Chapter IV: Part 4

_F._ No reason at all.
Except....

_D._ Except what?

_F._ Since your ladyship
Well knows the full devotion which I lend
To her affairs, I fear not to incur 630
Blame of remissness, if I beg for once
To be excused this service.

_D._ (_aside_). Ah, he is hit.

_F._ I’d travel to the corners of the globe
To serve your ladyship: and in a journey
So light as this, one that would never burden
The most unwilling servant, I can beg
Without reproach that you will find for once
Another messenger.

_D._ What then prevents you?

_F._ Good cause enough; though ’tis not of a nature
To welcome question.

_D._ There’s no person, Frederick,
That more regards your health, nor more regrets 640
Your slightest ailing than I do. I fear
You have done me wrong concealing from my knowledge
The true state of your health ... but if ’twas kindness
To spare me anxiety....

_F._ I assure, my lady....

_D._ I have thought you looked of late careworn and pale.

_F._ My health is excellent.

_D._ I am glad to hear it.

_F._ The expression of your good will reassures me
Your ladyship will humour me.

_D._ And I would
Most gladly, were it a matter that admitted
A bearer of less trust. But as it stands 650
There’s nothing for it but your going to-night.
You are out of sorts, Frederick: maybe the travelling
Is just the change you need. Give me that pen,
I’ll write the letter at once. (_F. gives and D. writes._)
If you fear cold
You can close up the coach. The journey is short:
’Twill cheer you, and do you good.

_F._ (_aside_). Curse on my fate.
How can I escape? What devil hath now possessed her
To thwart me thus? And after all my service
To insist: so small a matter.

_D._ (_giving_). Here is the letter. 659
Deliver it, please, with your own hand. Leave here
At six o’clock to-night. Take Tristram with you.
’Twill make me more at ease on your behalf,
In case you are ill. (_gathering up papers._)
And whatsoe’er you do
Return by noon to-morrow: at which hour
I need the answer. You will oblige me much.
I wish you a pleasant journey. [_Exit taking the papers._

_F._ Is that a blindfold player? Who is it to,
This letter? The Duke of Milan! Ha! can it be!
Is that the mischief? He is discovered, and I
Suspected of complicity, and thus 670
She would expose us both?

_Re-enter Tristram._

We are both undone.

_T._ (_half aside_). Another letter! came this like the last
Borne on the winds?

_F._ (_aside_). She hath recognised the Duke,
No doubt. ’Twas natural. But why suspect
That I am in his secret? Till I am sure,
I must still play my part.

_T._ (_aside_). Secrets again:
More mysteries.

_F._ (_to T._). Order me horses, Tristram,
At six o’clock.

_T._ What! is she off?

_F._ Who off?

_T._ The lady you should meet to-night.

_F._ Plague on you!
A coach at six: and be yourself prepared 680
To accompany me.

_T._ Where go we?

_Re-enter Ricardo._

_F._ To the devil.
Order the horses.

_T._ Is our destination
A secret?

_F._ No.

_T._ Then who will ride postilion?

_F._ Go, fool, at once. [_Exit T._
(_To R._) Richard, you come in time:
You are recognised. See here! The Countess bids me
Deliver you this letter.

_R._ (_taking_). To me! Diana!
Why! ’tis addressed to Milan. ’Tis impossible.
Nay, nay; she knows not. What hath made you think it?

_F._ Because she bade me post this night to Milan
To give this in your hands. I pleaded sickness, 690
Begged she would find some other messenger:
Yet she refused. She would trust none but me.

_R._ And why, man, if you thought I was suspected,
Did you refuse? Another messenger
Must have betrayed me.

_F._ True. I was a fool
Not to have thought of that. No, now I think of it,
I knew not whither I was to be sent
When I excused myself. The fact is, Richard,
I thought I was discovered, and lost my head.
Laura and I had fixed to meet to-night. 700
Our only hope is flight: misleading others,
She has fallen into a trap: she is bound to marry
That fool St. Nicholas. I must persuade her
To run away. Unless we meet, the moment
Of all our life is past.

_R._ I see it: I see it.—
And so she hath writ to me! Why should these words,
Writ by her hand so set my heart adance?
Is it beautiful? Nay,—but ’tis my name that leads
Every direction of these little curves,
Which, by long intercourse of hand and brain, 710
Were specialised to typify and betray
The hiding spirit? There are such secrets here
As dazzle lovers’eyes. She will be mine.
She wrote me a letter once before in scorn,
With studied terms of coldness: yet to me
That seemed—I treasure it still—a lovers’meeting
Of our two names on the same conscious page,
A daring intimacy, her own betrothal.
Was I deceived boasting so crazed a title?
What saith she now?

_F._ Ha! do not break the seal. 720

_R._ Is it not mine?

_F._ She yet might ask it back:
And ’twould betray us if I had given it up.

_R._ Yes: you shall keep it till you start, and then
Give it to me. You must discover of course
That I am away from home, and leave the letter.
Will not that do?

_F._ This is my ruin, Richard:
It means that I must be away to-night;
And that prevents my meeting Laura; and that
Leaves the field to my rival.

_Re-enter St. Nicholas._

_R._ Hush! see, he comes.

_N._ That paper you are in doubt of, gentlemen,
Is, I opine, the poem which I have lost:— 731
You picked it up in the garden?—a private trifle
Which I’d recover gladly.

_R._ I am sorry, sir,
’Tis no such lofty matter. A letter it is
Sealed and addressed, which takes our friend away.
But I can say with truth, I’d rate myself
The happiest man in the world, could I believe
That what I hold was fashioned ever so little
In your romantic vein.

_N._ You make me proud, sir.
Yet, you should know, I do not think my poems 740
As good as others think them: they are but trifles.
I wish that I could stay to explain my meaning;
But I must seek my sonnet. [_Exit._

_R._ Your rival. O heavens!

_F._ A fool that fortune favours.

