard. Manfeed has his left hand laid lightly on Helen's waist, over her shaicl, while his right holds her right hand. Hel. O go no further : it was here we parted ; And here we were to meet — to part again. Manf. And part forever ! "Was it not so sworn ? Hel. And part — forever ! She hesitates an instant, then throws herself, in ferfect abandonment of all self-restraint, upon his shoulder and weeps. Manf. Helen ! Mercy ! Hush ! Now I have need of all ray strength, do not, Do not unman me thus, else I prove false To God, to honor, to myself and thee ! O, it is madness in you thus to lean Your head upon my shoulder I I had thought ACT V. SC. 2. 105 To wrestle with my own heart solely ; yours, Yours too against my reason is too much. Let us stand simply thus, your hand in mine. Now hear rae, Helen. I beheld the scene Between you and your father, [She starts and lays her other hand over his, gazing in his face in the extremity of surprise. — saw it all, Through the half-clos'd shutter, and I vow'd to God Those silver hairs should be to-night a veil Between your beauty and ray passion. [She raises his hand to her lips. Come; Your father calls us, and the eyes of God Look from the thousand stars to keep us chaste : Come, while I yet can speak thus to you ! Come ! Re urges her gently on the tcay hacTc, in the same manner (Jiis hand around her, <&c.) as they had entered. Hel. Yes, it is right to part. And yet Manf. And yet? — They have stopped, after tahing lut a step or two ; and now Helen again casts herself on Manfred's breast. Hel. O, I am lost to shame ! lost, lost, lost, lost ! Manf. Helen! what is the matter? Shame and you! [pressing her to his hreast. Hel. And is 't not bitter shame, when you are cold And no more love me 106 THE SILVER HEAD Maiif. Helen! [^in a tone of mourn- ful reproach. Hel. [without attending to the interruption. — as you (lid, To own I dare not leave you ? that I fear To be alone now with my own wild thoughts? O God, deliver me ! the hour I have pass'd, In waiting for this moment, I could not Go through again, and live : and now, and now, To think we never more shall meet again, My heart will burst — I feel it, that it will; And God grant only that it may be soon ! Manf. [speaking with mttch agitation^ while he gently raises her head. Helen! — And your poor father — that old man — Must he die too ? You shall live, for his sake ; And my kind cousin''s cares, hers whom you love. And who loves you so much, shall bring again Peace to your innocent heart. Come, Helen, come. [They move of. Think of your father; it shall be Oh God! [falling had', just as they hare reach''d the mo It til of the street. Hel. [in turn looTcing Uj) the street. My brother! and my father! they have quit the house ! Desperately.] Take me now where you will — my name is gone Ever and ever ! ACT V. SC. 2. 107 Mai\f. [catcMruj Tier to his heart and hissing her. Ever and ever! for you are my wife! Witness it God and Angels ! Now I dare To kiss you. Helen ! [looUng on her anxiously. do not faint! bear up, [xmtying the strings of her honnet. Yet but a little, and we shall be home. [She falls across his arms. •Ah ! And the noise comes nearer ! Thus then, thus. Lifts her in his arms, her lonnet droiyping to the ground, and her hair falling in disorder aUut him, and runs with her to the street at the left, nearest the proscenium. Coachman! [calling aloud, into the street. Down with your steps there ! triple fare ! [Exit, kissing Eel. rapturously, as he bears her off in his arms. Enter, after a second or two, from the street at the right corner, nearest the proscenium, Oscar. Osc. Tliat was ray brotlier's lungs ! What, is he chas'd ? [turning his head toicard the u^jcr street on the same side, and listening. The hounds were close upon hini : here they come. I '11 whip them back to kennel, — though their legs Would hardly overtake a coach and pair, Whose driver is trebly fee'd. 108 THE SILVER HEAD Enter, from the street of Mattison's house, Mark Mattison, Eichard, aitd Meddleham. Mattison and his son are tcitJiout their hats or any overcoats. Rich, [furiously.'] Too late ! Matt, [despairingly.'] Too late! Rich. But they shall not escape me! [mahing for the very quarter where Manf. and Eel. had actually disappeared. Osc. [arresting him.] And which way ? "Without your hat too ! Rich, [struggling with him. To the gates of Hell ! Osc. You '11 sooner reach it than you '11 gain on them. Rich. Why do you stop me ? Let go ! But for you, I had been in time. Osc. And but for me, I think. You never would have known of this at all. [Rich, ceases to struggle. I stop you; first, because this is the way — [indicating the very street he hhiiself had come from, i. e., directly on a line, in an op- 2)osite direction, icith the true one. Stay! [stopping Rich., icho is aiout to talce it. — and because, even had the way been that. You hardly would run faster than a coach, A coach too paid for as my brother pays. Besides, how could you see it in the dark? ACT V. SC. 2. 109 Matt. My daughter! O my daughter ! Rich. Since, it seems, You saw all this, why did you let them 'scape? Osc. [haughtily. Perhaps hecause I chose it. — But, good sir, Am I the Devil, or a steam-machine. To stop a coach that 's running, with my thumb ? The parties too unwilling, man and maid, She kissing him and urging him to speed? Matt. Miserable child! Lost! lost! Bich. Curse on her ! Matt. Husli! Medd. [icho has been curiously turning over Helen'' s hat with his sticJc. "Whose bonnet 's this has fallen in the street ? Matt. Helen's ! Give, give it to me ! 't is my child's. Rich. No! [snatching it from Medd.^ and flinging it from Aim.] Damn it! let it lie in the street, to rot. Or serve some strumpet's head less vile than hers ! Osc. [severely^ and talcing Rich, hy the arm. Young man, respect at least your parent's years. If you have no compassion for his woes. Picks up the honnet^ hrushes it gently with his handkerchief as if to clean it of the dust, and hands it deprecatingly to Mattisox. Take it, thou good old man, nor be asham'd To treasure it in memory of your child. Perhaps too she is nDt so vile. This hat, Abandon'd thus, looks little like free will. 110 THE SILVER HEAD Though reconcil'd at last, and urging flight, My wicked brother must have forc'd her off. Matt. God bless you, sir! the world has done you wrong. Medd. Ay, and your joke to-night did not correct it. The next time you assume another's name, Pray let it be a better than your own. You are not Manfred, and, though rough, are true, And, had your threats been kicks, you still should find. An upright heart has made amends for all. [shaTcing his liand. Osc. I know not what you mean : but sure, the Devil Himself might reverence these silver hairs. But come, the night-air is not good for them ; And if we stay much longer in this place, '^° So queerly rigg'd and with such troubled mien, A mob will be upon us. See already, Where some fool lifts a window over liead. Uooliing v]^ to one of the houses^ where a head is nom seen loohing out. Rich. But what do you propose to do? [sulkily. Osc. Even this : To meet you at my uncle's house forthwith. Manfred he loves, but never honors knaves ; And he will aid you to a prompt redress. But first go home and cover that white head, [gently touching Hich, And shield that body from the pitiless cold. And put your own hat on; then, with all haste, Go to Sir Henry's — not yourself alone. ACT V. SC. 2. Ill But your ag'd father, and this worthy friend. All must be present. You will find me there. Richard takes his father T)y the arm^ who^ ever since he received Helen's hat^ has heen standing in a mute abstraction^ gazing on -if, as if he icere silently weeping^ and Exit with him dotpn the street. Medd. [steppi?ig behind to shake Oscar^s hand. Good-by till then — to meet, much better friends. [Exit. And the inquisitive neighhor shuts doicn the windoio. Osc. [alone.l Ay, my old cock? And yet an hour ago I was about to wring your neck ! 'T was then. When I was true, though rough, because I tried To give you a bloody comb, your spurs were rais'd And your short feathers bristling round your wattles: Now I am really dangerous — not more false Saffise's fingers when they sign the cross — You cackle delicate as a dunghill-hen That has laid an egg beside a lump of chalk I So fair-and-softly wins some kindly fools. While others, like that boy, are devilish shrewd In spying out ftiith beneath a satyr's mask! Moves omcard toward the street where Manfred and Helen made their Exeunt. And n(jw to triumph, [adjusting the collar of his cloak. and end a good day's work. Stops a moment, and looks upward. " Ye stars ! which are the poetry of Heaven " — 112 THE SILVER HEAD As writes some great ass — Byron, I believe — Though one and all, compris'd the planets seven, Look more like fish-scales shining through a sieve, — At least to me, who, hj such mystic phrases, Am taught fire sings and human diction blazes, • — Ye stars, beneath whose ever-twinkling eyes Manfred has play'd the fool, and I been wise, Shine on, for other lovers like my brother, And let their joy be still to hug each other. That wiser men may thence good profit draw, And cull tlie clean wheat while they thresli the strpw ! Manfred has gone with Helen to be blest. Amen ! while, bidding you a bright unrest, [lifting his hat and bowing icith moci^ reverence toward the sl-y. I — but my rliymes run out ! In sober prose, I go, to lead — my uncle by the nose. [Exit. ACT V. SC. 8. 113 Scene III. and the Last. Same as in Act /., Scene I. The chandelier^ or other lamp stispended froin the ceiling, is ligJited vjy. SiE Henry and Vincent. ^^ Sir H. We seem to have the parlor to ourselves! In waiting those rude boys, and Sybil too, What say you, Vincent, to a game of chess ? Vin. "With all my heart. Sir Henry ; but 't would be Only begun, to be abandon'd soon. With the first move, your lovely niece appears, And what becomes then of our rooks and knights? Sir. H. True ; thougli you held my king himself in check, I verily think you would resign the board At the first rustle of the beauty's gown. Why, how you blush ! I sometimes half- suspect You really love the sprightly widow better Than Manfred does himself. Tut, tat! that heart [touching Vin. playfully on the hreasf. Is not so sage, man, as its owner's head. 'T is well it 's honest ; Manfred's else might quake. But as for Sybil's company just now, A carriage drove up as I pass'd the hall : Whom it contain'd I know not, but my niece Was summon'd by her maid, on some aiFair Of private nature. Doubtless 't is a visit 114 THE SILVER HEAD For some beneficent object, where her name Stands always foremost. Vin. As an angel's should. The odor of good deeds is carried far. Despite of secrecy, each act takes wind, And thousands rush to gather from the tree Celestial, that in human garden blooms, — Perennial growth! but planted wide between. Sir. H. Bravo ! that poetry and panegyric Shall take wind too, like Charity's own flower, And bear its odors to the " angel's" ear. Vin. For Heaven's sake, no. Sir Henry ! She mocks ever My best-turn 'd compliments, and calls them dull. Sir H. You silly fellow ! 't is because they please. You 're a rare judge of women ! Is he not? {turning round 1 ns he Jiears tJie doo?' oj}en. Enter OscAE. Oh I [as if he had expected some one else. — Where the deuse, fair nephew, have you been ? Osc. [loohing significantly^ hut without impertinence^ at Vin. To see how courage well becomes a sage, To find even fools grow wise when madmen rage. To feel how easily the headstrong fall. And learn one meddler may confound them all. Sir. H. Oracular quite ! But please, sir, to explain The riddle of these Delphic rhymes. Osc. Xot while So rare a secret-fathomer stands here. ACT V. Sf". 3. 115 Try his long plummet, uncle. Sir. H. What is this? [looMng from one to the other in amnzement. "What means this madcap, Mr, Vincent? Say. Vin. Pardon me, sir, I cannot gloss a muse I find so seldom friendly, as is his. Osc. And yet you might, for on my honor, sir, I spoke a compliment, and meant it too. But [shrugging his shoulders.] — as you like. A mnrmnr of voiecs heard at the door hy which Oscau had entered. It is then throicn open suddenly. Sir. H. What novel guests are these ? Rich. [speaJi;ing without, ichile Meddleham is seen coining in. We stand in need of no announcement here: Enter., after Meddleham, Mattison, — Richard supporting him hy the arm, and still speahing. We come for justice. Medd. Justice. Matt. And my child. Instantly, as the words are said. Enter, from the opposite side, Helen', between Manfred and Sybil, who have, each of them, a hand of hers, while Sybil's is also round her waist. Helen's hair is modestly arranged. She has no shawl, but is otherioUe in the dress in which she met Manfred. 116 THE SILVER HEAD The whole company present are thrown into agitation. Sir Henry Joohs confounded ; Vincent surprised^ yet anxious ; Oscar seems crest-fallen., Meddleram perplexed^ lohilc Mattison stretches out his arms to his daughter, who mahes toward him, and Richard seems unaile to move, "between p>urposed revenge and amaze- inent at the strange turn matters seem to have taTcen. Vincent, however, moves near to him, as if to prevent difficulty. Hel. [rushing into her father'' s arms. Father ! Matt, [tenderly, yet holding her off, while he gazes inquiringly in her face. My child ! Rich, [vehemently to Manfred. Explain, sir. Manf. [calmly, and with a slight gesture, turning the palm of his hand, toward him, as if to wave him iacJ\ In a moment. Sich. [with increased vehemence. I claim redress. Matt, [holding Helen in his arms, as she hangs upon his shoulder. 1 I ask but for my child. Manf. [moving toward Mattison. Both shall be answer'd. But I claim my wife. ACT V. SC. 3. 11 '7 A neto movement in the company. ViNCEKT seems surprised, hut still more sad; Sybil goes up to Sir IIenet, takes his hand^ and appears to intercede and expostulate with him ; Osoak seems to restrain a movement of despair ; ilED BLEHAM goes up nearer to Manfred, contemplating him with interest; Richard stands irresolute and haJf-incrediilous.^ loohing from Helen^ to Manfred attentively^! while Mattison starts from Helen's emhrace. Sir JI. Ah! Vin. Fatal rashness! Matt. Heavens ! — Helen I — Speak ! " [holding her from him., and gazing on her, and from her to Manfred. Manf. [smiling. Speak, Helen; and now say, — whose claim is best? He spreads out his hands to her, and Helen, ^/b?* answer, rushes into his arms and he folds her to his ircast. Yes, sir, [extending his left hand to Rich., his right heing still round Bel. I carried off your sister : 't was. As I repeat, to make her truly mine. [Rich, touches his hand, hut coldly. You, sir, [to Matt. Ask'd but your child, and you have twice your wish ; 118 THE SILVER HEAD For are you not my father too, as hers? [^Releasing Helen^ he gives his hand to the old man, who presses it in hoth of his with great emotion. Matt. How could I doubt you ? Mcdd. And the world speaks true. [Jbllowiiig, with evident admiration^ Man/., as the latter walks up, diffidently, to his uncle. Manf. Uncle, forgive me ; you alone I have wrong'd. Sir H. Unhappy boy ! 't is not of me alone. Whose hopes you have so cruelly deceiv'd, You have to ask forgiveness, but yourself. This girl, though lovely, and, I doubt not, good, Is not your match, in birth nor in estate. Medd. Pardon, Sir Henry; but she is, in both. Sir H. Sir ! Who are you, pray ? Medd. I 'm Ralph Meddlchain. They spell me Meddle-ham ; but people say Middleum always, and I say so too. During the dialogue heticeen Sir Henky and Manfred, Helex, at Sybil's motion, has led her up to her father, and an introduction takes place in dumi show, with marks of great cordiality on hoth sides. Tlien Sybil, with her own hands, draws an armchair near the old man, and would have him sit in it, hut he declines with a firm andsomeiohat lofty air ; and, with her on one side and Helex on the other, stands and listens, with the rest of the company, to irh-at follotps. ACT V. SO. 3. 119 ^' Sir E. Middleuni? — Ah! [seeming to recall something^ and looTcing attentivehj at Medcl. Medd. Your eldest brotlier Sir E. Well! Medd. Marry'd a lady of the name of Calvert. She was the daughter of my father's niece. Sii' E. [extending his hand franhly . Sir, you are welcome. Though we are not kin, I lov'd my brother, and am glad to see The cousin of his wife. Medd. [shaking his hand.] 'T is kindly said. Manfred, you are my cousin twice i-eraov'd. Yet are more near, by all that I have heard. And wliich this night confirms, near to my heart Than brothers to each other always are. Give me your honest hand. And your hand too : [to Oscar., with whom howeter he shakes hands less cordially. T is better thus than kicks and broken bones. Osc. Much; but a jolly way that was of yours. Tumbling into acquaintance on one's back ! [Sir E. and Manf. exchange momentary looks of slight surprise. Sir. E. Pardon me, that I venture to remind you Of your first theme. "What has all this to do With the young lady Manfred would espouse ? Medd. The same blood, that has mixed with yours in his, Has mingled with Mark Mattison's in hers : Her grand-aunt was my mother. Pretty Helen, 120 THE SILVER HEAD Have you no welcome for your father's cousin ? apfroacMng her^ she advancirig to him. And the group, following Meddleham, is thus made to gather about Mattison. Meddleham talcs Helen's hand, and 2nits a hand tipon her head admiringly and affectionately. Sir Henry, I have no one in the world To love as kin, save those I have round me now ; And I am very rich, — so people say. "Where shall I then find heirs, if 't is not here ? Thus much for Helen's wealth. As for her hirth, To-morrow cousin Mark will make it clear That falleu fortune is but fall'n estate, And that his cradle was such wood as yours. Sir II. Manfred, though Helen had been lowly born, And poor as lowly, I had learn'd in time To grow contented, happy that my boy Had not forgot his honor in his love, Nor made a wreck of innocence for pride. But now the world too must approve your choice ; And since you wish it, be it so, my son. OsoAR moving upward, and consequently apart from the group, seems to suffer an emotion of pain. Yet, well you know, my heart was set elsewhere. Manf. Then let me, for that heart's sake as for mine, Beg for another your best interest here. TaTcing Sybil's hand, just as she turns aioay, and reaching w ith his other hand to Vincent, a nd leading Ji im doicn. Who in this world is worthy Sybil's love, ACT V. SC. 3. 