_R._ Not at all.
Diana hath here some purpose we have not guessed.
Come to my room: there we will read her letter;
And if it shew no sign of my discovery,
I’ll write it such an answer as it asks;
Which, when you have, you may perform your service,
And see your mistress both. ’Tis but to start 750
At the set time, and turn about in the dark.

_F._ Make a pretended journey?

_R._ An expedition
Some ten miles out and back.

_F._ I’ll do it, Richard.
O, you were ever excellent.

_R._ Arrange
Some practicable stages; and remember
To keep an eye on the time.

_F._ Trust me.

_R._ And, hark!
If some night you should make the real journey,
Would Laura fly with you?

_F._ Fly where?

_R._ I’ll tell you.
I have planned the whole thing for you: I put my palace 759
At your command; my servants shall receive you;
The archbishop marry you, and all my friends
Attend your fête.

_F._ You cannot mean it, Richard!

_R._ By heaven, I do: but you must first persuade
Your lady to make sail.

_F._ That would be easy,
With such a port to run for. But how soon?
It could not be to-night.

_R._ I need one day
To warn my people. Come now to my room,
Where we will read this letter. Our success
Depends on secrecy.

_F._ True.

_R._ Go within:
To avoid encounter I will follow alone. 770

_F._ To your room?

_R._ Yes.

_F._ Which suite are you in?

_R._ They call it
One of the Grecian muses.

_F._ Yes, but which?

_R._ I quite forget. At the end of the corridor,
Beyond the tower.

_F._ I know. You’ll find me there. [_Exit._

_R._ To get this Frederick married, more concerns me
Than anything else. ’Tis plain Diana loves him:
And till he’s gone, ’tis folly to besiege
Her garrisoned heart. I must engage my skill,
Like a wise general, to draw off the foe.
That I can do. ’Tis a most blessed chance 780
That he is so well disposed, and hath a lady
Ready to run off with him. The very thing
I plot to save myself, most helps my friend. [_Exit._

_Re-enter Tristram with a paper._

_T._ I have found a prize: just exactly what I wanted:
one of my master’s love-letters, or a piece of one,—
that’s the third to-day,—lying on the walk. It was not
there when I went to order the horses, else I must have
trod on it; but when I came back, it lay in the middle
of the path, as if dropped from the skies. Reveal what
it may, it goes to the Countess to-morrow; and it
should stand me in something handsome. Unsealed,
unfolded even, for any to read: and no name. Poetry
like my master’s. There’s no harm in my reading,
even though I should not understand.

(_Reads._)—‘_Master of mine!_’—Ha! ’tis the lady.

‘_Master of mine, remember for pity,
What sobs of fluting lips, wan with dismay_,’

Poor thing!

‘_And malison of death, my soulless clay,
Panteth in thine unspeak’ble purgat’ry_.’ 800

_Unspeak’ble!_—that is unspeakable; and _purgatree!_
—why the big O hath fallen out. I never loved this
purgatory, and quarrel not at any shortening of it.—
‘_Enchained long whilom._’—Mysteries and crimes!
chained is she? Where can he have chained her? and
how, if she be chained, can she have cast this on the
path? unless she threw it from the window....

‘_Enchained long whilom, was I fain to flee._’

Just so! But is she fled or no? I wish she wrote
clearer sense.

(_Re-enter St. Nicholas behind._)

‘_Enchained long whilom was I fain to flee;
But thou, with wildered phantom disarray,
Nightly disguised in the blue garb of day,
Besetdst the sleep-gates of my melanch’ly._’ 815

Hem!

_N._ (_coming forward_). Tristram, where found you
that? it was not intended for your reading.

_T._ So I guess, sir; but if letters be purposely thrown
open on the ground, they may be read by those for
whom they were not intended.

_N._ Give it to me. ’Tis mine.

_T._ I see no sign of that, sir, unless you will say
that everything which the ladies let fall belongs to you.

_N._ No impertinence, man: give it me at once.

_T._ Nay; I have my duty. This belongs to my
master. I shall guard it for him.

_N._ I tell you ’tis mine.

_T._ So you said of Lady Laura’s glove.

_N._ That has nothing to do with it. Give me the
paper.

_T._ Not till ’tis proved to be yours, sir: which can
never be.

_N._ I tell you, Tristram, that I wrote it myself.

_T._ We shall soon see that, sir. This is writ
by a lady; who is prisoned or chained somewhere in the
court. And she says;—well, what she says I cannot
tell; but my master thinks she has run away, and has
bade me order the horses to be after her.

_N._ What ridiculous stuff you make of it, Tristram.
’Tis addressed to Love: you do not understand.

_T._ Yes: it is love, and court love too: I understand
that well enough, and I understand that ’tis writ to a
man; therefore ’tis pikestaff-plain that ’tis writ by a
woman: therefore it half follows that you did not write
it: and therefore it belongs to my master.

_N._ How therefore belongs it to your master?

_T._ Why, whose else should it be? His letters come
from the four quarters, no one knows whither; just
where this came from.

_N._ Nonsense, Tristram: I assure you ’tis mine.

_T._ Think not to owl me thus.

_N._ Man! I swear that I composed that poem myself.
Had you any culture you would distinguish it from the
poor style of a woman. It has fallen from my pocket
by accident: and if you will not give it me, I must
take it from you.

_T._ Hands off, sir, now. I can’t think why you should
try to get what belongs to another. You are mistaken.
'Master of mine’it says—and would a man write
thus? (_begins to read_).

_N._ Death! stop mine ears! That I should hear my verse
Again profaned by thee, thou baseborn clown.

_T._ I read correctly, sir. If you find fault with my
reading, ’tis the strangeness of the matter. I have
good reasons for not parting with this; and I am not
a baseborn clown.

_N._ Worse; thou art a thief.

_T._ Thief call you me? Now were the verses ten
thousand times yours, sir, I’d never give 'em you.
I defy you!

_N._ Thou to defy me, slave; paid by the month
To render menial offices to one
Himself the annual hireling of the lady 875
Whom I shall call my sister! O thou fool,
If reason cannot work into thy skull
'Cause of its wooden thickness, I’ll find means
To punish thee.

_T._ Good day, sir. Stand you here and rail. I must
be off with my master after this lady. But I shall not
forget your language to me, sir: be this paper what it
will. [_Exit._

_N._ Tristram, Tristram, I beg of you! my sonnet!
my sonnet!

ACT · II

SCENE · 1

_Night. The garden, at Laura’s windows, which are nearly to the ground. L. a wall with door in it leading from the park without. Enter by door in travelling costume FREDERICK and TRISTRAM carrying a small portmantle. F. stays behind to lock the door._

_TRISTRAM_ (_coming to front_).

Here’s a journey: twenty miles about and home again: and no lady. Were it not for the letter I found on the path, I should hold to my opinion that it is all a make-believe, and that there is no lady at all: and that my master wrote that first letter to himself, making the appointment to meet himself, ... he returns so pleased, with his head in the air, like the best satisfied lover. I have a fool for my master. He is but a fool, tho’he needs no humouring. (_To F. who approaches._) Well, now we are at home again, sir; and as it were partly returned to our senses....

_FREDERICK._

Silence, Tristram. Take off your boots.

_T._ Pray, sir....

_F._ Not a word. Obey me. 900

_T._ Heaven help us! what is this for?

_F._ Silence. Are they off?

_T._ They are coming.

_F._ Hark now what you have to do. Cross the grass
silently, unlock my door, creep upstairs like a thief,
and sit in my chamber without a movement till I
come.

_T._ The grass is like a sponge. I have begun to
catch cold already: I am just going to sneeze.

_F._ Sneeze, and I’ll strangle you. 910

_T._ Is this your treatment for all my services?

_F._ Your service is your duty to obey:
And once you served me well: of late you are grown
Questionous and prying; which I have so far borne,
Because I have been in doubt whether it were best
To thrash you or discharge you.

_T._ And no wonder neither. Thus the world will
repay devotion. Can I see you so blind to your good
fortune, and when heaven’s door stands open....

_F._ Heaven’s door! what is this? 920

_T._ You do not know.

_F._ Say what you mean.

_T._ This court, wherein you serve and get no thanks,
You might rule and be thanked.

_F._ Just as I thought;
Ere I dismiss you I shall tell the Countess
Your insolence. The whipping you will get
Will save me trouble.

_T._ I pray you on my knees.

_F._ Get up, fool, lest you sneeze. And would you escape
Your rich deservings, be off. 929

_T._ Betray me not, sir: I will obey you better.

_F._ Silence: go do as I bid you. Begone, and take
your boots. [_Exit T._
So my man knows her secret. ’Tis high time
That Laura and I were off. This salves my conscience
From any scruple. ’Tis a rule of art
To make obstructions serve: and my chief hindrance,
Diana’s passion, can but urge me on.
So the mischance, which drew me hence to-night,
Hath brought me hither a more secret way.
The night is still. I would there were a wind.
And there’s the clock. (_Clock strikes._) I’ll wait
Till it hath sounded.... No light.... I’ll tap. 941

(_Goes to window and taps. Laura comes to window and opens._)

_F._ All’s well. ’Tis I.

_LAURA._

Frederick, not gone to Milan?

_F._ I escaped but with a thousand torments—
May I come in?

_L._ We can talk here.

_F._ The night
Is very still, our voices will be heard:
They run along the wall.

_L._ Then I’ll come out.

_F._ We shall be seen.

_L._ The maids are all abed.
There’s none to see us; and the moon is clouded.
We’ll walk by the yew hedge. Give me your hand.

_F._ ’Tis but one step.

_L._ I know. (_Comes down._)

_F._ My kiss. (_Kisses her._)

_L._ O Frederick, 950
You have broken your own rule, and kissed me thrice.

_F._ One kiss a day, with two days in arrear,
Makes three.

_L._ Alas! I thought ’twas love’s excess,
And still I am kissed by rule.

_F._ And be content, love,
To keep the little rules we make ourselves,
Since thou must break such great ones; and canst dare
Deceive the Countess, disobey thy father,
And brave the world’s opinion: all which sins
I come to stablish in thee. There’s now no choice
But fly with me or take St. Nicholas. 960

_L._ That name is desperation. Have you no plan
To save me?

_F._ If you dare fly with me to Milan.

_L._ To-night?

_F._ Would ’twere to-night.

_L._ But when, love, when?

_F._ Trust me to find the time.

_L._ And why to Milan?

_F._ My friend the Duke, being now away from home,
Lends me his palace. All we else should lack,
Appointment and conveyance, he supplies.
We have his countenance now, his influence after,
To appease your father and sister.

_L._ Are you such friends?

_F._ There cannot be two hearts in all the world
Nearer-familiar than are his and mine. 971

_L._ You never told me.

_F._ I had not heard from him
Now for three years.

_L._ ’Tis strange.

_F._ Nay, ’tis not strange.
Ours was a boyhood friendship; such affection
Born in life’s spring is perfect with the flower.
The memory is a binding intimacy,
Which grows as we grow from it: in its strength
Is our lost tenderness; its truth is proved
By every lie the world has given our hopes:
Absence and age best feed it. We remember 980
First ecstasies, and the unreserved embrace
Of mutual spirits, and worship the remembrance.
The Duke and I are strangers in the world,
Courteous acquaintance in society,
But to ourselves, twin individual gods.

_L._ Alas, poor me!

_F._ Can it displease you, love,
I have such a friend?

_L._ Ere it is too late, Frederick,
Think if you love me enough.

_F._ Why, ’tis a question
To make me think you think I think I do not.

_L._ Indeed, ere I consent to be your wife.... 990

_F._ You have consented, Laura.