121 But A'incent, my true friend? Sij' IT. And next yourself, [Oscar returns, with fresh interest, and listens anxionshj. Whom would I sooner gift with such a prize? [looking inquiringly to Sybil, who betrays emotion and confusion. Yin. "With such a sanction — might I [agitated and em- barrassed.l — dare aspire? 8yb. Sir ! — [Then, sJiaJcing off all embarrassment by a sud- den effort, and placing her hand icith a noble frankness and siceet dignity in Vince7ifs. 'T is to stoop to such a heart and hand. A man of Mr. Vincent's matchless faith Might dare aspire to win an empress' love. Vincent presses her hand to his heart and lips. The com.pany gather round them, and they are 2}(irted, Manfred taking Vincent's hand, while Oscae, beyond the circle, clasps his hands passionately together, and bites his lips. Manf [_in an zmder tone to Vin. And did win Syhil Vernon's long ago. Vin. Ah ! [looking earnestly at Manf. He then, turning round, and seeing the company engaged in mutual congratulation and introductions of the strangers to one another, assio7i. You are Sir Henry Ferguson, I think ; [moving iip to Sir H. You will not shut your ears to me, nor suffer This dirty wretch, because he is your nephew, To abuse me — and yourself — and Helen there — And Osc. [menacing. Devil! will you hold your tongue? Rich, [eagerly approaching Saffl] Speak on! Sir IT. Oscar, stand back ; and you, young sir, have pa- tience. I am the one address'd : permit me then. My girl, if you have anything to say. Follow me to a fitter place. This way. [indicating to her to follow him out. Saff. Xo sir, this is the fittest place. T is liere, 124 THE aiLVDB uijad Where it so happens that I see around me All that are most concern'd to know this truth, That I shall tell it. Learn, your nephew there, That Oscar! has been seeking, by my help, To undermine liis truer-li carted brother In your esteem, and ruin that young girl, "Who, I had thought, by this time would have been In a different liouse from this. — Rich. By Heaven ! — [making a step toward Oscar. Matt. Richard! Eemember where you are, my son. Osc. Sir Henry, This is some villain's |)lot; the girl is hired. Tou will not suffer such a hussy Saff. Hussy! And who has made me so ? I am none but yours. The plot is yours, the villain is yourself; And for the hire, it was to hold my tongue. You had better hold your own ; those ugly names, That save your brother, lose you an estate. Sir Ileni'y, I am come to face this shame, Although it is more dreadful tlian I fear'd. For some are here that never thought me bad. [icitTi a moment''s glance at the Mattisons. Then, casting clown her eyes. I am his mistress. Let the horrid pain. Of owning it in the ears of such as these. Make some atonement for my being such. ACT Y. SC. 3. 125 This very afternoon, did he induce me To inveigle that young girl iuto my rooms, "Whither he was to make his brother come, And did, that Helen's weakness might be Manf. [ster7ili/.] Ilush! Uncle, let her not say another word. Hich. She has said enough : I have proof of it. Come o;it. [to Osc, touching him smartly o)i the arm. as he 2}asses him on his way to the door. Manf. [arresting Rich. Mattison — Richard — brother ! For my sake, Whom doubtless you have thought too harshly of, — For Helen's — for your father's ! Vin. And for mine. [grarely. Young man, you owe me some amends, for words Spoken injuriously, you well know where. Make them, by letting your own wrongs go by. Matt. Richard, — I do command you ! [Rich, hesitates. Syh. And I, sir, If you will let me, I — entreat you. She takes him iy thefngers, and leads him, scarce resisting, to hisfat]ier''s chair. Osc. [w?io has icatched the whole proceeding with his arms folded. Ohi Good people, this was pains superfluous : I will not barm the lad. Rich, [endeavoring to escajic] It is too much I 126 THE SILVER HEAD. Matt, [lolio holds him by the tcinst. The greater merit then in your endurance. Stand still, my son. Sir H. Obey your j^arent, sir; And I, at least, will own you are a man. He lays his hand flatteringly on RicnARD's shoulder, who ioiDS, and resists no longer. Medd. 'T is your first step in wisdom, — and Avell planted. I like you better now than I had liop'd. [shalcing Richard's hand. Osc. Well, I am glad the gentleman has gained Something at least he never had before. I shall not put to test his new discretion. Sir H. Silence ! for shame at least, [severely. Osc. [icithout in the least regarding his uncWs interruption. The more so too, That I have similar matter on my hands. And much more weighty. You will not forget? [significantly to Vincent. Man/, [rapidly^ and preventing Vincent from replying. Ah ! I remember. Brother, it would seem. You have done, or sought to do me, grievous wrong ; Why I know not, nor do I ask to know. If you Avould have me to forgive you Osc. [haughtily.'] First, Wait till I ask you. Manf. As a favor then. Do not pursue this silly quarrel further. ACT Y. SC, 3. 127 And you, my friend [to Vin.] But I am sure of you. Osc. [carelessly. "Well, I am no wise anxious for the sport. I have tried his mettle, and he well knows mine : If he have no wish to pursue it further ? Vin. [coldly. It never was a quarrel of my seeking. Osc. Then we are quits. — And now for Texas. Saff, [gaily. What say you? will you thitlier? Saff. But you jest? Osc. Jest? Not a whit of it ! Plainly, will you come? Saff. [after looking at him steadily for a moment. I will. [Gives lier Mud loldly to Osc. to lead her out. The comj)any evince extreme surprise^ mixed icith pain. Manf. [going tip to her anxiously. You cannot mean it ! Sir H. Are you mad ? Saff. No, sir ; not now, no more than I was then. I know your nephew, and he knows me — well. He dares not touch me. Osc. And he has no wish — At least in a hostile way. I' faith, you puss! I like you all the hotter for your claws. We shall make our fortunes still. Who knows ? perhaps Some day may see me in the Governor's chair ! And when I am, you vixen, I may make 128 THE SILVER HEAD SaflBse perliaps my [jyaunln/j. The comjjani/ start. Mel. even mores a step toward him, and Safflse herself, with evident emo- tion, grasps his arm. — Secretary of State. Eel. [timidly.'] SafRse, — do stay; and be to me a [attempting to tal-e her hand. Saff. [roughly.] What? A foil to the splendor wliich I see awaits you ? No I never again in this accursed town Will I set foot. Don't touch me ! [stainping, and draw- ing hdcTc. for I liate you ! Ilel. [still timidly, yet sadly. Hate me, Saffise? I never did you wrong. Saff. [fiercely. And are you not then happy ? [Hel. falls had;, in amazement, upon Syh. and Manf, loho have approached to remove her from Saff. Manf. Come away: [gently to Hel., and in a low tone. Slie will not understand you. Sut — pity ! and from lier ! With a hrohen utterance.] Sir-;— Mr. Ferguson — [2ya^lses, casting doion her eyes. Manf. [gently.] Say tlien : can I do aught for you, my girl ? ACT Y. SO. 3. 129 Saff. [her whole manner altered — ■ her voice dejected — and' her eyes still cast down. Will you permit me, sii* — to — touch jonr hand ? — If you will take the hand of — one like me. Manfred secretly slides a 2>ui'se of moneij into his hand ere he extends it to her^ v:hich he does franldy^ and loith an air of great compassion, and even consideration. Manf. Why not ? \in a mild, low tone. I never scorn the unfortunate. Saff. Then, Heaven bless you ! [raising his hand passionately to her lip)S. But not this, [offering hacic thepnrse. — And yet [hesitating. ■ — and yet — It may be well to have it with me too : An amulet, more precious than my cross, 'T will be to this bad bosom, — and perhaps, To have it there, my heart will beat the happier. [K^isses it and p)uts it into her Ijosom. Berchance a day may come too, when this gold May save the Creole from — a natural fate. And a deserv'd one you may think. Farewell ! [icith much emotion. Osc. [who has made one or two impatient turns while she has ieen addressing Manf, and at last faced her tcith a, sarcastic lool-. Vol. IV.— 6* 130 THE SILVER HEAD Well play'd, Melpomene ! — Good people, .ill. {jbowing with his hat around the assembly. Farewell! [mimicking Saffise' s Tieart-'brohen tone. Turns to Manf.'] With my share, added to your own. Of uncle's leavings, brother, you '11 be rich. Pray don't forget the Muses, — nor to add ( In your next acquisitions in the Arts), In honor of your studies in the Square, Cupid and Psyche to your classic groups. Sir H. [loho has Veen regarding him loith more and more indignation. Or say, have Power to cat him Satan, sneering Over the joy of Adam with his Eve. Osc. [bowing to Sir II. Adam had no fool-uncle, I believe. [Exit^ icith Saff. Sir n. Miserable boy ! Manf. [rushing after them. O, do not let them go ! Oscar! [calling after him. Sir H. [stojyping Manf. and presslr g his hand. 'T is better as it is, my son. Is it not, Mr. Vincent? Tin. Yes, for both. Even could Oscar face his friend again, Manfred would grieve, conceiving in his brotlier A self-remorse perhaps he never felt. Manfeed moves pensively to Helex, who is by her father's side, and taJres her hand. ACT V. SC. 3. 131 Matt. And you, my daughter, what have you escap'd! A nature so perverted as that gu'l's ! Not wliolly bad ; but even its virtues such. As to make dangerous her will to evil : 'T was perilous such a contact, even for once ! Hel. [humbl]/.] Thank God then, I am no more in its reach : It is my fortune, more than my desert. Matt. Nay, not so, Helen ; for that were to say. That innocence cries up to Heaven in vain. Who should be heard there, if not you? Kneel down. I blest you when your heart was breaking ; now That you are happiest of all womankind, God keep you blest, my good, my tender child ! Man/. And have you not a blessing too for me. My father ? [bowing Ms head before the old man. Matt, [laying his hand upon Manfred^s head. Tliou art blest already, son. Thou noble Manfred ! to a man like thee What dower can equal such a heart as hers ! Pure thou hast kept her ; pure she will remain ; For men like thee stain not the thing they love. And even their joys have still some smack of Heaven. Vin. 'T is truly spoke ! Syb. And Manfred's virtuous soul Has earn'd its joy by conquest over self. Man/. Praise my will only ; here lay all my power. [2)lacing his hand reverentially on the old marCs locks. All but Helen loolc surprised. Yes, when you learn the story of my strife 132 THE SILVER HEAD With lust and pride, and how I won my wife, Tlie conquest, you will find I rightly said, Was owing all to this dear Silver Head. As he spealcs this, Manfeed, leing 011 the old mail's right, has one hand gently laid on his veneraMe locks, while the other, his right, is in Mattison's right hand ; IIeleist, noio risen, is on her father's left, and in the same attitude, saving that she 2}^esses the old man's hair to her lips, gathering tip a cluster of the silver locJcs from his shoulder. The company, on either side of this 2)rincipal group, are arranged ac- cording to the nearness of their inter- ests in either Manfred or Helen. The Curtain falls upon the picture. K O T E S NOTES THE SILYEE HEAD 1. — p. 10. Quiting — ] The compositor having doubled the t in this word, supposing it an error of copy, it occurs to me that it may be well to observe I mean the i should be pronounced long; quiting of Quite, not quitting of Quit. They are the same word. And there is no reason why there should not be Quite as well as Ee-quite, in the sense in which they are synonymous, if it be only for the uses of tlie poet, and to keep it in this usage distinct from Quit. It will be found again in the Double Deceit, Act IV., Sc. 2. — Chaucer so wrote and sounded the word. " And sLo that helmed was in starko stonres, And wan by force tounes stronge and tourcs, Shal on hire hed now were a vitremite : And she that bare the sceptre ful of flourcs. Shal here a distaf hire cost for to qniie." The 3fo7ikes Tale. (C T. ed. Tyrwiiitt. cr. Svo. Lond. ISSO. V. HI. p. ITi) " Te gon to Canterbury ; God you spede, The blisful martyr quite you your mede." Prol. to C. T. ib. I. p. 31. " I can a noble tale for the nones. With which I wol now quite the kniiihti'S tale." The Milleres Prologue, ib. TI n. L 136 NOTES TO And just before, on the same page, we have quiten : " Now telleth ye, sire Monk, if that ye coimo, Somewhat, to quiten with [wherewWi, to quite] tlie Icniglites talt'."' I find also in one of my dictionaries a marginal reference to The Old Law, Act II., Sc. 2 ; but I cannot now verify the citation. In the mouth of Manfred, "quite" for "requite" is not an improbable expression, while "quit," in the same sense, would be both affected and unnatural. But the Actor may read quitting, if he will. 2. — P. 12. — or left — ] That is, the right, as the audience sits. — And so, throughout these volumes ; right and left being always in reference to the Actor's position, as he faces the assem- blage. Further, I may here observe, for those unfamihar with the phraseology of the theatre, that up or upward in the stage-direc- tions means backward from the audience, while doivn or downward is towards the audience. — This also, throughout the volumes. 3. — P. 49. Why this is capital! etc.] The stress of the voice in Manfred's part is on " is " : " Why this is capital ! M. WhatiVso? ft This— " If it be laid on " What," where it would fall more naturally, thougli not so elegantly, Oscar^s part must begin -^Why this ": " Why this is capital ! J/. What' is so? 0. Why, this— '" 4. — P. 54. Most strange indeed, a man to keenly quick — ] For the Stage, "Very strange, a man, efc." ; which, though slightly defective in metre, is the proper reading, and in fact the original one. THE SILVER HEAD 137 5. — P. 57. He touches Saffise on the shoulder, etc., etc.] This pantomime takes place whQe Manfred and Helen are conversing, but is very brief. 6. — P. 71. WJiefher the book — ] For the Stage, omit from here to "and.'" 7. — P. 72. Bless her — ] From here, five verses to be omitted. 8. — P. 75. Whose delicate freshness, etc.] Omit this verse. 9. — P. 75. And yet — ] Omit all of the soliloquy after these words. 10. — P. 110. So queerly. etc.] Omit this line. 11. — P. 113. Sir IF. efc.] Omit ten verses, commencing "Wliy, how you blush!" 12. — P. 117. S\T K. Ah ! Yin. Fatal rashness ! Katt. Heavens! — Helen! — SpeaJc!] These three parts {Sir H, Vin., and Matt.) are spoken nearly simultaneously, and instantly after Manfred! s "I claim my wife." 13. — P. 119. Middleuni, etc., to Her grandaunt was, etc.] In the original MS. is the following reading for these nineteen verses. But that of the text is preferable. The choice is with the Theatre. Sir If. Middleum — Ah! [fieemin/; to recollect something, and look- ing earnestly oii Medd. Medd. Tour eldest brother's daughter Sir IT. Elop'd with a young fellow of that name Medd. Who was an honest fellow not the less, Being the Ralph, but no more young, before you. \Osoar moves nearer to the group, and sJiotcs great interest. 138 NOTES TO THE SILVER HEAD Sir IT. You are my niece's husband, then ? Medd. I was ; But not so poor a man, nor yet so mean, As to be anxious to assert the tie. Sir H. Tut I you mistake: you are most heartily welcome. [extending /lia hand. You may believe me, for I boast to be Frank as your cousin Manfred who stands hero. Medd. Now, that is kind. \_>ihaking Sir II.^s hand cordinUij. And, cousin, your hand too. \to Manf. 'T is better this [to Osc, with a similar action., but lets hearty. than kicks and broken bones. Osc. Much. But a jolly way that was of yours, To pounce into acquaintance on one's back. [Sir If. and Manf. exchange looks of slight surprise. Sir n. And there 's another cousin still of j-ours. [indicating . Venetian gentlemen. Giovanni Moro, ) PiETRO LoREDANO, Admiral of the Venetian fleet. Stefano Mocenigo, of the Council of Ten. DoMENico Maripetro, a '•'■Signer of the Night.'''' A Captain of the '■'■ Signors of the Night.'''' His Lieutenant. A Chaplain. His irother-PHiEST. TiDo Surgeons. A Gondolier. IsoTTA, icife of Anselmo. LuTiA, tcife of Girolamo. GiSMONDA, a young and nolle widow, daughter of Giovanni Moro. Cassandra, Isotta''s maid. GiovANNA, Lutia''s maid. GiULiETTA, Gismonda's maid. An Old Woman. Mute Personages Memlers of the Council of Ten. — Six Counselors of the Doge; Members of the Criminal Quaranti'a ; and other bodies fo7-ming the College. A Laybrother. — Sbirri (archers of the day aud night police). A Jailer. Scene. Venice.i in the middle of the l~jth centurg. THE DOUBLE DECEIT Act the Fikst Scene I. A garden. Across the scene., a loio hedge of twisted reeds., dividing it into two. Enter. quicTdy ., from the right {in the foreground)^ ISOTTA. She trips along the hedge., and loolcing over it to the right, ela2)s her hands. hot. Come, Lutia! come, duck! now our bears are gone. — To herself] Little she dreams what spoi't is in the wind! Enter Lutia, also from the right., l>ut on the other side of the hedge. 