_L._ Nay, but hear me.
Before we marry, you must know a thing,
Which, since it might lessen your love for me,
Shall not be kept till after.

_F._ Then tell it quickly.

_L._ What you have said, and what I have to tell,
So dwarfs my little humble plant of love.

_F._ Tell it.

_L._ Diana loves you.

_F._ You know it too!

_L._ You know it!

_F._ I!—Why, Laura, is this your secret?

_L._ I see you have guessed it; yet, perhaps, for thinking
Thou shouldst be loyal where thy faith is cherished,
Thou hast never weighed her claim with mine; and that 1001
I’d have thee do. Look to thine interest:
For loving women differ not so much
But all may make good wives; and whatsoe’er
Thou thinkest to see in me, Frederick, I am sure
I lack all excellence. There’s nothing in me
Why I should have preferment o’er another,
And least of all of her who can boast loveliness
To match her love; and add those other gifts,
Which are necessities to one like thee. 1010
Thou, with high friendships shouldst have power and station,
And fitted for the fairest use of wealth,
Thou art wronged in the want of it: and, Love, I love thee
So better than myself, that I would see thee
Happily another’s rather than my own
With the reproach of selfishness, the knowledge
That thou wert sacrificed for my poor love.

_F._ If women differ little, what of men?
St. Nicholas loves you, and would give you rank.

_L._ Thou knowst thou wrongst me, Frederick, turning thus 1020
My love of thee to banter of my love.

_F._ I only banter where you dare be grave.

_L._ Because thou knowest, Love, I desire not wealth.
My happiness would be to live with thee
And for thee: but to thee what can I bring?
Think not because I wish thee fortunate,
That I forget my hope, or slight the treasure
So much desirèd of my loving soul.

_F._ And for that loving soul you bid me take
Some fifty thousand ducats by the year, 1030
A major-domo, and a heap of things
That are a proverb for their emptiness!

_L._ Diana’s love, I said; that with the ducats.

_F._ Well, what doth all this come to when ’tis told?
First is Diana’s love. Diana’s love
Is nothing, for I do not love Diana.
Next are the ducats: fifty thousand ducats.
They are nothing either—by the year! Why, Laura,
Were’t fifty thousand ducats by the day
’Twere nothing to me. You can little guess 1040
My prodigal soul. I should expend it all
And sit at home and be as poor as ever.

_L._ How could you spend so much?

_F._ Nothing is much.
Man’s capabilities being infinite
And his state pitiful, the simplest scheme
For bettering any faculty he hath,
Would eat up all the money in the world.

_L._ But to use riches rightly—

_F._ I have no desire
That earth can satisfy, but one; and that
Shall I play false to?

_L._ Nay; I trust you well. 1050

_F._ Then waste no more the precious moments, Laura,
To question the great blessing we enjoy.
Our hours will all be as this hour to-night;
Either to step with in eternity
Towards our perfection with unwavering will,
Or with a questioning purpose let it slide,
And leave us far behind. A man’s desires
Are his companions and by them he is known;
But he himself is what he grows to be
Using his time.

_L._ How best to use it now? 1060

_F._ First to assure thee, dearest, that all the joys
I have had or hoped are nothing to thy love.
And next, that we may make it sure, I ask thee
To say thou’lt fly with me.

_L._ When, Frederick, when?
I fear ’twill never be; we have but two days.

_F._ Therefore be ready at any moment, Laura.
All’s fixed except the time: that must depend
Upon occasion. If I cannot see thee,
Ricardo, whom I have made my confidant,
Will bring thee word. He cannot be suspected, 1070
And thou mayst trust him.

_L._ Dare I tell my father?

_F._ That’s my chief scruple; and yet we dare not tell him.
If only Providence would give him back
His hearing for one day! After one day
Spent with St. Nicholas, I should not fear
To broach our matter.

_L._ He has the marriage contract
Ready to sign.

_F._ Not as he thinks. By luck
They entrusted it to me; and as I have drawn it
He cannot sign it. He must give it me back,
And that will make delay.

_L._ Of all these chances, 1080
If any one go wrong....

_F._ All will go well.
See, here’s my portrait, Laura, which I promised:
’Tis framed like yours; that is its only merit.

_L._ O, let me have it.

_F._ Take it. That you should care
To look upon it, makes me ashamed.

_L._ O, Frederick!
If you knew all my foolishness, I think
You would despise me. By this little light
I can see nothing. Is’t well done?

_F._ So, so.
It flatters me: but that’s the artist’s trick.

_L._ Flatters you! 1090

_F._ Well, it taints me with the fashion,
Which is the vulgar dress of imitations,
And a less blunder than mere naked skill.
The individual ideals are given
To genius only.

_L._ I would have had you painted
Just as you are.

_F._ Nay.—Hark! I hear a step....

_L._ What can we do?

_F._ Some one is coming hither.

_L._ Where can we hide?

_F._ I cannot think; unless
You creep along the hedge. I’ll wait and see
Who ’tis. I think it must be Tristram. [_Exit Laura._

_Enter Ricardo._

_RICARDO._

Frederick!

_F._ Richard! what is the matter? 1100

_R._ Forgive my coming:
But if you wish it thought that you are at Milan,
Your room should not be lighted, and your servant
Should not be singing.

_F._ Singing!—is Tristram singing?

_R._ Hark! You may hear. [_T.'s lute heard faintly._

_F._ By heaven!—the wretch! Tell Laura
Why I am gone. All will be lost. [_Exit._

_R._ Indeed,
Unless Diana is sleeping very soundly,
The escapade’s betrayed.

_Re-enter Laura._

My service, lady.

_L._ I heard you speak with Frederick, sir, and thank you
For your kind offices.

_R._ I need no thanks.
I have a deeper interest in your welfare 1110
Than you can guess. I fear that fellow Tristram
May ruin us all.