142 THE DOUBLE DECEll Lut. [hissing her. AVhat wast thou saying, Isotta mine? Isot. O what? Tlie ohl prayer, surely ; that the Lord would pleaso Convert the un-Ohristian hearts of our two lords, — Or break them — since thou, Lutia dear, and I Have too much heart to do it — as we might. Lut. Yes, as we might. Isot. Ah! say'stthou? Now, I wonder If with like cause. — But is it not a shame, We foster-sisters, and dear-loving friends. Should have our bodies parted — not our souls — By liouse-walls, or a garden-hedge as now, Because, forsooth ! in John Soranza's time, — Or my own ancestor's, for aught I know, Doge Gradenigo, — our good lords' bad foresires, Having less brains than mettle, and strong hands, Chose to break one another's heads. Lut. So we. Poor innocent girls, who married their descendants, Must live two years close neighbors, and not see The inside of each other's homes ! Isot. What if Our lords reserv'd that privilege for themselves ? Lut, Of seeing each other's houses? Isot. Ay. I know Of one lit least who is so curious. Lut. I As \yA\. ACT I. SC. 1, 143 7s(j«. Thou? Talk'st thou thus again ? But come! Leap tliou thy neighbor's hedge : Cassandra keeps Excellent watch at home. LcTiA, bringing a footstool to the side of the hedge, stejys over it with the assistance of Isotta. So. — [They embrace and come forward. Did she not, My spouse would think this trespass nought to one Tliat I might tell him of, had I a mind. Lut. And so might mine, change but the side o' tlie hedge — Had I a mind. Isot. Hadst thou a mind ? Indeed ! Why what has thou to plain of, gentle dove ? LiLt. As much as thou 't may be, if not the same. Isot. "Well, to the proof. Thou 'It sorely be surpris'd, Angry perhaps at first. Lut. And so wilt thou. Isot. But then thou 'It laugh, I think. Lut. And so wilt thou. Isot. Tliy lord Lut. Thy lord Isot. Giro'lamo Lut. Anselrao Isot. Has Lut. Has Isot. Made luve to me. Lut. Made love to me. hot. Thoujest'st. My lord, the haughty and severe ! 144 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Lut. Messer Anselmo Barbadico — — Isot. Has! Lilt. Made love, not haughty nor severe, to me. IsoTTA loolcs at her for a moment confounded^ then hursts into a peal of laughter. Isot. Why, Lutia darling, this is double sport ! I came to make thee laugh and cry at once At thy lord's impudence ; and now, behold, I freeze and thaw in turn, to hear of mine I The Devil is in tlie men ! Lut. Perhaps they think The Devil 's in us. Isot. That well may he for me. The gay and gallant hairbraiu'd cavalier, Messer Girolamo, hopes to find sure game In such another rattle as himself. But what does grave Anselmo see to doubt In such a sober, gentle thing as thou? Lut. lie takes me for still water like himself. Isot. But if he has mistaken thy depth, my dear, We have sounded his : and that we '11 show anon. Now, were we like some Venice fair I know. Our lords might suffer somewhat, might they not? Lut. Now, Heaven forbid! That were to prove ourselves Worthy the wrong they do us, or would do. No, my Isotta, let us shame these n:en By showing we are above them. ' I>iot. So I mean. But we will punish too. What! when they smite ACT I. SC. 1. 145 One of our cheeks, and we, as Christ bids, turn The other to them also, shall we not Show by the redness where the blow was given ? "We will, and call like color into theirs. Lnt. But not By striking. Isot. Only a love-pat. But first How long since my insatiate lord devoured With ogre eyes thy beauty ? Did he more ? Lut. With ogling eyes, thou mean'st. He did no more. And 't was enough to do, for two whole weeks. In street, and church, casino, and where not. Isot. For two whole weeks ! Thou lowly, shrinking violet ! I knew my queenly roses were more prizM. For one whole month thy more judicious master Has tried to bring them nearer to his eyes. Lut. How know'st thou that ? Isot. By trying, simple lady : As thou didst, I suppose. At first, surprise Made me distrust the Signor Bembo's eyes. But seeing them shine, and with no devious ray, Upon his neighbor's garden, day by day, I fear'd the truth, and so, to j^robe my fear, Stoop'd once my delicate flower-stalk more near. In other words, one morn, when full of fun, I looked askance, and lo ! tlie work was done. Was it not so with thee? Lut. In reason, yes; Although I cannot answer thee in rhyme. Vol. IV. - 7 146 THE DOUBLE DECEIT I saw and doubted ; doubting then, I saw. Shock'd and alarm'd, in mischief half, half fright, I sidelong look'd as thou Isot. And saw the light. Ha, ha ! — And thus it is that men decide ! Curious to know, or vain to mark, our power, "We give some day one moment's answering look To all the thousand we receive. At once, Fired with the hope of conquest, the gallant. Who never asks himself if our self-love Or his attractions move us, lays close siege And calls us to surrender. Yet men say, We are the vainer ! Lut. And I think we are. At least they are the honester. Besiege Or storm, their war is still in earnest. We Fight often without object, come to terms, Or parley but to make a safe retreat. And, if 't be gain'd by treachery, we laugh. Isot. So will we now, and they shall be asham'd. Help me, dear Lutia, to some rare device Shall prove we are the better. Lilt. First 't were well To make sure of their purposes. Isot. Thou doubt'st, Thou jealous pate ! Girolamo should prefer My livelier graces to thy sober charms. Yet scruplest not to think those sober charms Have caught Anselmo's fancy! Fie, oh fiel ACT I. SC. 1. 147 That 's vanity, that 's prejudice, that 's to see "With purblind vision. Lut. Better so to see. Than see with eyes that magnify, or give False colors or distorted forms to things. What can we know ? This courtship of the eyes May be but idleness, caprice at most, Or masculine vanity : perhaps to try Our virtue. 'T is so very odd that both Should at one time conceive the same designs ! hot. But quite as odd at least, that two sworn foes Should league together to try each other's wives. And that each for his separate self should tempt His enemy's but to ascertain her worth — Poh ! that 's too generous : Cato's days are past, Though borrowing wives is full as rife as ever. As for mere vanity, or idle whim. We soon shall see that. Wilt thou give them play ? Lut. Encourage them ? Fie, Isotta ! Isot. Wherefore, fie ? Is not Anselmo dear to me, as is Girolamo to thee ? Or deem'st thou haply, I have designs ? I were more secret then. Lut. No, no, that is nonsense! I but mean We stain our reputations, seeming even To countenance their folly. I regret To have gone so far as now. Isot. So do not I ! How should we find them out? And that we will ; 148 THE DOUBLE DECEIT And make them blush in the bargain. Lut. At the cost Of our own deeper blushes, and the risk Of terrible results. hot. Now that is nonsense. Why, silly child ! is not our secret one ? And will not the disclosure be ? The most To dread is our lords' anger. That we '11 risk. The game is worth it. Who shall say ? perhaps Our plot may end with making two sworn foes Fast friends. Lut. Ah, might that be! Isot. If then 'T were Christian to effect it, 't is our part As Christians to attempt it. Lut. Reason good, But not the true one. Isot. Not for me. I own I am just so naughty — mind thou, nothing more! To like this mischief for itself. 'T will be The rarest fishing! thou with thy soft looks To hook the mullet Barbadico, I "With craftier angling catch that nimble trout Girohimo. Litt. And when they 're brought to land? Isot. Why then — we '11 roast them. Lut. 'Faith, there '11 be a stew Isot. Go get thy lines in order. Lut. What to do? ACT I. SC. 1. 149 Isot. Do even as Nature prompts thee : need'st thou ask ? But let us join our maidens in the work. Lut. Gladly ; 't will be new evidence. Isot. \looTcing off the scene to the right. But see ! The signal waves. My bear is coming home. [Embracing, helps Lut. over the hedge. Eemember now, be bold. We '11 try Avhose spouse Will make the best gallant. Lut. I '11 wager, mine. Isot. I, mine, so thou wilt lure him. Ply thine eyes. In street or room, in playhouse or at mass. [Lutia going ; Isot., also going on her side, shaking her Jist. O signor mine ! I '11 make thee such an ass I [Exetint. 150 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Scene II. Tlce Piazzetta^ or smaller Square of St. MarTc. On one side., the Ducal Palace., with the Church of St. Mark adjoining. On the other the '■'■ Procuratie''^ {official apartments of the '•^ Procurators of St. Marh''^). Oppo- site the Church, the Pell- Tower. In the hacTcground are seen the two Columns, loith their statues, one of St. MarTc, the other of St. Theodore. — Near the columns a group of women. Persons of various classes are walking ahout. And on the '■'■ Broglio'''' (nol)lemen''s waUc on the Palace side of the Square) are distinguished, l>y their sahle gowns, the nobles. Miter IsoTTA, icith Cassandea hehind her, the latter carrying a missal. Then, at a little distance, following them, GiROLAMO. As they cross the stage, Isotta loolcs TyacTc over her shoulder invitingly o?i Girolamo, then Exiticith Cassandra at the left. Gieolamo comes forward. Girol. Ell, ell ! the fruit is ripening fast. Metliinks 'T will need but little shaking. N"ow, the maid Leer'd on me too, with most significant eye. ACT I. SC, 2. 151 Is she the guardian of thy orchard-wall, Messer Anselmo, I am apt to climb. — What if I follow, and invite the girl By signs to parley? If the lure succeed, 'T is well. If not, I can but cast again. l^Exit after them. Enter Anselmo. He holds a small and tightly folded note. Ansel. Madonna Lutia, either thou art false And a fit partner of thy flippant spouse, Or thou respondest to my passionate love. Thy soul should be the mate of mine : thy mien Tokens deep thought, and on thy pensive brow Is no coquetry. Have I won thy heart? — Shouldst thou betray me ; read my written vows. As women will do, to thy jeering friends! The sword of my hereditary foe, That were a trifle ; but to face the laugh. The scorn perhaps, of half of Venice, who Would deem my passion a dishonest plot Against my enemy's peace ! "Were better death. — But is there danger ? Here is writ no name, Neither her own nor mine ? What could she prove ? Given in her hand at this convenient hour. By one of those she-Mercuries [looking up the scene^ on the groiq) near the columns. whose post 152 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Is here in public and who know me not, 'T is hers or not, just as she lists ; but not, She cannot charge the missive unto me. Hark thou, old woman ! [ieckoning to one of the group. But, "before Tie can repeat the call, or has attracted notice, Enter, from the left, LUTIA with GlOVANNA. Heaven ! here 's Lutia's self! Ltjtia crosses the stage close before him, looMng sidelong but demurely at him, and, just as she passes him, drops her handkerchief. Anselmo picks it in- stantly up, folds the note in it, and hands it to her. As she returns his boics, and curtsies her achnowledgment, Lutia shoics consciousness and embarrassynent. Exit with GiovANNA, at the right. 'T is done now — as I did not think to do it. But so 't is better, though undesign'd. That blush ! That conscious look ! Ah here is no betrayal ; No treachery lurks beneath those drooping lids ! — "Was not that handkerchief dropp'd on purpose too, That I might speak or touch her hand ? — Girolamo, Thou 'It pay my grandsire's dues against thy House ! But in a coin thou wilt not care to count. — What shall I do, to master this wild joy ? 'T will make a fool of me. — I'll take my gondola, And rove about until my blood is cool. ACT I. SC. 2. 163 Pausing a moment^ to looh in the direction which Lutia had taken, he goes tip the stage, passes through the groups, and Exit. Re-enter, from the left, Cassandra follotoed hy Girolamo. She looks half-round, coquettishly, upon him, as her mistress had done. Girolamo stops her, and leads her forward. Girol. A word, my pretty damsel. What 's thy name ? [chucking her binder the chin. Cass. Cassandra, Excellence. Girol. Cassandra? Not, I hope, a prophetess of ill to me ? Cass. Ill ? O, I wish you all the good, I 'm sure. That — somebody I wot of wishes you. Girol. That somebody is not thy master. Cass. No : Not he indeed ! Now, should I like to tell Who 't is. But you would tell it, too. Girol. Who? I? Not I, child ! There, [kissing her. Now, if I tell, thou canst Tell that of me. Cass. fie ! in the open Square ! A gentleman — an humble girl like me ! Girol. Who sees ? [looking up the stage. Or who would mind it, if he did ? The world 154 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Is much too busy with its own intrigues. Come ; who is my well-wisher ? Cass. You '11 keep faith? Girol. Have I not given you pledge ? Cass. Well, do 't again, Lest you forget it. [^Girol. — first looking tip the stage — hisses her again. Girol. What a jade it is ! If like the maid the mistress, as they say, I have been belike too modest. Cass. That she 's not. She would not let you kiss her in the street. Girol. In the house, then. But, prithee, what 's her name ? Is it thy mistress then that means me well? Cass. What 's she you look'd on amorously but now, She I attended from St. Fantin's church ? Girol. The Ser Anselmo Barbadico's spouse. Cass. Daughter of Messer Marco Gradenigo, Late Procurator of St. Mark, and nam'd Isotta. Girol. Even so much I knew. Cass. Is she Worthy a gallant gentleman's devoir? Girol. Worthy ! Where is her equal, far or near ? Cass. Is not Madonna Lutia fairer ? Girol. Come ! I want no sermons, though thou 'rt fresh from church. I do adore thy lady. Cass. And she, vou. ACT I. SC. 2. 166 Girol. My dear Cassandra ! [hugging her. Cass. Keep away ! Am I My lady's rival? And think where we are. Now, yon must know when late you pass'd us by, Madonna said, "Cassandra, there 's a leg !" Girol. Thou liest, thou little rogue ! Cass. I did not say. She said, "Behold a good one!" nor, "a stout." She simply cried, " A leg." She saw the heel : The rest was hidden in your sable gown. Girol. T swear T '11 beat thee, Cassy!' Cass. Will you now ? Then T am off. What did you stop me for ? [affecting to go. Girol. I '11 tell thee presently, [takes out his x>urse. See thou here, [opening it. Cass. Oh stay, There 's something more, though not about the leg. One day, when you were standing by your door. Caressing a small dog, my lady said, Sighing, "I would I were that little cur!" — "Madonna, why?" — "Because" — she sigli'd again — "The Ser Girolamo has so white a hand." Girol. Say'st thou, my mocking waiting- woman ? Well, Let thy mirth pay thee, [affecting to put hacJc his jntrse. Thou 'rt a little fool. Cass. I were, to let you go away displeas'd. 156 THE DOUBLE DECEIT A hand and leg are really no mean parts. Yet not for those alone my lady loves you. Oirol. Canst thou be serious for one moment? Cass. Two. What does your Excellence command? Girol. Take this. [giving her a ducat of gold. Cass. Is it for me, or for my mistress ? Oirol. Pish! Here is another piece of gold. Wilt thou Bear me a message to thy lady's ear? Cass. yes, I '11 tell her that you doat on legs, And wish you were the mass-book in her hands. Girol. Hark thou, fair Trojan ! I am mirthful too ; But there 's a time for all things. See thou then, We shall be noted, standing here so long. Cass. And what too, should my master come this way ! [draws lier scarf over her head. Oirol. [his hand upon her arm. Come then, if thou wilt prate, beneath the arches ; Or, follow me to my gondola. Cass. No, no. Be brief; and pardon me. I did impose On your good temper. Oirol. Wilt thou bear my word ? Cass. I will, and truly. Oirol. But how do I know Thy lady is not mocking me through thee? Cass. By your own eyes, which must have seen ere this ACT I. SC. 2. 157 "What passes iii Madonna's heart ; and by Your consciousness that as you are not pleas'd "With Monna Lutia, so Messer' Anselmo May be too owlish for my hxdy's taste. Like pairs with like : and ye are like. Girol. Well said. Thou art a cunning giglet. Plead my cause. There is thy fee. If thou shouldst gain my suit, Thou hast the triple of it. Cass. "What to sue ? Girol. Sue for an hour's meeting. Where and when I leave to her own gracious will. Cass. How sue ? Oirol. Sue by my passion; sue by her own charms ; Ask in thy own heart — 't is a woman's ; there Are all thy law-books, — and thou hast thy brief. Go, pretty advocate, and bring me fortune. Cass. You are a gallant gentleman. I would, In sooth I would, it were another suit Than to your neighbor's wife. Girol. Thou 'rt not to preach. The worse my cause, the better shalt thou plead. Paint what I feel ; thou canst not paint too warmly : Say what thou seest; but see with kindly eyes. Cass. And shall I tell her all ? Girol. Tell all — but tliis. \hissing her. Cass, [extricates herself with a laugh, then, shaJcing her finger at him. 158 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Nay, I '11 tell all ; it were a sin to miss. A leg ! a hand ! and O ma'am, such a kiss ! [Exit Cass, at the left. GiEOLAMO loohing after Tier a moment^ half in vexation, half in satisfaction.! goes up the stage to mingle with the nobles on the Broglio., and Scene closes. Scene III. The Garden — as in Scene I. ISOTTA. LUTIA. GlOVANNA. Isot. [looMng uj) from a letter she has heen reading. So far, thou hast won the wager. Who 'd havi thought The dignified Auselmo was so sly? So boldly gallant too ! and so adroit ! Lut. 'T was featly done. He must have had good practice Isot. Ay, but the kerchief was as nicely dropp'd, I must be cautious : thou art stately too. Lut. Fie now, Isotta I Jealous ? Isot. Jealous ? Hum ! ACT I. SC. 3. 159 'T is the scant brook tliat bubbles o'er the stones ; Deep lakes ai*e placid. Lut. Always ? Now, methinks, Rough waters do most mischief. Isot. Let us see. [affecting anxiously to read the letter. Here are a dozen fires, and pains, and faiths : sanctity ! And here Why here, he boasts Of favoring looks ! Lut. I never gave but one — Always except this last, which was agreed. And then the note was written. Isot. Mere evasion ! "Would he have ventur'd else ? so proud ? so shy ? Thou art the lake. Thy depths shall not ingulf My treasure, my lord's love. Lut. Isotta dear ! Jsot. Thou shalt not grant this meeting which he prays : 1 will not trust thee. Lut. Tliou shalt have no need. 'T was not my project ; and I like it not. But seems it Isot. Peace ! I will have my revenge. Enter Cassandra, in great glee. Now comes my turn. — Lut. Giovanna, to the house. And watch for both. [Exit, over the hedge, Giovanna. 160 THE r)OUBLE DECEIT hot. Well ! Hast thou lur'd the hawk ? Did the trout nibble? Is the leopard snar'd? Cass. See liere ! {holding up the two gold, pieces. And here — and here — and here : [touching her lips with her hand three times. And here again ! [jyuts her arm around her oicn waist caressingly . Isot. Three kisses, and a hug! Why here 's a brave gallant ! What say'st thou now ? [to Lut. Thy man is worse than mine ! [Lutia has turn''d away. Why, Lutia dear. Thou art not crying? Couldst thou think indeed, That I was jealous? Jealous? Jealous, I? And jealous too of thee? My own dear girl. My sister ! Thou shalt have Anselrao all. And keep Girolamo too. Now, do but laugh ! Lut. How can I laugh to know my lord so vile? Isot. Vile ? Art thou crazy ? He is but a man ; Girolamo Bembo, not Girolamo Saint. Why what a child thou beest! I'll wager now My wedding-robes against thy bedroom-gown, This wanton tempted him. Come, didst thou not ? Cass. Only one kiss. The rest were volunteer'd. The hug was all his own. Isot. [laughing heartily, while Lutia smiles. Eh, Lutia, see ! This jolly wight was surely meant for me. ACT I. SO. 3. 