_L._ Frederick hath told me, sir,
You know our secret, and will act between us;
For which I thank you. I bid you now good-night:
I should go in.

_R._ As soon as possible.
Pray you be not observed. But first I beg you
Thank me for Frederick’s visit.

_L._ You, sir! why?

_R._ Why, but for me he had been at Milan.

_L._ Ah!
I thank you very much.

_R._ He doth not scheme
Well for himself. He needs a wife.

_L._ Indeed 1120
I cannot scheme.

_R._ And ’tis the fairer wish
You neither may have ever need. Good-night.

_L._ Good-night, sir. [_Exit in at window._

_R._ She’s a good creature, quick and sensible;
She’ll fly with Frederick. It provokes my soul
That that conceited inconsiderate loon
Should put us all in peril. I have half a mind
To take him in my pay.

_Re-enter Frederick with a lute._

_F._ Is Laura gone?

_R._ And not too soon. If your fine musical man
Have waked the Countess she may have heard you too.
He is silenced now, I hope.

_F._ Here’s his curst lute: 1130
I took it from him.

_R._ Ha! then give it to me.
The very thing. I’ll step into the gap,
And take the blame of this untimely singing
Upon myself. Go in and leave me here:
And if to-morrow any ask who ’twas
That played and sang at midnight—why ’twas I.
Go in.

_F._ Well, bravo, Richard: you’re a genius.

_R._ Leave me.

_F._ I go. Good-night. [_Exit._

_R._ Now must I sing.
And when there’s none to hear I am sometimes able
To please myself: else I must ask indulgence. 1140

_Sings._

My eyes for beauty pine,
My soul for Goddës grace:
No other hope nor care is mine;
To heaven I turn my face.

One splendour thence is shed
From all the stars above:
’Tis namèd when God’s name is said,
’Tis love, ’tis heavenly love.

And every gentle heart,
That burns with true desire, 1150
Is lit from eyes that mirror part
Of that celestial fire.

_NICHOLAS_ (_heard entering unseen_).

Very sweet!

_R._ (_aside_). Ha! have I an audience after all?

_N._ Ricardo, I believe.

_R._ St Nicholas, is’t not?

_N._ Your lute, sir, as Amphion drew the trees
Up by the roots, hath drawn me from my bed.

_R._ Would I could make the lyrical apology
With which, I doubt not, he replanted them.

_N._ Nay, no apology. And, to say truth,
’Twas not so much your music as my wish 1160
To catch the singer brought me out. I thought
’Twas Frederick’s servant. He should not forget it
If I should catch him breaking rules.

_R._ I hope
I break no rules.

_N._ You see you are very near
The ladies’windows.

_R._ True: of course I must be.

_N._ And serenading is among the offences
Punished with diet.

_R._ Being a stranger, sir,
I cannot be suspected of the knowledge
That might incriminate me. You, no doubt,
Are more familiar.

_N._ Yes, there is one window 1170
Which I should know: and as you chance to stand
Just underneath it, I will not dissemble
That when I saw you first I felt the pangs
Of maddening jealousy. To find ’twas you
Relieved me entirely.

_R._ Nay then, truly, sir,
I owe you apology: for if your mistress
Should have mistook my falala for yours,
The poor performance may have hurt your credit.

_N._ Nay, sir, I sing so seldom, I only fear
I cannot be suspected. If I might 1180
I’d ask you sing again. There’s nought affects me
Like music in the moonlight.

_R._ I would oblige you
But for the rules you speak of. Were’t not better
We should go in? ’tis midnight.

_N._ Oh, I could sit
And sigh beneath that window all the night.
Is there not wondrous softness in the thought,
That she one loves is sleeping?

_R._ I will leave you
To your love thoughts.

_N._ Nay, nay, no reason, sir.
I have full leisure for sweet meditation.
I will go in with you. ’Tis a rich comfort 1190
To dream of the belovèd. [_Exeunt._

SCENE · 2

_On the terrace, in front of the house. Enter DIANA and RICARDO. FLORA attending Diana._

_DIANA._

What time is’t, sir?

_RICARDO._

I heard the bells of the town
Strike ten but now.

_D._ Ah! you can hear the bells,
Because they are strange to you. I note them most
The days they miss.... And so ’tis only ten....
I hope you are comfortable here, Ricardo:
Gregory took care of you? The clocks for example
Did not disturb your rest?

_R._ Your ladyship
Means to reproach me with late hours: but if
I had thought my singing could be heard.... 1200

_D._ Your singing?
How musical the world is now-a-days—
Yet I heard not your singing.

_R._ I am very glad:
I feared I had offended. For myself
I can assure you that though some things here
Remind me of Milan, where the Duke....

_D._ Remember,
Speak not to me of Milan.

_R._ A thousand pardons,
I am schooled to hide my thoughts, and shall obey:
Tho’in your sight they wander to the duke,
Who for that grace in such sad sickness pines.
A lord so loving, and so fair a lady, 1210
Would she be also kind,—would make their courtiers
As envied as themselves.

_D._ Enough, forget him.
But say you that he is really sick, Ricardo?

_R._ Hopelessly he languishes. I do not think
He is long for this world.

_D._ So consumed with folly!

_R._ I too thought that his love was folly, lady,
Till I came here: but now I know he is wise.

_D._ I half suspect he sent you here to try me
With soft insinuations.

_R._ ’Twere his wish
I do not doubt: although he spake no word 1220
That I could wrest to such instruction, madam.

_D._ You serve him well.

_R._ May all your servants ever
Love you as I do him. Yet that’s too much.

_D._ ’Tis all too much. But I can truly boast
I have very faithful servants. There’s Sir Gregory:
I think you could not better him at Milan.
What say you?

_R._ Sir Gregory is the very mirror
Of knightly reverence.

_D._ He is sadly deaf.
Then there’s my secretary.

_R._ Your secretary?

_D._ Frederick.