161 How wilt thou change him for my sober lord ? Lut. \to Cass. But what was all this for ? Cass. This what, Madonna? This kissing? or this hugging ? In good sooth, I think he took me for my lady here. Isot. Out, baggage ! Am I such a colt as thou ? Cass. I cannot tell, Madonna ; but he said, He had been too modest, — mistress like, like maid. Lut. There now, Isotta ! Isot. 'T is her wanton pranks. Thou hast overdone thy part, thou naughty jade ! What didst thou tell him ? Cass. That you prais'd his leg — Although you never saw it. Lut. Brava! ^ yiearhj Isot. Heigh! f together. Cass. And seeing his white hand on a greyhound lie, You wish'd yourself the puppy for its sake. Isot. I vow I'll beat thee ! Cass. So he threaten'd too. You are so alike ! Isot. I '11 pinch thee black and blue ! Thou hast marr'd our acting. Cass. No, I mind my cue. I made him think you so ador'd his face. He fairly hugg'd me — in the public place! Lut. Thou hast taught her well — thy rhyming too, I see. Isot. But never mind; the hug was not for thee. — ■ 162 THE DOUBLE DECEIT And finally, what bring'st thou from my swain ? Cass. These golden ducats. hot. They 're for thee, not me, Cass. To plead his passion. Isot. A retaining-fee. Cass. The suit once won, my client makes the twain A pair of triplets. Isot. Briefly, what to gain? Thou keep'st Madonna Lutia in her pain. Cass. Messer Girolamo bids me thus to sue. By his own passion, by his lady's charms — That is not Monna Lutia's ? — you would grant Your knight an interview ; the when and where, That leaves he safely to your modest self Isot. Ha, ha! 'T is done! We 're quits: the game is square. Thy note is match'd. Was ever such a pair ! lut. Nay, thy Anselmo was the first to woo. Isot. But thy Girolamo has courted two. His suit takes time : too fiery to be stay'd. He tries his mettle on my waiting-maid ! Cass. Perhaps 'twas ofter'd as a sample-bliss : ~ I told him I should recommend his kiss. Lut. Now what 's to do ? Isot. Is that a point to moot ? Do as kind ladies, grant to each his suit. Now, shut that little mouth! [putting her hand on Lutia'' s lips. I '11 not hear nay. ACT 1. SC. 3. 163 "We '11 meet the pair. Lut. But not in their own way? hot. No, plan we both ; thou in thy closet, sweet. And I in mine. Lut. To plot, when next we meet. Isot. Adieu! Take this — and this — and this: [hissing her three times. this too. {hugging her. Cassandra brought them. Lut. But to give to you. Isot. I wave my right. Lut. {hissing her in turn. Nay, keep them : they 're thy due. [ Goes over the hedge. Isot. How is 't, Cassandra? Cass. I no diflference see : Ye have the shells ; the oyster rests with me. Lut. [from over the hedge, and going. Adieu, Isotta ! Isot. 'Driua,* let us flee. [Bxeimt omnes. 164 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Act the Second Scene I. A room in the house of Giovanni Mora. MORO. GlSMONPA. Moro. It boots not to remonstrate ; I am fix'd : The Doge's nephew shall not enter here. Gism. PoorAloise! I have heard thee say, Father, he was a brave and noble youth. Moro. Thou niay'st again, if that will do thee good. The son of Marco Foscari, men report, Is a magnanimous and right valiant soul. Though rash and over-ardent : faults perhaps These of his yet young blood. I grant him too One quality more, appropriate to his rank, That thy late husband wanted. He is rich ; At least will be, when Marco sleeps with Mark. Poor Niccold Delfino, though a brave Good husband and right worshipful cavalier, Left thee scant store of zecchins. 'T Avas thy choice. I have not repented then I gave thee way.' But now I will not. Gism. Yet, dear father, liear! Moro. Not a word more ! Must I repeat, Gisnionda, That with the hated blood of Francis Foscari No drop of Loredano's ever mingles? ACT II. SC. 1. 165 Oism. Ours is so small a drop ! We are but cousins, Four times remov'd. And thou hat'st not the Foscari. 2foro. No, but I am the Admiral Pietro's friend. He scorn'd the Doge's daughter for his son : I cannot give the nephew of the Doge My only child ; and for a twofold cause. First, I should rouse dark Loredano's hate ; A fearful man! that never yet forgave; Then Marco Foscari's, who has promisVl, thou know'st, His son to Lisa, daughter of his friend. The rich Avvogadore, Morosini. Gism. Alas! Moro. Alas ? Alas for me, thou meanest. Should I not waken too the Doge's ire ? Blunt though I be, I want no man's ill will, Though I court no man's favor. Oism. But these feuds ! Father, there arc our neighbors, the Messeri Bembo and Barbadico : who can hate More cordially than they ? whose sires, they tell. Even in Doge Soranza's time — that 's now More than a hundred years — were foes. Yet see ! They married foster-sisters and warm friends. Who for their sakes meet never, save abroad. Moro. What 's that to Marco Foscari's son and thee? His sire is not consenting as theirs were. I have no feud with Foscari. But I say — A plague upon thy womans-cares! I say — I say, I '11 not wake Loredano's spite. 166 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Let the Duke's nephew carry his pretensions To Lisa; this is interdicted ground, Like Bembo's house to Barbadico's spouse. Gism. Poor Aloise! his impassion'd soul Moro. Impassion'd pudding ! What 's his soul to me ?' Go get thee a new lover ; men are cheap. Gism. I had not thought to hear this from those lips. Men cheap, my father ? Is it then of men Like Aloise Foscari thou speakest ? Brave as his warlike uncle, generous, just, Sagacious, resolute, where wilt thou find More honor for our House, a stouter prop For thy declining years, a nobler hope For thy large heritage through thy only child, Than the Duke's nephew, Marco Foscari's heir? As lofty a spirit as ever grac'd a throne !' Moro. "Were it the Duke himself, I might relent, But being his nephew only, I will not.' As for the honor, Foscari is no more Than Moro ; for my years, as yet, thank God ! They are not much o'er the hill-top ; when declining Into the vale, I '11 hear thee talk of props. And for my heritage, 't is no fault of mine Thy bed is yet a widow's. Make thy choice. So he be not a citizen or tradesman. Gambler or brawler, drnnkard or a thief, John Moro will not say Gismonda nay.° Gism. My choice is made : I cannot change it, father. My faith is given : thou wouldst not have it broke ? ACT 11. SC. 1. 167 Moro. Then so are mine. And this is choice and faith : Let Foscari be thy lover, an' thou will ; But it shall not be in thy father's house. Thou hast been wedded ; thou canst make thy home Even where thou wilt. But let thy scanty means Furnish thy narrow household. By St. John ! I will not give one zecchin in thy aid ! Gism. O be not so obdurate ! Moro. Not one zecchin I If Marco to his disobedient son Will prove more kind, I wish thee joy of it. [Going. Gism. Be not so angry, dear my father ! Moro. \breaking from her ; hut coldly i\ Peace! Gism. If Aloise Moro. Be a fool, must thou ? Thou hast heard my reasons, and thou knowest my will. Do thy own pleasure. But of this rest sure : If Procurator Marco's son come in, Messer Delfino's widow shall go out.'° \_Exit. Gism. And I might find it in my heart to do so, Thou art so unsympathetic, and so harsh. But thou wouldst then be childless and alone. Childless alone ! Heaven pardon me the thought I 'T was sinful-selfish. And then Aloise ! To involve him in distress I — But what to do ? It is his hour! — Goes hastily to a door in tlie liach of the scene, and opens it, displaying a corridor. THE DOUBLE DECEIT What, Giulietta!" [clapping her hands. Quick ! — If they should meet I My father's sullen mien — And his quick temper! — Enter ^ through the door, Giulietta. To the basement ! haste ! Is Messer Aloise landed, lead him Somewhere away, and tell him this from me: My sire has knowledge of his visits here And will not longer bear them. Does he love me. He will not press to come — • not now ; ray father Is sullen, when oppos'd. — If not yet come, "Wait thou his gondola, and wave him off To the next Canal. There haste to meet him. Go. Bid him have patience. [Exit Giulietta. Patience ? And I need So much myself! I made so sure to-day That I should see him ! I so little thought My father would be adverse ! — Aloise ! "Wilt thou preserve unstain'd thy maiden faith ? — Between two hostile influences ; and the charms Of Lisa Morosini O my heart ! The sacrifice which threatens will prove hard. — If Aloise tempt me to rebel My lonely sire ! Again that selfish thought. I must not think it. Yet these senseless feuds ! ACT II. SC. 2. 169 What are their hates to us ? If Marco Foscari, "Who dotes upon his gallant son, give way, (My sire is rich as Lisa's, — may he not ? ) And move my colder father ! dear hope ! Let me not lose thee ! Though it rain to-day, The sun shines out to-7norrow. Then comes peace — Comes father's blessing — comes joy — comes Aloisel [Exit. Scene IL The Piazetta — as in Act I. Sc. II. In the hacl-ground, scattered groujJs and fromenaders. After some momentx, Enter^ from the side, Gutlietta, followed hy Ai.oise. She comes foricard, stops, and awaits him. Alo. What is it, girl ? How fares thy lady ? Speak ? Giul. Well. Messer Aloise ; well, but vex'd. Vol. IV.- S 170 THE DOUBLE DECEIT His Excellence, my master, — wlio, be 't said Between us, is the Grossest crab alive — Always sour and sullen, as if he meant to snap, Like the old crocodile on the pillar-top Of San Teodoro yonder Alo. Well, well, well I Glul. Has been I suppose in such an ugly mood, Madonna bade me haste to you, to say You are not to come to the palace any more ; His Excellence has found you out. — Alo. Me out? Giul. Both of you out : which is a burning shame ; I made so sure your Excellence and she Would one of these days be fix'd together fast, Like Adam and Eve at Marco's corner yon. Alo. Art thou quite sure ? Giul. As I am standing here. I know it because she bade you patience have. She had not done this, had she not made sure You 'd not have any. Alo. O Giulietta dear! To-day I was to have seen her. T is so long Since I have heard her speak, except to say Good-morrow, or Good-even! Canst thou not Admit me for a little while, — by stealth. If so it must be ? Giul. Now ? Messere, no. The master is at home. And so ray lady Bids you take note, " he is sullen if oppos'd." ACT II. SC. 2. 171 Which means you must, I take it, for her sake. Not put your fingers in the old crab's claws. "Does he love me, he will not press," she said, "Not now, to come." Alo. I will not then, not now. But now is not forever. When her sire Is no more at the house, then may I come. Go back and tell her, Giuliet, I will wait — Until she hang some signal — say, a glove, Out at her window. Never sliake thy head. Who shall know aught of it? Is the Casa Mora Not built like other noble houses here ? The women's rooms are in the hinder part, Divided from the men's ?" Is not that so ? Giul. Happily so. A wise provision, where Such gruff old lords as Messer Moro rule. Unhappily though, or happily, for you, Just as you rate Madonna, she is built Unlike some other noble ladies here. At least in the inside. She will not consent To have you come to the hinder part of the house. Alo. I did not mean it, girl. I but beseech her To make some sign when she shall be prepar'd To admit me as before. Giul. That cannot be ; Not till this storm, whate'er it be, is over. When sudden winds sweep over the Lagune, Your gondoliers make instantly for the shore. And wait till the flurry is spent. So mnst you do. 172 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Or look to get a ducking, or be drown'd. Mouna Gismonda begs you will have patience. When it 's fair weather, Messer A.loise, You can put out again. Alo. But until then! But until tlien ! Think of my torments, girl ! And think of hers ! Have pity on us both I I have so much to say ! I cann/ot rest Until I know what this new trci)uble is. And she, how she must long to Jtell me ! Go I Go, tell her that I must, I must, will see her! Go, for thy lady's sake, if not for mine ! Giul. How does your Excellence kmow Madonna suffers? Alo. By my own feeling. If she do not long, And in her longing suffer, as A do ; If she would not give up a we ek of life For one hour's talk with me, a as I would gladly, a whole twelvemonth ! foi^ an hour with her. Then will I beg no more ; ishe is unworthy Of love like mine. Giul. She is n^ot ! not unworthy! — Now, do not stop this litthja brain of mine ; 1 am contriving. — Let nfiiie see. — I have it ! How will the night do ? /Could you talk in the dark, In the open air, as well fAs in a room ? Alo. Dear Giulietta ! Giul' .ettina ! Speak!" [ta?i-i7ig her hands. Giul. Pray, don't make lovt > to me. Now, do keep still ! 'T is not in the dark he? re, tho' it 's open enough. ACT II. SC. 2. And I am not Madonna. Since you know So well the woman's side of the house, you know There are balconies" on the second floor To all the windows. Could your Excellence climb To the large middle one ? 'T is not a steep So easy as the Bell-Tower ; nor the view Quite so extensive ; but you '11 like it better. Alo. You are an angel ! [ahout to hug Tier. Gild. Now, now, do forbear ! I am ticklish. — Well, what will your Excellence do? And what shall I? Alo. Do? do? Go back at once. Say to Madonna, will she please let down At what hour were it best? Gild. About the fourth. 'T will then be midnight, and the Ca '' Veniero "Will like our own be quiet. Alo. — Will she please With her fair hands let down Gild. Or better, mine, Which are not fair Alo. Peace, saucy one ! — Letdown From the mid window, when St. Mark tolls four,'^ A length of cord, I will make fast thereto A hempen ladder. Gild. Which we two draw up With our four hands, and fasten to the rails. Well, Messer Aloise ; but ill-reckon'd. There is this to add to the account : Madonna 174 THE DOUBLE DECEIT May not consent. Alo. ITow canst tliou be so cruel ? Hast thou not words ? and canst thou not persuade ? Thou knowest her humor well. But tell her this — And it is solemn truth ; I shall not rest Until I see her; care will murder sleep. Tell her, O tell her, all that thou canst tliink, All thy own heart may teacli, to move her pity. Thou canst not say too much, or make my love More than it is, my suffering than 't Avill be. Take thou this ring, Giulietta. 'T is a ruby Of no mean value. Wear it for my sake, An earnest of the good I mean to do thee. Wilt thou be kind. Giul. No, Messer Aloise. You are a generous young lord, I see, As men report you, and Madonna thinks. But keep the ring. I need it not from you. "When you are wedded to Madonna Mora, Then will I take your presents. Now, farewell. If I can win Madonna to consent. She will to-night admit you, it may be Even to her chambers, since I shall be there. Alo. Dear Giulietta ! Gitd. Not yet ; not so fast. St. Geminy ! Take heed ! if not more slow To-night in climbing, you may get a fall. — Once more : — In half an hour, pass you the house. If I have won Madonna to your suit. ACT II. SC. 2. 175 You will see a red string hanging from the casement. 'T is there, at that balcony, you will mount, {going. Alo. Giulietta! Giuliettina! Stop, awhile. Thou art a precious maiden. When I make Monna Gismonda mine, then will I find thee A brave young husband for thyself. Giul. Like you? Thank you, Messere. Such a one shall need No ladder to climb up to me. Farewell, [going. Alo. 'T is thou art hasty, now. Thou hast not heard all. To-night I'll fling a pebble at the casement. When the bell tolls ; so will she know 't is I. Giul. You are then quite sure Madonna is to yield? Alo. Sure in your dextrous handling. Giul. Right! How else? I have two men to throw for : you for her, And a brave husband like yourself for me. [Exit. Aloise stands still a moment, loohs about Mm, then sloicly follows her. 176 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Scene III. The Apartment of Gismonda. A room haring a large casement-icindow^ extending to the floor^ and opening on a lalcony. GiSMOXDA tralJcing impatlenthj ahout. Gism. What can detain her ? What is there to say ? He is filhng now her happy ears with words — Words of deep love and passionate prayer — for me : He is teaching lier persuade me listening.^ Was that she ? jSTo ; 't was the sea-breeze playing through the blinds. — He is teaching her to move me to have pity. Ah, Aloise! Aloise! here, Here, here already, all the words of love That thou canst send me, in my brain are stirring : The heart inspires them fast as thou canst speak ; They plead as warmly for thee, as thy words. Even could I hear thy own lips utter them, Could plead for thee ; they plead to my own heart, Coming from my heart, and plead too for my heart. O in this void that is such pleasing pain, This thrilling of the pulse starting^ That! that is she! ACT II. BC. 3. 177 Runs eagerly to the side scene as Enter Giulietta. GisMONDA draiDs her eagerly foricard. At last! at last! I thought that thou wast dead. Gild. I am almost dead with running — up the staircase. Gism. What said he? What said Messer Aloise? Gild. What did he? What did Messer Aloise? he 's a rare gallant ! Gism. Quick ! Giulietta ! What said he ? Gild. Messer Niccolo Delfino Gism. Leave Messer Niccolo Delfino bury'd. Giul. With all my heart. He has been two years fast sleeping ; 1 do not wish to wake him. He was but A log to J ur new liusband, that will be. Gism. Why, what means this? What 's got into the girl? Giul. Pure love and admiration. Such a noble I He tried to hug me. Gism. I am much oblig'd to him. Giul. He call'd me Angel. Gism. It was very kind. Giul. [laughing. Now don't, now don't be jealous, dear Madonna! 