_R._ Ah, Frederick: on so short acquaintance
How can I judge?

_D._ You have a faculty 1231
Of observation, which I am pleased to prove:
Besides, since you are a stranger,—as you note
Our clocks,—your eyes, no doubt, while yet they are fresh,
Will pounce upon a thousand little things,
Which we are blind to, seeing every day.
Tell me your first impression.

_R._ Your ladyship
Would never task me thus, but in security
Of finding perfect praise. I’ll rather think
You ask me my opinion, as do poets, 1240
To judge of my capacity.

_D._ Nay, nay.
Nor will I force your flattery. Speak your mind.
I hold him not in wondrous estimation.
What of his person?

_R._ He has a good deportment,
Yet stoops a little.

_D._ You have a soldier’s eye.
He is tall, and hath the scholar’s negligence.
A martial stiffness were much out of place.

_R._ True: and his open grace seems less a manner
Than very nature; being itself unlinked
With any distant bearing.

_D._ Now you teach me. 1250
You might have known him long to hit him so.
Have you talked with him much?

_R._ Enough to prove him
A most ingenious gentleman.

_D._ Ah!—ingenious!
Ingenious;—that is a doubtful word.
You do not mean contriving?

_Enter F. and T. in their travelling costume as before._

_R._ See, madam: ’tis he that comes.
(_Aside._) Her love is but a fancy; else would she never
Provoke discussion on him, and seek to praise him.—

_D._ Frederick: returned so soon!—miraculous.
Such expedition. Thou canst scarce have rested.
’Tis two hours ere thy time.

_FREDERICK._

’Twas my good fortune 1260
To meet no hindrance.

_D._ But thy health, good servant;
Thy sickness?

_F._ Madam, let my quick despatch
Bury my late reluctance. I confess
I was unreasonable. Indeed, the journey
Hath quite restored my spirits.

_D._ Yes, so it seems.
I hoped that it might be so. Hast thou my answer?

_F._ ’Tis here. (_Handing letter._)

_D._ Thou must have roused the Duke from sleep.

_F._ ’Twas such an hour as one might look to find
A duke a-bed.

_D._ And he was not? Pray, tell us
Exactly how he was employed.

_F._ I chanced 1270
To find him banqueting in merry company;
Such as make war on night, and march their force
Across the frontier, for a long campaign
In the enemy’s country.

_D._ (_to R._). Banqueting, you hear.
And at that hour.

_F._ All night they kept it up.

_D._ (_to R._). Hark you.

_R._ I hear and wonder. (_To F._) Say you, sir,
The Duke was merry, that he held a feast
Within the palace?

_F._ (_aside_). Heavens!—how I have blundered!
Nay, sir, I said not so: I said expressly,
Or should have said, he was another’s guest. 1280

_R._ And yet I have never known him....

_F._ Indeed ’tis true:
He said to me himself those very words.
I have never known myself do this, he said.

_TRISTRAM_ (_aside_).

Now, they are at their fooling again, and not a single
word of any sense. ’Tis enough to drive a man mad
with bewilderment.

_R._ (_to D._). To plunge into distraction so unwonted
Argues despair. Grave men use dissipation
To drown their misery.

_D._ No doubt: and yet
Answer not for him.

_F._ True it is, my lady,
He did confess as much to me a stranger. 1290
Despair;—that was his word. He seemed, withal,
Wondrously put out at all I chanced to say:
And very sick he looked.

_T._ (_aside_). Madness and lies! I’ll hear no more of
this. (_Goes aside to Flora._)

_D._ It seems that dissipation
Agrees not with grave men.

_R._ Heaven smite me dead
If I protest not ’gainst the wrong you do him.

_D._ So hot!—Well, thrash this out between yourselves:
’Tis nought to me. And, Frederick, when you have dressed,
Rested, and breakfasted, attend me here. 1300
I thank you for your service.

_F._ You are welcome, madam,
To all such offices. (_Going._)

_D._ Please leave your servant.
I have some papers ready indoors to send you.

_F._ I thank you. [_Exit._

_R._ I crave permission: I would follow
To ask of my particular affairs;
How they are spoke of whence he comes.

_D._ (_bowing permission_). I hope
You will hear good.

_R._ (_aside, going_). My Frederick needs fresh prompting.
He is so preoccupied in his own love,
That I am forgotten. [_Exit._

_Diana opens the letter._

_T._ (_to Fl., shewing and shaking purse_). Look here! Listen here!

_FLORA._

What have you there? 1310

_T._ Money,—ducats: all ducats.

_D._ (_reading aloud_). _I could not have chosen, among
all my friends, one more discreet and serviceable than is
Ricardo. There is nothing so difficult that he has not experience
for it ... nothing so private but that he may not
well be trusted with it.... He has been accustomed to
manage all my affairs...._

_Fl._ (_to T._). But where did you get them, Tristram?

_T._ Ah! She gave them me.

_Fl._ The Countess! What for? 1320

_T._ Secrets: and there’s more where they came from.

_Fl._ More secrets, or more ducats?

_T._ Both,—plenty of both.

_Fl._ How nice for us.

_T._ Us! Who d’you mean by us?

_Fl._ I mean when we are married, Tristram.

_T._ Married, say you, now? I thought you had not
promised. When I had no money you hung off. Now
you see me as rich as Plutarch, you’re quick enough.
But it’s a hoax. I filled this bag with curtain-rings to
deceive you: and where are you now?

_Fl._ O, Tristram, let me see.

_D._ Tristram!

_T._ Your ladyship!

_D._ I’ll speak with you.
Flora, depart. [_Exit Flora._

Now, Tristram, tell me shortly,
What you have learned.

_T._ I have found a letter, madam,
Writ by the lady. (_fumbles for it._)

_D._ Indeed!—that is good news. 1341
Nothing could please me better. In so short time
This is done excellently. Who is she, Tristram?

_T._ I think she is chained up somewhere in the court.

_D._ Chained in the court! What mean you?

_T._ Here ’tis, my lady:
Read for yourself. (_giving._)

_D._ Why this is poetry;
And in St. Nicholas’hand.

_T._ I hope and trust
Your ladyship will not take his part.

_D._ His part!
What does this mean?

_T._ I picked that up in the garden:
St. Nicholas found me with it, and said ’twas his.
I stood by it firmly ’twas the lady’s piece, 1350
And written to my master. He called me a thief;
And if your ladyship....

_D._ Stay, Tristram, stay.
This paper is nothing: take it, and right yourself,
As best you are able, with St. Nicholas....
Tell me now all that happened on the journey
I sent you last night with your master.

_T._ Your ladyship
Sent him?

_D._ Of course. I sent you both to Milan.
When did you arrive there?

_T._ At Milan! Is’t possible
Your ladyship should think I have been to Milan?

_D._ Not been to Milan?

_T._ Me!

_D._ You accompanied 1360
Your master?

_T._ I did.

_D._ (_holding R.'s letter_). And he has been to Milan.

_T._ It’s true, your ladyship, I understand
Nothing my master says, and very little
Of what you say to him: and if you say
He 'as been to Milan, I’ll not meddle with it.
But if you say that I have been to Milan,
I am very much deceived. I do not like
That any man should think such things of me;
That I can go and not go, and be here
And there at once.

_D._ Stay, Tristram; tell me plainly 1370
All that your master has done since yesterday.

_T._ Well, first I found him with another letter,
All sighs and groans: then suddenly he bade me
Order the horses, and prepare myself
To drive with him to the devil at six o’clock.
At six we started on the Milan road
And came by dark to Asti; there we changed
Both horses and postilions and drove on:
And after three hours’jolting, when I guessed
We should be nearing Milan, the coach stopped
In a ferny glade, and we got out; and then 1381
I saw we were at Belflor, and the trees
Were in your ladyship’s park.

_D._ Ah! Then what did he?

_T._ Came in and locked the gate of the park behind us,
And sent me on to his room, and bade me wait
Till he should come.

_D._ What hour was that?

_T._ Eleven.

_D._ (_aside_). The hour, no doubt, when he should meet his mistress—
When came he in?

_T._ By midnight.

_D._ He locked the gate....
The lady is in the palace.

_T._ So he pretends.

_D._ He let slip nothing on the journey?

_T._ He lit 1390
A pocket-lamp, and sat, mute as a fish,
Counting the minutes on his watch; and then,
As if it served as well to tell the time,
He fetched the jewelled portrait from his breast,
And gazed on that.

_D._ A portrait?

_T._ Certainly.

_D._ Carries he a portrait, say you?

_T._ Certainly.

_D._ You know not who ’tis of?

_T._ Not I, my lady.

_D._ Could you get sight of it?

_T._ Impossible.
At night ’tis neath his pillow, and all the day
He keeps it in a little special pocket 1400
In his doublet here, just under his heart; or if
He pulls it out, he holds it by his chin
Where none may see.

_D._ You should have told me of this,
This portrait: have you no guess who ’tis of?

_T._ I guess ’tis part of the pretence, my lady;
For when the fit is on he’ll talk to it:
And once I saw him kiss it.

_D._ Thank you, Tristram.
Take now these papers to your master at once
And tell him....

_T._ (_going_). I will, your ladyship.

_D._ Stay yet....
This letter which he brought me, did you see 1410
Whence he procured it?

_T._ I suppose, my lady,
He wrote it himself, no doubt of it. Where else
Should he have got it?

_D._ Tell Ricardo, Tristram,
I wish to see him here, at once. Your master
May wait on me at noon.

_T._ About that gentleman....

_D._ Begone, and do my bidding. [_Exit T._
They have met in spite of me—they have met: and he
Hath dared to disobey me and lie to my face.
Who can it be? who is she? she is in my house....
Ah! what a prey I have netted! One of my maids....
One of my maids, it must be.... O detestation! 1421
And he hath her portrait. Ah, he loves, he loves.
The love that taught me to dissemble and scheme,
Hath taught him to meet plot with counterplot.—
Frederick, dear Frederick! ’tis unworthy of you:
This is too hard upon me.... I loved you well.
Shame, shame, shame, shame! Indeed he cannot know
How much I love him ... he cannot. Am I too old
At twenty-seven? out-matched! I had taken too
This letter for the Duke’s. Ho! the insolence 1430
To assume his fulsomeness! to forge in terms
Of a humble obedient lover, so he might
Keep tryst with.... O shame, shame! and then to write it
He must have broke my seal, and read my letter—
He has gone too far: here is a slip in honour
Which I may work on. I’ll not give him up,
Not yet. He can be shamed: and first I’ll prove
The forgery, and then wring confession from him.
’Tis well I have at hand so trusty a witness.

_Re-enter Ricardo._

_R._ Your ladyship sent for me.

_D._ I did, Ricardo. 1440
In answer to the favour, which most gladly
I do you at the Duke’s request, I beg
A service for myself.

_R._ My honoured master
Commands me, lady; and you command my master.
I am twice yours.

_D._ Again! well—Look at this!
Is this your famous master’s writing? Look.
You know it? (_giving letter._)

_R._ As my own.

_D._ Is that then his?

_R._ It is,
And writ his best.

_D._ Why, ’tis a forgery,
And you are deceived.

_R._ Nay, ’tis no forgery.

_D._ You are certain? 1450

_R._ Certain.

_D._ You may read it through,
Though ’tis about yourself. Examine it well,
If ’tis authentic. You will only find
Prodigal praise to make you blush.

_R._ (_aside_). No wonder
If I do blush, faced with my own device.
(_aloud, giving back._) I’ll strive to make this good.

_D._ And ’tis his hand?

_R._ It is.