'T was all on your account. Gism. I do not like Such gifts by proxy. Giul. No, our natural wants 8* 1V8 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Are best serv'd by ourselves. So I refus'd To taste for you, Madonna. Gism. Giulietta ! This is a style Gild. Now do not be displeas'd ! I really think, Madonna, for your sake, I am more than over head and ears in love With Messer Aloise : and I promis'd Gism. Well, well, Giulietta, tell me thine own way. Since thou wilt not in mine. But prithee, child, Why twin'st thou that red ribbon round thy fingers? Ginl. It is my garter. Madam, which I dropp'd In coming up the stair. I would not then Take time to put it on. Gism. Well, ])ut it by. [Giul. puts tin' sti'ing into her hof^nm. Now say, what said he ? Gild. All that man could say. He had made so sure to see you! [^Gism. sighs. 't was so long Since he had seen you I lie should never rest Till he should see you! he was so perplex'd He could not see you! he so long'd to hear Why now he could not see you ! And, in short, Distress'd, bewildered, full of love and pity, I promis'd him Gism. Ha! what? Gild. That you would see him. Gism. Thou art the sauciest ACT II. SC. 3. ITS Oiul. Best-disposed poor creature. Pardon me I dare interrupt, Madonna I But liad you seen him — \_Gism. sighs again. heard him, — as I saw, And heard him, you 3-ourself, in love and pity, Had promis'd too. Gism. I had not needed then, Had I so seen and heard him. Thou dost jest. Or thou art imj)udent, with thy love and pity. Oiid. All for your sake. Madonna. Gism. For mine too, Thou proinis'dst he should see me? Giul. No, for both. Gism. How now ! Or Messer Aloise Foscaro Has with my maid forgot himself and me, Or thou 'rt beside thyself. What has he done. Or said, to make thee so presumptuous ? Has He given thee aught? Giul. He offered me a ring. I would not take it. Gism. He has promis'd then Giul. Only a husband. Gism. Thou art malapert ! And when I am so vex'd, too ! Get thee hence. Giul. No, let me stay. Madonna. "Why be vex'd That I am merry, when I am but so Only because I thought to make you happy. And make him happy, who deserves to be? "\^ill you not hear me? 180 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Gism. Speak then, n,s thou should'st. Speak plainly, in i^w words. What didst thou promise? Oiul. jSTothing, Madonna : only that I would Try to persuade you to admit him here, To-night. Gism. Here, in my chamber? Didst thou dare To so disgrace me ? Get thee to him back. And say, thou hast mista'en me. Go at once ! Giul. O madam! do but hear me! do not be So wroth with my well-meaning! I will beg, If so it must be, on my knees for pardon, If I have done you wrong. But only hear me ! "What was there so amiss in what I said ? Here was the Doge's nephew so distress'd It would have mov'd Mark's lion, or my ipaster. Praying an humble girl like me to have Compassion on him ? Gism. Was he so distress'd ? G^^d. In sooth. Madonna, how could he be else. So loving you, and of so great a heart? [Gism. sighs. Just in the moment when he should be bless'd In seeing you, to be bidden not to come. Another man had mov'd me, so perplex'd; But he so noble, such a god in mien ! Gism. [sighing again. Indeed, I was most sorry. 'T was with pain Unto myself. But what was to be done ? Didst not thou, dear Giulietta, tell him all ? How sullen vras my father? " ACT II. SC. 3. 181 Giul. All. I said, He was a crab, a crocodile — St. Teddy's'" Old crocodile on the pillar. Gism. Thou shouldst not Have us'd such phrases. Giul. Could I pick my words? I was so vex'd. And there was Messer Foscaro, Begging, with his sweet voice, as if he were An orphan whose last parent had been drown'd In the Canal by order of the Ten, That I would have some little pity on him. And let him in by stealth : it was so long Since he had heard you speak, except to say, Good-morrow, or Good-even. \_Gism:. turns her head aicay abruptly. O Madonna, It makes me weep to only tell his words ; As it does you, I think, to hear them told. Gism. [i'/i a soft and hrohen voice. No matter, dear Giulietta: say some more. Giul. I bade him to be patient, as you said, But as he was beside himself with grief. And fear of something wrong, and talk'd of care, And murdering sleep, and other horrid things, I thought to soothe him by a gentle hint. Perhaps you would — now don't be wroth, Madonna! See him awhile by night, since I should be Along with you the while, and you might talk In the balcony, in tlie open air. 182 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Olsm. 'T was very wrong, [faintly. Gild. I (lid but bint, Madonna. I iJromis'd nought ; I said tbat I would try. I will go back, and tell him not to come. Gism. No, be not hasty. Seem''d be much distress'd i Giul. iVsk your own heart, Madonna ; as be said, I must my own to tell me what be felt ; Which was quite handsome in him. For your sake, He said, I must persuade you, as for his. Gism. Did he? [sharply. Gild. I ask'd him how he knew you suffer'd. He said — so proudly ! with such passion too ! It really made my heart go pit-a-pat : " By my own feeling. If she do not long. And in her longing suffer, as I do ; If she would not give up a week of life For one hour's talk with me, as I would gladly, O a whole twelvemonth, for an hour with her; Then will I beg no more : she is unworthy Of love like mine !" Gism. I am not! not unworthy! Gitil. And so I said ; and in those very words ! Now, dear Madonna, do consent! How can you At once so feel, and not feel ? Gism,. Give me time. GiSMOXDA turning away, and standing pensive, her hach to the windoic and her head down, GiT'LiRTTA seizes the opportunity, and, taking the rihhon ACT II. SC. 3. 183 from her hoso)7i, trips to the tclndow, pushes open the casement^ goes on the halconi/^ and is seen to fasten the ribbon to the balustrade. As site is about to close the casement again., GisMONDA turns. Oism. What inak'st thou out at the window, Giulietta? Giul. To see if Messer Foscari were there. Gism. And was he ? [engerhj. Oiul. Yes. Gism. Let me see too. Giul. Xow nay, [intercejiting her. He is no longer ; and the Ca Veniero Has windows too. Gism. Which thou hadst quite forgot. What led thee to suppose he would be there ? Giul. I promis'd I would give him sign of hope. Gism. And didst thou ? Giul. O be not severe, Madonna ! Hope is a blessing. Gism. When it leads astray ? Giul. But now it will not lead astray. Madonna. I know it will not. Shall I on my knees, And pray you to be just ? or shall I weep, And tell again his suffering ? O Madonna ! It is so small a thing ! Gism. For thee, not me. Giul. But shall I not be with you all the wliile ? And have you not been married ? What he asks, 18-t THE DOUBLE DECEIT "What maiden would refuse ? I do not think That Monna Lisa would. Gism. Stop now ; no more. I will bethink me. Said he then, to-night ? Giul. At the fourth hour to-night. Think — 't is his words — Think of his torments ; think of yours ; he has So much to ask you ; you, so much to tell ; Have pity then on both. I know you will. Gism. [going. Thou know'st too much then. I will go consider. Giul. 'T is to resolve. Else hardly would you give Seven days of life for one hour's talk with him. Gism. Hush, hush ! Thou know'st not. Giul. But I know that ho Would give a twelvemonth for an hour with you. Gism. Hush ! [Exit. Giul. Here 's a work to meet one cavalier ! St. Moses I" I would meet one every night ! Goes to the ialcony^ and returns tcith the rihhon. Had she but seen my garter! — Never mind ! Why not as well a knee-band as an armlet To noose a Imsband ? If I catch one too, ( And I have earn'd hira ; it has been hard work I ) I '11 strip the otlier off, and make the set A votive offering to St. Giuliet.'^ [Exit. ACT HI. SC. 1. 185 Act the Third Scene I. TTie Garden — as in Act /., Sc. I. Enter on the upper side LrxiA and Giovanna. The latter comes over the hedge^ then helps LuTiA to follow. Lut. Thou 'rt sure she said her master was abroad ? Giov. Madonna, yes. 'T is Holy Vito's day.'^ He is at the church. Lttt. So are we wholly free. Enter IsoTTA and Cassandra. And here they come. Now shall we see. Isot. [embracing her.] See what? Lut. This "loveliest plot that ever was devis'd." Isot. And 't is. Had Baimont Tiepolo's been as fair, My ducal ancestor had been put down, And I perhaps been not put forth, to achieve A marital reform. Ltct. It is the day That plot was thwarted. Omen of ill luck. 18l3 THE DOUBLE DECEIT hot. To our lords, not us. — Now hear. To-night Lut. To-night ? Isot. At the fourth hour Lut. That 's midnight. Isot. Even so. — We see each other's chambers for the first. But not I liope the last time. Lilt. What means that ? Isot. It means, our lovers meet us tliere to-night, And we our husbands. Seest thou ? Lu t. Not a ray I Isot. Then might'st thou carry, for all the good they do, Thine eyes in a platter, like thy patron-saint. Cass. That, save the platter, were as well for both, Seeing both the gentlemen woo you in the dark. Isot. Now what behold'st thou ? Lut. Twilight, not full day. Isot. Thou art but half-awake ! 'T would serve thee right, To let thee grope, as good Anselmo will, When he seeks Monna Lutia in the night. And finds he is saddled with Isotta still. Now seest tliou well ? or art thou still abed ? Lut. I see the plan. Isot. And think'st of it ? Lut. With dread. 'T will ruin us both. Isot. Thou hast the drollest head ! Here are Giovanna and Cassandra both. They know all, and take part in all. Our truth ACT III. SC. 1. 187 Has their assurance. L^lt. "Will that stay the wrath Of either cavalier, when found the cheat "We have put upon him ? Think too of their hate Envenom'd by the consciousness of wrong Design'd against each other ! Isot. That I leave To Providence, believing in my soul Shame will extinguisli wrath. But for their rage Against our innocent selves, why let it burn ! A double storm of feminine reproach "Will blow it out, I think, and cool their brains For just conviction. — But I do not mean They soon shall find the cheat. Not till at least Our double game is won. Look at our make : "We are enough alike. Then, bred together, Our voices have one tone. "We shall not speak More than is needful. Lut. I shall not, I am sure. Grirolamo will think it very odd In gay Isotta. Isot. No, he '11 deem her coy Or prudent. Fearing no deceit, be sure Their amorous fancies will delude them both. But whether or not, we have ridden too far, my dear. Now to draw bridle : win we not the race, "\^''e are ruin'd beyond redemption. Lut. 'T is too true. Our lovers are grown importunate, and believe THE DOUBLE DECEIT Each that his neighbor has a shameless wife. Isot. So let them ; till we make them blush to own They are bad husbands, we the best of wives. And this my plan. Cassandra on my part Shall tell Girolamo, that my lord to-night Takes barque for Padua, and invite him come At the fourth hour. From thee Giovanna bears A letter to Anselmo Lut. Why a letter From me ? Isot. Because he wrote one unto thee. 'T will suit his gravity better. Lut. Well. To say? Isot. Girolamo at Murano with some friends Will pass the entire night ; and tliat between The third and fourtli hour he may venture in. Lut. But why thus earlier ? Isot. Out, thou silly thing ! Not that I want my spouse a half hour more ; But to prevent the two encountering. Well : At the third hour, or even before, we enter Each other's house, here by the garden-gate. And by each other's maid are led straightway Each to the other's chamber, there inspect All that belongs to it, and when 't is known Put out the liglits, and so await Lut. In terror. Isot. Fie, timid one ! Are they not given to know We meet in the dark, and neither is to spe:ik ? ACT III. SC, 1. 189 Lut. But will it not be best to send my letter By some hired m'essenger ? Isot. That, as thou lik'st. — Now haste, my Lutia. [embracing her. Then, laughingly .1 But restrain thy muse ; Be not too fond ! Anselmo might expect Too much of cold Isotta. Lut. And yet find More than Girolarao will in Lutia warm. Cass. Pardon me, ladies, if I dare suggest : Madonna Isotta should compose this letter. Isot. As knowing her husband's solemn humor best. Cass. No, as new proof. Isot. — Tlian one, two heads are better. 'T is well. I '11 throw it o'er the hedge. Thou, sweet, Shall copy it and send it. Lut. And so fetter These Hushand- Lovers with a chain complete Of evidence. My heart not now will flutter. Isot. Hey then for frolic and our Double cheat! [Jcissing Lut., — who, with Giov., Krit over the hedge, while Isot. and Cass. Exeunt on their side. 190 the double deceit Scene II. As in Scene III., Act II. Enter GiSMONDA and Giulietta, the latter hearing a lighted wax-candle and a coil of slender cord. She Hows out the light ; and GiSMo:ifDA opens the casement. Gism. The crescent moon gives just sufficient light. More would betray us. Look down into the street. Seest thou aught yet? Giul. Madonna, nothing yet. 'T is black as pitch. Gism. The alley is so narrow, And we are up so high. It will be hard, I fear, to climb, [anxiousli/. Gild. Fear not : a lover's legs Hark ! I hear something. Gism. Speak more softly then: 'T may be some other. Gild. How fearfully you tremble ! Courage, Madonna ! — Hark now ! There goes St. Mark ! One — two — three — four ! As the sound of the last stroke dies away, something light is thrown against the casement. Gism. [eagerly, hut in an under tone. ACT III. SC. 2. 191 And tliere 's the signal-stone ! Quick, Giulietta ! GiSMONDA lets dojon the cord, while G-iumetta holds it. Gild. See you yet, Madonna ? Gism. Yes, though but dimly. — Now, he shakes the cord I Draw up. They j>uJl on the cord together. The head, of the ladder hecomes visible. They secure it to the balustrade. Giul. 'T is fasten'd now. 'T is quite secure. Gism. He pulls upon 't to try. — He 's on it now ! — He mounts ! — He 's half-way up ! — He 's Aloise ! [with deep tenderness, and stretching out her arms over the balustrade. Alo. [within — as just under the balcony. Gismonda ! Immediately, the ladder appears to be jerlced violently ; and there is an ill-dejined dull noise. Gism. God ! he has fallen ! he is dead ! Giul. Hush, hush!" Look, dear Madonna ! he moves ! he is but hurt. He holds both hands to his head. Your eyes now us'd To peer in the darkness, you may see him plain. He is going off! — O why so still, Madonna ? You frighten me. Do speak to me ! Gism. [who, the ichole time Giul. has been spealc- ing in a suppressed voice., has been lean- ing over the balustrade, note looking up, and in a tone of relief, yet low. Tluuik God ! 192 THE DOUBLE DECEIT He is gone ! he was able to get home. Why, why- Gave I consent to this ! If it should kill him ! My God ! my God ! have pity on his youth ! Giul. Why fear the worst, Madonna? Was he able To move alone, he is not nigh to death. Gism. Thou knowest him not, Giulietta. 'T was in longing To reach, wo 's me ! my outstretch'd arms, he fell. I saw him — dost thou hear me ? [grasping Oiulietta''s arm^ and drawing closer to Jier^ ichile her whole Ijody seems to shrink together with liorror and grief. — clutch three times At the accursed ropes, ere ■^— ere, sheer down Giul. Oh horror! — Dear my lady, how thou tremblesti Gisin. Tremble, girl ! — Ere he fell, I say, sheer down, To the stone pavement. Would the stones have feeling For his green youth and manly beauty ? [gasjying.'] Thou Saw'st him, as I did, holding his poor head Press'd 'tvvixt his hands. Know'st thou what that was for? Pausing., then solemnJij and deeply. That his blood might not drip upon the marble Beneath his lady's window, and defame her. Had he but five minutes left of life and strength. He had dragg'd himself away, to die elsewhere. She huries her face in her hands and sohs — though low. After a lirief moment., during which Giulietta is seen, Ig (he dim light of the scene, to gaze on her ACT III. SC. 3. 193 with looks of deep ST/mpatJuj. Let not his noble effort for my honor Be tliwarted. Draw tlie Ladder np. Gild. Yet hope, [begins , to dj'aw tJie ladder into the chaniber. Gism. Hope? Ay, but pray. Until tlion bring'st, to- morrow, Assurance of his safety, shall no pillow Receive my head, while his — while Aloise's Covers her face ngain^ weeping silentlij ; and Scene closes. Scene III. A Street. The houses o/"Axselmo ajid GiROi.AMo, adjoining each other. The portal in the basement of one of than is partially open. Enter .^ dragging liimseJf painfull y along., Aloise. Alo. I can no further. Here as well to die Vol. IV.— 9 194 ■ THE DOUBLE DECEIT As farther otf — thy honor sav'd — Gismondu. [Sicoons heUoeen the two doovf. Enter A Captain- of the Slgnors of the N'ight icith twelve Shirr i^ and their Lieutenant: three of the men hearing torches. Capt. What have we here? — Ho, lights! \_They hold the torches over Aloise. Lieut. The Procurator Marco Foscari's son ! Ca2)t. The Doge's nephew ! Lieut. Bleeding And — dead, I think. Ca2)t. "Who can have done this deed? Go, three of you, and bear him to the Church. [j)ointing off the scene. Two of the Shirri talce tip Aloise, and., another leading with a torch. Exeunt. Whose houses are tliese, Lieutenant? Lieut. The Messeri Bembo and Barhadico's. Neither door — See, Captain, there! [pushing one hack, and 02)ening the other.] is fasten'd. Cajjt. Tliat is strange! ACT III. SC. 3. 195 And Messer Foscaro bleeding on the ground ! — Divide yourselves. "Watch two of you this side, Two upon that, [indicating/ the doors. Two others go around To the back wall. And thou, patrol the street. — Let nothing out or in. — Arrest thou [to the patrol. any one Found lurking. — If ye [to the front icatch. hear him sound for help, One frona each side go to him. — Take one torch, Lieutenant, and search that house. I, with the other, Will enter this. Quick, fellows, to your posts ! The watch disj^erse as distributed. As the Captain, followed liy one of the torcliljearerf., enters one of the doors, and the Lieutenant, similarly attended, the other, the Scene closes. 196 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Scene IV. The Garden — As in Act /., Sc. /., tfic. The Stage is nearly (larh. Enter on the upper side of the hedge^ Isotta, — on the loicer, Lutia ; loth hnrriedly. hot. [suppressed tone, hut eagerly. Lutia, is 't thou ? Lut. Isotta, yes. Isot. Make-liaste. Give me thy hand. Here. Over. [They cross the hedge, changing ])laces. Lut. What 's the matter? "What noise was that in the house ? Isot. The Devil perliaps. Did it also come to thine — to mine, that is? Lut. Tramp, tramp, on the stair. The door was sud- denly open'd. An arm, I think Cassandra's, drew me out. I saw the light of torches, as I fled. Flash through the court. I think we are beset. Isot. And so do I. Our husbands will be cauijht. ACT III. SC. 4. 197 What will they say, when found each in the chamber Of his sworn foe ? Lut. And knowing it, as they will ! 'T will drive them mad. Isot. I cannot help but laugh. Lilt. I had rather cry. But now is time for neither. See! Lights in both houses! [looking to the right. Isot. [turning to left.] And footsteps in the rear ! Good night, good night. The Devil, if devil it be, May catch thy husband, but he sha'n't catch me. [Exeunt hurriedly at llicir rcsj^ective sides of the hedge. The Droj) falls. 198 THE DOUBLE I>ECEIT AoT TTiE ForRTn Scene I. A Cell in the Prisons. A sound of holts and chains withdraicn. The vaulted door is flung open^ and., the Jailer standing hi/ it., Enter Anselmo and Giholamo led l>y the Captain and the Lietttenant of tlie Watch, and followed hy six of the Shirri, two of them xoith torches. Ansel. [haugJitilij. Now we are where thou 'dst have us, it may be Thou 'It answer us at last, why are wc here. Girol. Come, Captain, this is surely some mistal^e. That gentleman, I will vouch, is, as he told tliee, Messer Anselmo Barbadico ; he Will say for me, that I am nothing less Nor worse than I have claimed to be. Come, come ; "We are no night-thieves. Capt. I might, Messeri botli. Reply, by simply asking you in turn, Why you, who, all the world of Venice knows. Are enemies, are found each one by night In the chamber of the other, and confus'd — ACT IV. SC. 1. 19G I will not say, in terror, — nor could give Any account of yourselves why you were there? This might suffice for Messer Barbadico, Who I see winces at it. Ansel. Hold thy peace ; And know thy place. Capt. [still gravely .} I know it well enough, And what the law allows your rank. Ansel. Then, peace! "Why we were found where thou hast said, concerns Ourselves alone. Ourselves alone will answer it. Each to the other, \loolcing signijicnntly at Glrol. What is that to thee ? Capt. [turning to Girol. without further notice of Anselmo. But since you have better feeling, Messer Bembo, And know the difference 'twixt a dog and me, [said with tJie same imperturhable gravity. I will answer yoi<, why I have brought you here. The Doge's nephew, Aloise Foscaro, This night was found bath'd in his blood and dead, On the foundation just before your doors. Both start — Anselmo less percepjtihly. You both betray surprise. It may be real. It may be feign'd. That will appear elsewhere. Seeing both your doors were open, I had right To think, perchance involv'd in some amour. Young Foscaro met his deathwound at the hands Of some one in your houses. AVhat we found 200 THB DOUBLE DECEIT Oa entei'ing, I will not offend again, Messer Girolamo, by repeating here. Girol. But sir, I do protest Capt. I must be pardon'd, If I refuse your Excellence to hold Further discourse. My duty here is done. Ansel. And thou shalt answer for it. Capt. And I will, I go now to the Signor of the Niglit To make report. Until the Quarantia Otherwise order, I shall leave you both Together and without a special guard. — [bowing gravely. To the riglit about ; in file ; and forward, march ! The Shirr I dejile from the cell., one of the torches leading ; and during this movement Scene shifts to ACT IV. SC. 2. 201 Scene II. The Interior of a Church. Aloise lying on a bier he/ore the Chancel. A small torch at the head^ and another at the foot of the Her, give the only light to the scene. The Chaplain is seen in the act of closing one of the church-doors. He comes forward. Chapl. Now they are gone, I'll get me to my bed — 'T will yet be warm — and mend my broken sleep. Giesu ! 't is not a trifle to be rous'd Out of one's dreams at midnight, dreaming too, Mary forgive us ! one of Jerom's dreams, To enter a cold church. Ugh ! Why not let The dead inter their dead? as Christ's self said. Midnight ? Those torches haply will not burn Till morning. Should the relatives come in, And find them out ! TaTces two larger torches which are standing by one of the pillars^ and substitutes them. As he is lighting the one at the head by the one he has thence removed : Now, Messer Aloise, I know not if thou wilt see better now 9* 202 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Giesu Maria! St. Tantiii ! \ping tlie small linh in terror.'] Did he move ? [loolcliig on the face. Oh horror ! and all saints ! his eyelids open ! Runs off toward the cloor^i then stoics, and, coming slowly 'bacTc. This is child's terror : if he be alive, Better for him perhaps, and well for rae. If he be dead, I have seen dead men before. And bloody ones. {Lays his hand on Aloise^s chest. God's holy Cross ! he lives ! [Exit hastily. While he is gone, Aloise gives certain feeble signs of coming to. After a few moments, Enter the Chaplain, with another Pkiest and a Lay-brother. Alo. [without raising his head, and feebly. Gismonda ! {Again lapses into insensibility. Chapl. There ! I thought I heard him speak. Priest. 'T was but thy fancy, brother; and I wish Thou hadst kept it to thyself: my bed was ready. Chapl. But here is what will quite"' thee, were it warm. As mine was. Beats his heart, or not ? Priest. It beats ! Let us be quick. Giuseppe, [to Lay-brother. raise the feet. — ACT IV, SC. 3. 203 He has swoon'd from loss of blood. Ghapl. Or pain. So. [carrying him off. Bear hiin Unto my cell. I am glad my bed is warm. [Exeunt with Aloise. Scene III. The Prison — As in Scene I. of the Act. The scene is lighted iy a lantern on an oahen table. Anselmo. Girolamo. GiROLAMO is seated o?i a iench near the table, hiching his heels together^ and looTcing up noio and then with an air of drollery at Anselmo, lo/io, with folded arms and head depressed., paces gloomily., at moments fiercely, the cell. Ansel, [suddenly stopping, and., after looTcing fixedly for a moment or two on Girolamo. Messer Girolamo Berabo I 204 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Girol. [carelessly.] Well? Ansel. Our sires "Were as our grandsires, and their sires far back, Great enemies. I am thinking that they were [pauses. Girol. Great fools, perhaps. Ansel. Even so. And since you think "What were you doing, Messere, in my chamber ? Girol. What were you doing in mine ? It is all one. Ansel. My lady is a Hum! [clenching his hand fierce- ly., and resuming his walJc. Girol. And so is mine, [hiching his heels together — hut not carelessly ; then spring- ing passionately up and coming forward. Ansel. You seem to take it easily. Girol. Take the devil ! How can I help it? Any more tlian this, That we are thrust together in one cell, "Who hate each other? Shall we fight it out? "We have no arms. But there are solid walls, And here our hands : Your head or mine. "What say you? Ansel. Either you trifle, or you yet not know Why I now speak who never once before Open'd my lips to you, and never thought I ever should. How look you on our fate ? Girol. As a most damu'd one, take it at the best. Ansel. And take it at the worst, as we must do, 'T is this. To-morrow all of Venice knows ACT IV. SC. 3. 205 "We both are Need I breathe the accursed name? Glrol. No, 't is not very amiable.''^ "What then ? How can I help it ? Ansel. But wliat malces it worse, All Venice knows we are enemies ; and, so knowing, "What will it think of what must seem in each Covert design to wound the other's honor ? AVe shall become the laughingstock — Girol. [beginning to show uneasiness.'] And scorn — Ansel. The detestation, and the mere contempt Of every Pantaloon.-' Girol. [someichat passionateli/. Ay. But again I say. How can I help it ? S^e hegins to stride across the stage in the -inanner Anselmo had first done. Anselmo ioatches him a moment in the dim ligJit, standing with folded arms. Then., slowly., arid with deftli of tone. Ansel. Help it? Thus. We are taken up suspected of the murder Of Aloise Foscaro. Let us own it. Girol. [stopiiing short. Art thou in earnest ? Ansel. Earnest ? Am I one "Was ever known to utter words in jest ? Girol. No, by St. Jerom ! Monna Lutia took Your sober earnest seriously to heart. Ansel. That is an ill-tim'd pleasantry, Mesaere. 206 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Girol. It cost me dear then. It was devilisli bitter, Like John's book, in my belly."* Thou may'st cap it With one on me and Isotta, if thou like. Ansel, [with clenched hand, and stamping the floor. Damn her ! Girol. A.J.I damn them both, loose jades! Ansel. Amen ! From the bottom of my soul ! But were they damn'd Effectually by our wish, that saves us not From the deep hell of infamy wherein Their known incontinence plunges, for all time, The body of our honor : for all time ! A moral stench and fire to which the gulf Of Dante's horridest Circle were mild Eden. Think'st thou not so ? Girol. [icith viuch feeling. '[ Peace! name it not,Anselmo. Ansel, [at first shrinking. Anselmo ? — [brie/ hesitation. But 't is well. For thou art hearty ; And I believe our grandsires were great fools. Girolamo Bembo, — 't is thy enemy speaks, Thy enemy that was, but who will be Truly thy friend a few brief hours of life. If so thou wilt, — thou wouldst not live to bear The slur of obloquy, the pitying shrug. The mocking smile, the whisper and the joke: " That 's he ! Lucretia-Lutia's merry keepei*." "Messer Girolamo, how 's thy enemy's rib?" ACT lY. SC. 3. 207 Oirol. [who has hceii patting the- floor loith liisfoot^ Ids lips sternly compressed. Anselmo Barbadico Ansel. [2nirposeli/ disregarding him. Wouldst not beat" To know thou own'dst a wife who more quicMy.] Wouhlst thou bear To be so damn'd, and daily ? Girol. Would I live To lose the all for which life 's worth the living ; Decent opinion and a happy heart ? Better a thousand deaths ! Ansel. It is but one. I '11 share it with thee. Touch my hand. Girol. \_at first shrinhing as Ansel, had done — then.1 with great franlcncss and putting his whole hand into Anselmo''s. I will. This morning I had clasp'd the Devil's as soon. Ansel. We meant to wrong each other, and, so meaning. Did wrong each other. Let us now each other Eight, and that nobly. One thing is resolv'd : Young Foscari died by our joint hands, detected In infamous commerce with our strumpet wives. The how and when, and wherefore we were found — Where we were found, — that must we now revolve ; That not the horrors of the Question force One word from our parch'd throats, to give the lie To each other's story. 208 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Girol. Let them wrench our limbs : Our heart's pang lias a bloodier sweat. — But hark : Is 't right to blacken Foscaro, that ourselves May be made whiter ? Ansel. AVherefore not ? He sleeps : He will not hear it ; and he fell, no doubt, By some avenger's hand ; while our damn'd wives Get but their due. Girol. Ay, damn them ! Venice too, That breeds such vermin ! Ansel. Rather damn ourselves. Who fancied each his footing solid ground. While grinning at his neighbor's floor of glass."* They walk tq) to the tahle, and Girolamo a2)2>6ars to arrange the lantern on it so that they may sit on either side ; and Scene closes. ACT IV. SO. 4. 209 Scene IV. The Sleeping- Cliamber of the Chaplain. A'Loia^ lying hach in an easy chair ; ^ico Surgeons on either side him^ one holding his wrist. His head is bandaged. He is deadly pale, and his eyes are closed. M. DoMENico Maeipetro, Signor of the Night. — The Chaplain. — Hisfelloio Priest. — The LAY-BRoxnEP.. All hut the liAY-BROTIIER come forward, leaving Aloise a little in the iackgro^ind. 1st Sur. You now may question him, Messer Maripetro. 2d Sur. [who had held Aloise's wrist. So it be gently, and at no great length. Marip. I understand you truly then, Messeri, These wounds are come of accident, — from a fall, Not from premeditated violence ? 1st Sur. No. Even without the bruises and abrasions "Which mark the patient's body and his palms, We should not deem him wounded by assault. — 2d Sur. Although it is not impossible. 1st Sur. Although — As thinks my learned brother — presupposing Certain conditions of weapon and attack, It yet might be. But doubt is put at rest. 210 THE DOUBLE DECEIT By the distingnish'd patient's own avowal. \trirning to the Chaj-)!. CJicqA. 'T is so. His Excellence has avow'd he fell From a balcony of the Casa Mora. Marip. Seem'd he to have his senses when he spoke? CTiapl. It might be ; and again, it might be not. 'T was waking from his swoon. The avowal made, He gave a cry of pain and swoon'd again. list Sur. With pardon of his Eeverence be it said, The cry was more of terror or despair, As though in the flutter of returning sense He had iitter'd what was perilous to reveal."" Chapl. 'Tis very likely : I am growing old. Messer Aloise! — [going iip to Alo. Marip. Hush ! — \goes np also. Tlie rest folloic. Messere, [to Alo. — Aloise opens his eyes., and again closes them. You fell, you have said, from Messer Moro's window. Alo. [leaning foricard. I did. — O fatal slip! [to himself . — He strilzes his hands together., and falls liacl'. and groans. 1st Sur. [to Marip.] There! Said I riglit?" Marip. [waving his hand to impose silence. Know you me, Messer Aloise Foscari ? I am one of the Signori of the Night, Domenico Maripetro. Two young nobles Were seiz'd on mere suspicion of your murder, And are detain'd to answer for the attempt. ACT IV. PC. 4. 211 Will you absolve tliem? Whence had you these wouuds? Aloise turns uneasily in the cTiair. A pause. What took you to the Casa Mora windows, Since it must be you were in secret there? Another 2')''J'Use. Alo. \_heavily sighing. Let not the innocent suffer. I must die, And will not keep this secret on my breast Which is lialf utter'd. Ser Giovanni Moro, Whose wealth is known, keeps constantly in his house Large sums of money, and has lioarded jewels Of vast amount, whose storing-place I knew. A fause. The attendants.^ (&c., gaze on him with intense interest. He Tceeps his eyes still closed. Observing that the windows in the rear, Wliich light the corridors, were night and day In the warm season open, I resolv'd This night to scale them. Again a pause — • the company gazing on him with an expression of increasing interest^ ichich noiD p)artalces of alarm and even horror. At the fourth hour then, With a mask'd lantern arm'd and certain keys Whose master wards would open every lock, I threw a rope-ladder to the mid balcony Of the mid floor, where stood a casement open. And mounted. [He p>auscs. 212 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Chajil. O ye saints, aud Sau Fantino! horror, and Jesus-Mary ! And a noble ! The other Pkiest and the Lay-brothek cross themselves. The Surgeons exchange loolcs of dismay^ 1st Surgeon''s mingled icitJi an agression of doubt. Maripetro l-cc2}S his ey^s on Aloise, giving m other sign of emotion than the knitting of his brows. He waves, hoiceter, his hand again, to impose silence on the Chaplain'. Alo. The claws were not well grappled to the rails : My weight drew down the ladder ; and I fell. Wounded and bleeding, half- wild with fear and shame, 1 had the strength to sink in the Canal My implements, and staggering sought my home. But overcome Avith pain and loss of blood, I soon lay down to die. I know no more. Chapl. The Doge's nephew robbing! Holy Cross! Maripetro, gazing a moment fixedly on Aloise (who keeps always his eyes shut), turns round and looks upon the bystanders. • 1st Surgeon betrays strong incredulity. Marip. 'T is a strange story, Messer Aloise ; And be it not disprov'd 't will cost you dear. Robbery has of late been fearful-rife. And the strong hand of law must put it down. Your uncle will not shield you. Alo. Let him not. ACT IV. SC. i. 213 I can but die, and shall perhaps even here. Chapl. The Lord vouchsafe your Excellence better thoughts! As tills is said, 1st Surgeon draws Maripetro forinard. \st Siir. I think his senses wander. Marip. Yet the tale Was congruous and coherent. And his wounds? \st Sur. I have never doubted canie from some such fall. I doubt his motives. Marip. These the law will search. [Retzirnittg to Alo. My painful duty,- Messer Aloise, Must be discharg'd. — Alo. Discharge it. I complain not. Marip. Your father sent for will be shortly here. Meantime I leave you with a single guard, Who shall await without, {going. Alo. Receive my thanks. Enter, Marco Foscjari. Marip. The Procurator is already come. Alo. Father! {painfully. Fosc. My son ! How is it with thee now ? Alo. Poorly in mind and body. I have made [faintly. Confession of my guilt. Fosc. Thy guilt ! He raves ! Speak, Maripetro! Marip. 'T is indeed too true. Your Excellency's son admits to liave fallen 21-i THE DOUBLE DECEIT In an attempt — I am sorry so to speak — To rob the Oasa Mora. Fosc. He is mad ! {gazing anxiovsly on Alo. who Tcecfs Ms eyes closed. \st Sur. For the moment — partially. He should have rest. Bewilderment of the cerebral functions Has follow'd the concussion, as did syncope The blood's congestion. Fosc. [^motioning to the comi^any to go. Give me leave, good friends. Thou dost not fear to leave me, Maripetro, Alone with Aloise ? Makipetro lows^ and Exit icit/i the others hy a door. Aloise ! Art in thy senses? Alo. Never more so, father. Fosc. What hast thou done then? Whence and how this fall? What took thee to Giovanni Moro's house ? Alo. Attempting to ascend a high balcony ; With what intention, spare me to repeat. Fosc. Degenerate boy ! Art thou so lost to shame? Open thine eyes, and look me in the face. Thou cast'st them down! Is 't guilt? This is some cheat ! The tenor of thy past life shows it so. Thou liast Ijeen noble, generous, from a child, Oblivious of thyself for otliers' good, ACT IV. SC. 4. 215 Incapable of avarice : tliou art Foscaro. The tears are gushing from thy clos'd eyes fast ! My own begin to trickle. O my son ! What is thy trouble ? Fear not ! Come ; confess. Thou didst not fall ; thou wast hurl'd down perhaps From some high window, caught in some amour. Make me thy friend : I will not judge thee harslily. Alo. [much moved My father ! FosG. [caressingly. Yes, yes; that is it. Alo. [desiyairingli/. I'fo, no! It is in vain. Let justice have its course. Ask me no more. Fosc. Let justice have its course? Art thou a villain then? And wilt thou hang? Alo. No, I shall die before the cord be ready. Fosc. But, dying so, thou wilt not save our shame. Thou art the Doge's nephew, and my son. Thou art no villain. Either thou art mad. With thy wounds' fever, or there lies here hid Some mystery, perhaps of love-intrigue. Which I shall know to fathom. Rest in peace. I go to the Ducal Palace straight. [^Exit hy the door. Alo. Gismonda! I have stripp'd my honor bare, to cover thine. \ Swoons. 216 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Enter, from the door, Maeipeteo, Chaplain, and Surgeons. The Priest and Lay-brothee hehind. Chapl. [as he crosses the sill. O horror! and St. Job! he is gone again! 'ist Sur. It has been too much for him. 2d Sur. As T foresaw. The Surgeons aiul Chaplain hastily, Maeitetro slowly, move towards Aloise. The ■ Priest and LAr-BROTnEE ^^rcss through the door. And during this movement the Dro]} falls. ACT Y. SC. 1. 217 A o T THE Fifth Scene I. In the Ducal Palace. The JJull of the Council of Ten. LOREDANO, MOCENIGO and others of the Council assemhled. The Doge ^9rcsiV?/?jv7. Doge. Illustrious Signers ! Now the aft'iiirs of state Which call'd you hither are over, ere we part Give me your sufferance. If we call your hearing From the deep thunder of the Milan war To meaner trouble and scarce audible sound "Whose near reverberations startle rarely The far-removed sphere of your high functions, It is not idly. In the affair we indicate There is a mystery, and a double plot Darkly inwoven, and so close-perplex'd. As needs to unravel it your graver judgment And your supreme authority to resolve, — The honor of three noble houses being Therein involv'd. Vouchsafe us then your patience. Have we your high permission to proceed. The Council exchange looTcs of inquiry .^ then gravely nod assent. 'T is known in Venice, Aloiso Foscaro, Vol. IV.- 10 218 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Many weeks since, was taken up for dead Between the open portals of two houses ; Girolamo Bembo's being one, the other Anselmo Barbadico's. Search being made, These nobles — foes, observe ! were found in the dark Each in the other's house, at dead of night. Charg'd with the seeming murder, each apart Avow'd for himself, seeing Aloise pass At certain hours often by their doors. And knowing their wives were faithless, they had lain That night in wait for him, unknown to each other, And, rusliing out together, between them slain him. Hearing then the tramp and seeing from afar The torches of the night-guard, scar'd, bewilder'd, Having chang'd their places in the assault, they fled Each through the other's portal unawares, — Their houses being similar. That the wounded Died not, makes not their story false. But lo 1 Being question'd, Aloise avers he fell From a balcony of the Casa Mora, Attempting — who will credit such a tale ? To rob the house ! Loredano. "Why not ? What 's in a Foscaro, Should save him from the crimes of vulgar men ? Doge. Nothing: but much to keep him from tlieir mean- ness. Lore,!. What's that? the Ducal Bonnet ? Doge. 'So ; but that Which we might say a Loredano wants ACT V. SC. 1. 219 Since the brave Admiral, Pietro of that name, Stoops to offend the feelings of an uncle To gratify the malice of his hate. Mocenigo. [hastily. "What said they to this strange avowal ? Doge, [hawing to Mocen. and then around the Council. Pardon : The trodden worm will turn ; I cannot kiss My enemy's heel. — They affirm'd it was delusion ; Delirium from the fever of his wounds. — By order of the Criminal Quarantia, Search being made in the Canal from Moro's To Barbadico's house, was nothing found, Though Aloise said therein he threw A ladder, keys, and lantern. He avers Still to have fallen ; still the two maintain Their story of assault. Mocen. With what design ? Doge. To find in death a refuge from dishonor. Disgusted with their wives, and sick of life. Made friends by common suffering, they plann'd, Id their deep passion and shame, what now for shame They scruple to retract. Mocen. And Aloise? Doge. Doubtless did fall ; but from what house and how, Lies yet in darkness. Lored. Give them to the rack. All three will render up their secrets straight. Their folly or guilt needs not this high tribunal 220 THE DOUBLE DECEIT To sift or punish it. Doge. 'T is because the rack Threatens now needlessly their youthful liinl)S, We crave in their behalf the CounciFs favor — . To US, not them. Our Procurator brother Has found a clue to Aloise's part, In certain feeble hints Giovanni Moi'o, Close-question'd, gave him. Grant us ample power To search this matter, we pledge our faith to make it Clear as noon-day, the issue leaving wholly To your high verdict. \1ie speaks still to the rest of the Council., without regarding Loredano. Lored. As is simply fit. The Doge would seek immunity for his nephew And brother's son. Doge. The Doge before the Ten Knows not his brother nor his brother's son. Francesco Foscari is servant of the State. When was he ever known to scant his duty ? When to refuse a sacrifice of self? Not only his nephew, does the law demand him, But his own children ; he surrenders all ; Even dead will ye have it so. Lored. [muttered.] It yet may lie."" Moceti. I see no power that may not well be granted Unto his Highness in this strange affair. Why should the noble Admiral refuse To do his enemy justice ? Lored. I refuse not. ACT V. SC. 2, 221 Is it the pleasure of the rest, 't is mine. Mocen. Is it agreed then ? {Joolting round ^tpon the Council. All the members nod affirmatively except Lored.., who remaiixs motionless. It is granted, [to t' e Doge. Doge, [bowing acknowledgment.] Thanks. — Associates, the Council stands adjourn'd. CofNciL, rising, prepare to separate as Scene closes. Scene II. A room in the house of Anselmo. ISOTTA. LUTIA. Lut. Is there to be no end to this suspense ? Isot. Why soon, I think. Now Aloise Foscari Is well enough to stand before a court, The trial must come on. Lut. And then ? 222 THE DOUBLE DECEIT hot. Why then, "What but our lords' release ? Has Foscaro been Too noble to avow the rightful source Of his disaster — which I think was hardly Our friend Gismonda's jewels, — will he seek For safety in our husbands' wild invention ? Its falsehood obvious, they are free. Lut. To vent The vengeance of their prisonment on us. Isot. We soon will turn the tables on them. What ! Did they not bring it on themselves? 'T is little Indeed atonement for their sins ! And we ? Have we gone scathless ? Not the humblest soul Of all our husbands' lineage, scarce a friend Or relative of our own, to touch our hands - Or hold communion with us ! Both set down, In a vile city, as the vilest vile ! Enter.^ Cassandra, j^'^'^'^i-pitately., with looTcs of dismay. What now ? What is it, girl ? Cass. O God! Madonna! Isot. Why dost thou wring thy hands ? What hast thou heard ? What seen ? Cass. Seen nothing — not as yet. But see The town will soon. — O dear ! O dear ! my master ! ACT V. SC. 2. 223 Isot. What of liiia ? Speak ! Lilt. And of my lord ? Cass. They are both Condemn'd to lose their heads between the pillars. — Isot. [jocosely^ and sustaining Lxitia, who appears dumb with horror. Don't faint, iny Lutia ! Cass, \loolcing on Isotta icith surprise. Really though, Madonna! Isot. I do not doubt it. They 're to lose their heads ; And? Cass. Messer Aloise to be hung. Ixot. Ha. ha, ha ! Cass. But it is true. Lut. Isotta! Isot. Now, don't give way ! Here comes Giovanna too. Enter, with lilie diiscomposxire.^ GlOVANNA. "We will hear her first. Well! didst thou see them die? Oiov. \i.n extremity of surprise. Madama ! Lut. Mind her not, Giovanna ! Speak ! What is this horrid story? Giov. 'T is too true. I had it from the porter. And I came Straightway to tell you. And I found the men 224 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Tn the court below were talking of it too. Ixot. [mahing a gestxire to restrain Ltttia, tcJio loohs wihlhj from Giov. to Imt. Talking of what ? — Now, Lutia, do be still ! Giov. 'T is talk'd all over Venice — so they say. Madonna Lutia's, and your lord, Madonna, Will be beheaded in the Piazzetta, And the Duke's nephew hung. Isot. Right wisely done ! Hail Francis Foscaro, tlie new Solomon ! Lilt. God keep us sane ! This horror drives her wild ! Lsot. No, joy. — Thou hast heard how Solomon the Jew, To find the mother, where two claim'd a child, Order'd the little bantling cut in two. So Solomon the Venetian, to discover The entangled secret of our Doiible Deceit., Proposes to behead each Ilushand- Lover, And hang his nephew in the public street. Nay, never stare ! 'T is so, and wisely done. TTail Francis Foscaro, the new Solomon ! Lilt. Do leave thy rhymes, Isotta; and disclose Tliy meaning plainly. Lsot. Plainly, in i)lain prose : Come with me to Gismonda. Lut. With what view ? Ilop'st thou she would admit us noio ? Lsot. I do. Cassandra shall prepare the way. L^ut. Her sire ACT V. SC. 2. 225 "Will shut the door in our faces. Isot. He sha'n't see them. We will go mask'd. Now, not a word, mj dear ! 'T is time for action now, not speech. Go bid Tlie gondola he prepar'd, Cassandra. Lut. No. 'T is but a step. We had better walk. Isot. Tlie barge Will screen us better while wo wait without. {Exit Cass. Come to my closet. I have masks for both. They move towards a dooi'. I hardly think, my dear, the Doge will care To chop two heads off 'twixt the two stone pillars, Because they wish'd to choose 'twixt two down pillows. Lut. No; A^enice would have nought bat bodies then. Isot. Save a few heads — of children and old men. Lvt. O monstrous libel ! Would no women keep Their heads then on their shoulders ? Isot. Some — asleep. Lnt. What then do we awake in this Lot's town ? Isot. O, we are friends, and spare each other's down. {Opens the door., and in the act Scene changes. 10* 220 ^ THE DOUBLE DECEIT SOEXE III. In the lioiise of Giovanni MoTO, As in Act II., Sc. Ill MOEO. GiSMOXDA. Mora. I will have nought to do with it, I say. Thou hast disobey'd me ; and, by thy connivance, Young Foscari would have forc'd his way by night Into my house — I do believe, Gisinonda, From thy own nobleness, not to thy dishonor — GiSMONDA. raises his hand to her lips. Moro draws it atcay with affected roughness. Now, none of tliat ! unless it be in token Of penitence for the past. I say, Gismonda. If Aloise did not enter here, It was by his misfortune, not thy fault; And though thou 'scap'st the forfeit, he shall not ; Not by my movement. Gism. And his self-denial ? Father, thou call 'dst it noble. Canst thou wish To punish him through the very merit which won But now thy favor ? Moro. I punish not. I own, The youth is brave, is noble, is magnanimous, ACT V. SC. 3. 227 I3 worthy of his name : but is 't my fault He lost his balance? I would have pitch'tl him down, Had I been near him. Let liim pay the cost Of his mad passions, as all men must do Sometime or other. Gism. It is done, my father. Frightful atonement! He has barely 'scap'd Alas! with life. Mora. So let his broken bones Teach him a lesson. I will not intercede With his stern uncle. I have done enough. Avowing to his father that he knew thee. Hang him or not, I wash my hands of all. Gism. Yet, for my sake, for mine ! dear father, pity ! Moro. Thou art a fool — or feign'st to be. Thou knowest, As well as I do, Foscari will not hang. He has risk'd his neck to save thy honor ; and thou, I doubt it not, wilt risk thy honor in turn To save his neck. But if thou do, remember, I have no part in it ! And What is this ? Enter Giulietta., Oiul. May it please Madonna, a girl witliout craves leave Of speech with her. Moro. Admit her : I have done. [Exit Giul. Now bear in mind, Gismonda ! I '11 not stir A hand to save hira, let him hang or not. \_Exit Moro — in opposite direction. 228 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Re-enter Giulietta wWi Cassandra. GisMONDA, on seeing the latter^ turns indignantly on Giulietta. Oass. Madonna, pardon me : you have no cause To look displeas'd. I have indeed been sent Oism. [gravely. What does thy mistress want with me, Cassandra ? Cass. It is a matter that concerns you both. GiSMONDA draws herself xip., hut with more displeasure than disdain. Xay, you do wrong her, Madam. On my word, She is innocent, and as virtuous as yourself. Gism. Girl! — Come, [to Giul., and moving off. Cass. Do hear me! Do be just! Giul. Do hear I Appearances, Madonna, may deceive. Ca^s. [significantly. Madonna Mora's self might be misjudged. Gism. Ah! say'stthou? "Well; be brief. Cass. Then briefly, tlnis : My master and Madonna Bembo's lord Made love to each other's spouse. The ladies told Immediately each the other, and contriv'd To assume each other's place. Gism. Ah! truly? Cass. Madam, I and Madonna Lutia's maid, Giovannn, Were cognizant of all and ]iel])'d in all. ACT V. SC. 3. 229 Gism. Could I believe thee ! Cass. That needs not. My lady Brings her own proof. Gism. What mean'st thou ? Cass. They are come. She and Madonna Lutia, to concert Measures with you to rescue all the three, Their husbands and the nephew of the Doge. Will you not see them ? Giul. [Gismonda liesitating. See them, dear my lady : The Devil is not so black as he is drawn. Cass. They are no devils at all. Glul. That 's true ; being come Upon an errand of mercy. Gism. Thou distract'st me : Peace ! — [^-1 pause. Considering. To Cass.] I will see theiu. — Go thou with Cassnndm. [Bxit Giul. and Cass. Gismonda walks thoughtfully to and fro a few moments. 'T is veiy true. Myself might be misjudg'd. I have but Giulietta to maintain My plea of honor. Why should I distrust Isotta, still more Lutia? If the world Traduce them for their husbands' fault, may 't not, When I relate for Aloise's sake My story of the rendezvous, believe 230 THE norBLE deceit Me too impure ? Tlie trial will come hard. But thou didst venture all, thou gallant spirit ! Why should not I ? Alheit the risk for me Is more than death. Enter IsoTTA and Lutia, wearing inaslcs^ which they immediately remove, Cassandra, Giulietta, and Giovanna. Tliese three retire to the hachgroynd^ and, during the colloquy hetioeen their mistresses, Giulietta, in dumb-shoio, appears hy her gesticulations {p)ci'^i^''>'0 ^^ the window, &c.) to he recounting the misfortune o/Aloise. Isot. Salute us not, Gismonda. Spare us a welcome that must needs be cold. Lut. And yet it should not. Why shouldst thou accept. Who knowest us, all a lying world puts forth ? Gism. Your husbands did, \^Gism. speaJcs, though gravely and loith sufficient firmness, yet with diffidence. Isot. Our husbands were deceiv'd. Has not Cassandra told thee ? Gism. [same manner.'] But in brief. 'T was a strange tale. She said thou hadst the proofs. Isot. Wliich we shall lay before the Duke himself. Thou she - St. Thomas ! thou shalt put thy fingers Upon the very marks. Lut. dear Gismonda! What better proof than that our coming brings? ACT V. SG. S. 231 Were we so guilty, wouldst thou see us here ? Look in our faces. hot. It is aptly urg'd. But I may claim to add: What, did we say Young Foscaro Gism. No, no! do not say it! no! Forgive me! We will not distrust each other; not On the world's showing only. [Gives a hand to each. hot. Now then, hear Why we are come. What think'st thou means the Doge? It were preposterous, tyranny unmatch'd. To put to death, even on their own confession, Two men of standing, for a night-assault, When the pretended victim swears himself 'T was never made. The Doge then would discover. Why this self-accusation ; why two foes Were found at midnight each in the other's chamber ; Why his own nephew, hitherto unstain'd, Takes on himself a ci'ime not less degrading Than heinous. In a word, the Doge, my dear, Would bring us out, sagaciously divining We three could solve this mystery if we would. The Doge must have his will. Gism. But how, Isotta ? hot. We must appeal to him — appear before him, If he desire. There is no other way. Especially for thee. But tell us frankly : Thou art the jewel young Foscari came to rob ? 232 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Fie I never blush ; the world must know it soon. Gism. My father had forbidden him the house. hot. Ah? — But the why concerns not us. — Thy sire Knows then of all, and knowing can explain. Gism. Rut that he will not do : he swears it roundly. His stubborn humor — if I must call it so — Thou knowest. Ltd. But hast thou not some friend, Gismonda, "Will speak for thee, and us? our cause being one. For this we are come. For we are stripp'd of friend;* By our misfortune. Isot. Nor will stoop to plead Through any advocate for that mere justice That should be meted us on our own asking, And the bare statement of the naked facts. Gism. So it becomes you best. — [^Considering.]! Vnow of one. There is Stef'ano Moceni'go, of the Ten. Isot. Who better? 'T is the Doge's single friend In a malignant and opposing Council. Let us prepare a letter to the Prince, Requesting in the names of all the three An instant hearing. This, dispatch'd forthwith. The Minister will bear him. Let us haste. The College sits to-day : there is bare time To find the Doge alone. Lut. And not an hour, For the tliree prisoners' sake and for our own, To throw away: tlie town is in a ferment. ACT V. SO. 3. 233 Glsm. Come to my oratory then ; for here My father might break in and interrupt us. Isot. And catcli -without our masks us, wicked pair, And wonder how the devil we got here. GisMONDA leads them to the door of a cabinet^ which opening^ she shows them in. Caxs. Be not concern'd, fair hadies : if 't will do, r and Giovanna here will mask for you. {^Exit Lutia. Isot. [looliing Ijaeh. Thou 'dst better it, thou jade ! — Here wait ye two Our coming back. And keep your faces bare. l^Exit^ followed Jiy Gismonda, who, in character, has loolced rather surprised ; and door closes. Giul. — For Master's eyes. To Cass.'] Charm'd with that modest air, lie '11 think it better pastime here to sue, Than join the ladies yonder at their prayer. Gix;lietta and Cassandra ^j«i on the maslcs and hegin to caricature the airs of fine ladies to the am,usemen t of Giovanna ; and Scene closes. 234 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Scene IV. The Piazztstta. The name concourse as in Act /., Sc. II. ; hut the groups are earnestly conversing and gesticulating^ and a Icnot of people stands in apparent expectation atout the portal of the Palace. In the foreground, an Olt> "Woman coming down the stage, and a Gondolier going up from the left. Enter, from the right, Isotta and Lctia, attended T)y Cassandra and Giovanna. Old Worn, [observing them. Hoot, the bold hussies! Oondol. [facing aiout at the cry. Give them a wide berth; They 've got men's blood on them. Old Worn. Or soon will have. Isof. [firmly, yet in an under tone. Fear them not, Lutia ; we shall soon be through. — Keep close to us, girls. Enter the two Surgeons. Ist Svr. [to Gondol.] "What is this all about? Qondol. [crying out to Isot., &c. Ta'ke care of the columns l'^^ Ye have brought already ACT V. SC. 4. 235 Two gallant men betwixt them, ye foul jades! 2(Z Sur. [to 1st Sur. 'T is the two -wives of the condemn'd young nobles, Bembo and Barbadico. One I know. Gondol. [wJio has turned about to the Surgeons^ after the above obloquy. Then you 've a bad acquaintance. Old Wo7n. [hobbling after Isot., &e., and gesticulating.] Stone the jades! Gondol. [icho has given attention to this cry^ note half- turning again to the Surgeons. I wish I had them bound upon a plank Well-charg'd with stones, between two gondolas! Would n't the boats part quickly!^" Old Worn, [still jntr suing. Stone the jades! [And the crowd in the baclcground tahe np tJie cry : " Stone them ! " The ladies are seen to cower. Gondol. [running uj). I '11 see the muss. 1st Sur. [seriously to 2d Sur. They are in great danger. Enter a body of Sbieei with Captaix. Cajjt. Halt! — Back, ye mad fools ! Disperse, ye hags ! — Left wheel! Forward! 236 THE DOUBLE DECEIT The Archers march up thestage^ and^ the mob sullenly retiring, the ladies, &c.^ continue on their way to the Ducal Palace, which presently {in the course of the Scene) they enter. 1st Sur. \_in tone of relief. In time! Gondol. The Devil take the Sbirri ! They 're always in the way, those fellows ! — Who 's this? Enter from the left GisMONDA and Giovanni Moro and GiULiETTA. They pass slowly up the stage towards the Palace (which they enter before the close of the Scene.) Directly after them, also from the left, the Chaplain. Chapl. \to Gondol. Hush, my brave Barcarole ! that 's Messer Moro. And the young lady, ray brave Barcarole, Is Messer Moro's daughter, Monna Mora. They are going before the Doge. — Gondol. O yes, I know, To inform against his brigand, cut-throat nephew. She 's a brave lady ! He 's a villain ! 1st Sur. What for ? Gondol. What for, my citizen? If seven big murderf For a young fellow, like Aloise Foscaro, Be not enouffh to make a villain! ACT V. BC. -i. 237 Chapl. Seven I horror! and St. Moses ! Why, ray son, He ne'er committed one ! Gondol. So much thou knowect, Good Father! I say, seven. Old Worn. Nay, 't was eight 1 Did n't he stick Madonna Mora's maid? Gondol. St, Peter! no! I '11 tell ye about that. He got up by a ladder with a torch, — Meaning to fire the house, to rob it safely. But, by good luck, Madonna Mora's maid. — That 's she behind her — a right buxom lass I Old Worn. She walks like a crab. Gondol. Thou 'rt crabb'd thyself, old wench : A soft crab ! Old Worn. Ami! thou salt-water hog! 1 '11 let thee feel my claws ! Gondol. Keep off, old mermaid ! I '11 put my oar to thy flippers, an' thou don't. — Well, by good luck, Messeri, as I said. The maid lay with a toothache wide-awake, And, seeing the light, awoke her sleeping lady. They stole to the balcony. Then the maid Dashing the blazing pine in 's face, the lady Tripp'd-up the ladder. Wa'n't it bravely done ? And so we shall see this Princes-nephew hung. Come on, old crab! Three cheers for Monna Mora! Goes np the stage, Old Woman holMing after him threateningly. 238 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 1st Sur. And, Down with the Prince's nephew! if lie durst. Chapl. Giesu ! was ever ! — But I 'ra growing old ! Seven murders ! 1st Sti7'. "Nay, 't was eight." For, " didn't he stick Madonna Mora's maid?" 2d Sur. With lighted torch. ChapL Ah! popular rumor! popular rumor, sons ! 1st Sur. Is a soft-shell crab, of our Gondolier's description. It climbs too high sometimes our mansion-walls: Then ebbs the tide, and the oozy crawler 's left Out of his element. — For the Palace, Father? Chapl. Ay, gentle son. Perhaps I may be needed Before the College, in Foscari's behalf. I heard him mutter some things much like love And Monna Mora's name in his fever once. But I am growing old now. 1st Sur. So are we. 2d Sur. And bound for the Palace too, with similar views. Chapl. Come then, my sons. St. Fantin, and all saints ! 'T were a great shame, to hang a Doge's nephew. 1st Sur. Slight fear of that, good Chaplain. 'T is a sham : A plummet let down in the well of Truth. Chapl. Think'st thou ? 'T is likely. But I 'm getting old. St. Christopher ! they must not hang him yet. If we can help it. Come away, fair sons. TTiey more up tlie stage, ami Scene closes. ACT V. SO. 5. 239 Scene V., and the last. /;;- the Ducal Palace. The Hall of the College. On the right^i in his roles of state, and crowned with the Ducal Corno, the Doge 07i his throne between his Six CoTJiirsELOES of the College, — having before him Lore- DANO, MooENiGO, and others of the Council of Tex. In the haclcgroxind, the Criminal Qtjaranti'a, and others of the College. In front of them, standing, the Avvo- GADOEE MoROsiNi. — In the centre of the stage, someichat baclc, stands Aloise, with two Sbieei behind him leaning on their pikes, Maeco Foscaeo on his right hand, and Maeipetro, a little behind him, on his left. — More for- ward, and somewhat to the left of Aloise, Bembo and Barbadico, tcith four Sbirri and the Captain of the Night. Near the left wing, far down in the foregroimd, the Chaplain and the two Surgeons {who enter however during the Doge's speech ). Doge. By your advice, most learn'd and noble Counselors, The other members of this potent College Giving consent — our brothers of the Ten Therein conjoin'd, by whose illustrious sanction This strange affair ( which from its private nature, Affecting individuals not the State, Concerns a portion rather of your body, The Criminal Forty, than the exalted whole)" 240 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Was given to us to manage at our will For tlie great ends of justice and the good Of tlie aggriev'd concern'd, — by your joint order And liberal sufferance, shall we now proceod To loose the tangles of this intricate plot, For whose unravelment all Venice waits Impatiently. The jirisoners stand before you. Two parties, who profess to hold the key To unlock this mystery, attend witliout. Is it your pleasure they be summoned in And questioned ? The DoGK loolcs around tlie ai'semhly, tchich gravely hoioing, he motions with hi^ hand, and Enter IsoTTA and Lxitia, attended ly Cassandra and Giotaxna ; then, after a irie/ interval, Gismonda, leaning on Moeo's arm, andfolloiced hy Giri.iEXTA. As IsoTTA 2}(isses "before Axselmo, she throws at him a side- long looh of malicious pleasure, which Anselmo returns with one of concentrated indignation. Girolamo glances with a half-imj^atient half-careless looJc at Lutia, wJw however Tceeps down her head. He then exchanges hols with Anselmo, who clenches 2y«'Ssionately his hand. — without however lifting it. Ye, who answer for the Ser Ansehiio Barbudico and the Scr ACT V. SC. 5. l!41 Girolamo Bembo, stand befor our throne. The other dame be seated. GiSMONDA, after mutely endeavoring to per- suade MoRO to remain iy her {pressing his hand in hoth of hers, &c.), talces a seat which is offered, first exchanging a timid and anxious loolcAoith- Aloise, ^oho appears deeply moned. Giulietta stands up hehind her chair. Moeo has retired close to the left loing of the scene, l)efore Gis- MONDA sits, and stands near the Ciiai^lain and SUEGEONS. Now, fair ladies, Why challenge ye our hearing ? And what plea Put forward, that the sentence of our will And the Ten's mandate should not be enforc'd? Isot. Illustrious Prince ! And ye, exalted Signers! 'T were hard, even in a presence less august, To speak of matters, which to merely intimate Throws doubt upon our virtue: but the safety Of our lovxl husbands, and our own dear honor, Therewith involv'd, allow of no reserve. I know not by what influence, certaiuly not Through her enticement, who was ever grave And decorous in her carriage, my staid lord Made love to Monna Lutia, while to me Her gayer mate paid, almost at one time, A similar compliment. How this should chance I cannot say. Perhaps being learn'd, they had read, Like pairs with like, and birds will flock together Vol. IV.— 11 242 THE DOUBLE DECEIT "Who find a semblance in each other's feather. Tlte assevibly smile^ while Anselmo ( on whom Isotta glances maliciously) and Gieolamo mvttcr together and exchange looks of rage and shame. Lutia and I from childhood have been friends. Having had one foster-motlier. From tlie love "We bore our husbands — how reciprocated, Your Highness has just heard, — we never pass'd, After our marriage, through each other's door, Contented o'er a hedge, which parts in two The garden of our homes, from time to thne To liold communion. Thus it was, one day, We told each other of our Christian lords, Wlio, hating one another unto death. Kept all their charity for each other's wives : Again the glance hij Isotta ; and again Anselmo and GiKOLAMO appear excited. And who had grown so curious to explore Their neighbor's dwelling, that they could not wait Till Time should open them the common gate. But sought to creep in by a private door. This time Axselmo and Girolamo — especially the latter — are so far mccstered hy their 2)assion, that the Captain of the Guard is ohliged to restrain them. Mocenigo, observing the com- motion.1 exchanges glances with the Coun- cil., and then looTcs up to the Doge, inho thereupon. Doge. The prisoners will have patience till their hour ACT V. SC. 5. 243 To give response. Else bear tliera to their cell.-*. — Proceed, fair lady ; nor restrain your wit. Isot. To know them better, and to make them know Us better, and to punish each her spouse, We plotted to encourage them, and made Appointments, feigning nnto each our lords Were gone from home; and ere the appointed hour Each by assistance of the other's maid Stole to the other's chamber, there awhile Study VI, and for a purpose, all it held. Then waited, in the dark as was agreed, Our husband-lovers. These had been prepar'd, For reasons obvious, not to hear us speak. • Our ears however open, while we listen Each to the worship paid her rival friend, Sudden there is a tramp upon the stair, The door is open'd, the attending maid Warns us of danger, and, still in the dark. We flee through the garden and regain our homes. Here stand our maids, the witnesses of all, And aidant in the X)lot from first to last. — What follows need T tell ? The Husband-Lovers. Detected ignomini(nisly, assum'd The guilt of a murder which they knew not yet Had never been committed and had never Been even attempted, eager to escape Contempt and laughter in the unconscious grave. Thus ends our story. If I have been lone, Weighing on solemn hours, already heavy 244 THE DOUBLE DECEIT With burdens of the State, I pray my Prince And all your Excellencies, for my sex'3 weakness. To escape your censure. Doge. Nay, receive our praise. Lady, you have well spoken. What have ye, Messeri, to respond. Ansel. But briefly this : The story is collusion. Isot. And our maids? Ansel. Are purchas'd. Iwt. Whence this ring? — Illustrious Prince, I took it from liis finger, in the chamber. Ansel. 'T was Lutia took it ; and thou hadst it thence. Isot. Here is the copy of the note thou hadst. I wrote it first for Lutia. Oirol. 'T is a copy Perhaps taken after. Isot. Say'st thou, Messer Bembo? My maid will find the woman, an' thou list. Who took from her the copy, which she bore From Lutia to Anselmo. Ansel. That is nought. Who cannot buy such women, when thy maid Herself is purchas'd ? Doge. Messer Barbadico, Ourself can urge thee. Seest thou nothing, then, In the dark chamber and the silent lips ? Ansel. Pardon, my liege, — I see no proof therein Of more than simjjle shyness, or, be 't said ACT Y. SC. 5. 245 With greater aptness, merely simple shame. Gh'ol. [who has been ahsorhed in thought — sudden!//. But I, magnanimous Prince, begging pardon too Of all that hear me, plead now for our wives, Advancing this strong proof. When she I thought Was Monna Isotta heard me call her thus. She drew her hand away, and fell to weeping. Even then, before I well could think, the alarm Was given, and the dame escaped. But now, I know 't was Lutia ; and I ask forgiveness. Doffe. She is weeping now ; but not, I think, from grief. — And thou, Anselroo, hast thou nought to say ? A pause, Anselmo a2)pearing to consider. Cliajil. \low to Surgeons. St. Zachary ! is he dumb before the Duke ! Wait till I 'm asked : I will not hold my tongue. Ansel. A light breaks on me too; and I avow, With penitence, great Duke, we both have sinn'd \ Sinn'd in false censure, as in bad intent. I do remember now, tliat I was shock'd, When fancied Lutia slily laugh'd to hear My whisper'd vows. Isotta so had done. Isot. Yea verily, and did. And is that all Thy memory owns ? Thou hast forgot to speak Of one thing more. How when I fled away, I lent thee with my fingers on thy cheek A compliment which Lntia would not pay. Ansel. I own the debt, and that 't was well incurr'd. Doge. These noble ladies' honor is now purg'd 240 THE DOUBLJi DECEIT Before all Venice. But not jet absolv'd Stand tlieir two lords. Eise up, Madonna Mora, And -what thou knowest deliver unreserved. ChsMONixv rises xoith an effort^ seems to stmggle with herself^ then sits down again — or rather sinTcs into the chair. 0Jw2)l. \_in under tone to 1st Stir. St. Lazarus! poor thing, how scar'd she is! I should be too. But I am getting old. Doge. Be not dishearten'd, noble and gentle lady ! Giul. [loiv to Gism. For Messer Aloise's sake. Madonna, He would have died for you. GiSMONDA, rising instantly., casts one looh oil Aloise, then seeming to gather courage., speaks., with a voice which gradually strengthens in its tone of modest firmness., hut zcith eyes cast doicn. Gism. It is most true : He would have died for me. — Illustrious Prince, Were it my honor, as it is but pride And womanly shame that are involv'd, — for him, Who vcntur'd life and honor both for me. Should I not oifer it? [Lifts her eyes with an expres- sion of deep gratitude to Alo., then casts them doicii again. Brief 2nmse. Aloise Foscari Lov'd me — and woo'd me. But his sire had chosen Another partner for him. For this cause. ACT V. 8C. 5. 247 And being of kindred to tlie Loredani, My sire forbade me to receive his visits, Under the certain pain of being shut out From his heart aUke and home. What could I do ? That very day, Aloise was to come. — Intercepted by my maid, not knowing why My father had forbid him, in despair He urg'd me through the girl to give him liearing In secret and by night. As 't was to bo In a balcony, and my maid beside. The eloquence of his passionate distress, Repeated by the girl, o'crcame all fear, And womanly shame, and prudence, and, oh me! All filial reverence. — At midnight then, A cord let down drew up to the balcony A ladder, which we fasten'd to the rail. — Young Foscaro ascended. [Her voice hreahs. In his haste To reach — to reach my outstretch'd arms —he fell. Overcome. Brief pause. Ghapl. [loio. Oh horror ! and all saints ! he was no robber. Tlie Duke won't need my evidence after all ! Gism. {recovering — and with energy. My lord, he is the noblest of all men ! Lest found beneath the window he should stain Her honor whom he lovM, he dragg'd away His body, all broken and bleeding, from the door. To die elsewhere. 248 THE DOUBLE DECEIT Pause of Irlef agiiation — looMng tenderly and gratefully on Aloise. Tlie assembly^ with exception o/Loredaxo, ecijice deeji interest^ and turn tlieir eyes on Aloise, who casts doion his own. We saw him, by the moonlight, Holding his head between his uprais'd hands. For fear his innocent blood should spot the scones And be for evidence. — Here is my maid, Who witness'd all. The ladder is at home, — ■ To be produc'd, if this be not enough. Tlie Doge hends toward the Counsei.oes and the Ten-. They appear to nod assent. Doge. It is enough. The prisoner is free. But did it rest with us, thou noble Gismonda, He should be bound again with other chains — Thy heart his prison. Morosini. Eests it then with me ? My daughter Lisa shall not marry now, My lord, your nephew. He has clomb too liigii. And fallen too low. FosG. So be it. — Aloise, [with tender reproach. Oouldst thou not trust me? — Take him, gentle Indy r The gallant boy hast won thee like a hero ; And thou, redeeming him, has shown the prize Was worth the conquest. ACT V. SC. 5. 249 Gism. [Alo. aliout to taJLeherJiand — looTcing round to Moro. But iny father Moro. [approaching. 1 iSTay, I have said, I have no other thought than honor For Aloise Foscaro ; and since His Procurator ^ire and Ducal uncle Sanction the union, I might give my blessing ; But [stops.1 looTcing full on Loredano. Lored. What 's 't to me ? I stand not in thy way. Marry tliy daughter, man, to whom thou wilt, Or let her marry herself in thy despite ; That makes me not fourth cousin to the Foscari. Moro. But it may make thee less of kin to me. Come hither, children. I have stepp'd between you, Partly in honor, partly in that, a fool, I set more by old friendships than new loves. [Glancing at Loredano. I have taught me better now. God bless you both ! Foscaro may be, as thou didst say, Gismonda, One day the prop of my declining years. He puts their hands together. Gismonda raises his to her lips. Tush, tush ! keep all such dainties for thy spouse : He has better earn'd them. While this tahes p)lace^ the Husband-Lovers a7ul their loives have embraced. Isott &.Jirst extends her hand to AxsELMO, which he lifts very gravely to kiss ; 11* 250 THE DOUBLE DECEIT hrit she