_D._ I am glad, because it came as answer
To a letter I wrote but yesterday, and gave
To Frederick, ordering him to ride to Milan
And give it the Duke. This morning, as you saw,
He hands me this. His servant who was with him
Tells me that he has not been to Milan at all, 1461
But slept in the court.

_R._ (_aside_). Pest on that sneaking dolt!

_D._ What say you now?

_R._ May he not have used some other messenger?
I had my doubts when he brought in his tale,
That history of the banquet.—Did I not say
The Duke was wronged?

_D._ True, true; and tho’I am glad
He is quit of forgery, he is not of lying.
What can I think?

_R._ I thought your ladyship 1469
Trusted in Frederick wholly. When this morning
You praised him to me....

_D._ Praised him! stay, I beg:
I praised him not, save to draw words from you.
And you described him well; did not you say
He was contriving?

_R._ Then you trust him not?

_D._ See how he acts. Ah, if I told you all!
And yet to tell argues much confidence....

(_Ricardo is silent and Diana continues._)

I have strange sympathies, affinities,
Magnetic or electric it may be,
Which rule my trust and liking: if all feel them
I cannot say: in me they are intimations 1480
Of supernatural efficacy: I find
My first impressions never prompt me wrong.
Some men I see only to avoid,—You know
A strong example of that;—on the other hand
There are some faces,—eyes, I think,—that draw me
At first encounter; so that I often fancy
There must be a subtle emanation thrown
By the spirit, as light from fire. Now yesterday
When I saw you, I felt the secret shock
Which told me I was in presence of a soul 1490
In harmony with mine, one I could trust,
If I should need a friend: and when I wrote
To the Duke, it was not that my judgment wanted
The assurance which his letter gives. I knew
How it would be.—I hardly think, Ricardo,
That, had I asked for his own character,
Your master could have writ more praise.

_R._ I wish
To please my lady, as I have pleased the Duke.
I have kept his secrets.

_D._ I shall tell you mine.
Frederick hath had for some time an intrigue 1500
With a lady—you understand,—a liberty
I never have allowed, nor will: besides
In him ’tis most intolerable....
Now yesterday it chanced I came to learn
He had made appointment with this certain person
To meet by night: I know not who she is;
But, wishing to prevent it, I contrived
To send him on my message to the Duke;
With what result you have heard.

_R._ The Duke, my lady,
Is the only gainer here.

_D._ And are not you? 1510

_R._ Yes, I too, if I am raised in your esteem.

_D._ Then you must help me.

_R._ I can truly vouch
Your ladyship has read my heart and soul.
I feel heaven-drawn to serve you to the death.
What is’t to do?

_D._ Only seek out this matter
For me; discover who this lady is.
For private reasons I feel justified
In using any means to learn the truth
Dishonestly held from me by my servant: 1519
And so I have questioned Tristram. He assures me
They met last night: but he is profoundly dull,
And not in Frederick’s confidence.

_R._ Has he no notion
How Frederick got this letter?

_D._ No.

_R._ Nor a hint
Of this mysterious lady?

_D._ He cannot help you.

_R._ Your ladyship must have a near suspicion.

_D._ Only a suspicion that’s unfit to tell.

_Enter Laura._

Here is my sister, whom I wish to question.
Come to me soon again; I have meanwhile
Myself a stroke to play. When we next meet
I may know more. 1530

_R._ Your most devoted servant. [_Exit._

_D._ Good morning, dearest Laura.

_LAURA._

Good morning, sister.

_D._ Did you sleep well last night?

_L._ I slept till nine.

_D._ What hour went you to bed?

_L._ Not very late....

_D._ Nay: but what hour?—before eleven?

_L._ (_aside_). What’s this?
Are we discovered?

_D._ Was it before eleven?

_L._ I cannot tell. Why do you ask, Diana?
What is it has happened?

_D._ Answer me, I beg,
And you shall know. About that hour of the night
Did you hear any noise?

_L._ (_aside_). Ricardo’s singing.—
What kind of noise?

_D._ Why, any noise, between 1540
Eleven and midnight.

_L._ Did you hear a noise?

_D._ No: but did you?

_L._ O no: I heard no noise.
What made you think there was a noise?

_D._ I have reason.

_L._ Was there a robbery?

_D._ Nay: no robbery.
And yet there was, Laura, a robbery:
Of honour,—our honour,—of woman’s honour.
Laura, thou knowest the sacredness of love:
Love is the one thing in the world which women
Must guard from profanation; for by love
They rule; and if they trifle with their power, 1550
They come to be men’s chattels, not their queens.
Thou’lt soon be married, Laura, and I can talk
Freely of these things: I have taught thee the religious
And philosophic doctrines; but to-day
We deal with facts. And first, then, I rejoice
Thy husband will be a man whom thou wilt rule,
One who adores thee reverently, who holds
Of love, as I, and with some special fancy:—
He is quite a poet.—Why, now, shouldst thou smile?
Thou hast no taste in poetry, but suppose 1560
St. Nicholas had lacked that inner sight,
Had fancied thee merely because he thought thee
A fine girl, and had used the common tricks
Of odious trifling, till he dared to kiss thee,
And meet thee alone, and put his arm about thee....

_L._ Good heavens, Diana! I hope you do not think
He has ever done so.

_D._ No: of course he wouldn’t.
But ’tis a fact men do such things; and that
Not with one woman only. And ’tis true
That there are ladies who admit the addresses 1570
Of more than one man.

_L._ O Diana!

_D._ Indeed,
’Tis true: and women are to blame if men
Make them their sport. Thou’rt shocked: but ’tis a fact
That this detested pestilence invades
Earth’s every nook: my palace doors and bolts,
My strong precautions, my well-known regard
For strictness, my injunctions, my example,
Cannot expel it.

_L._ Pray, Diana, tell me
What it is: you frighten me. Was any caught
Breaking the rules, or is it but suspicion? 1580

_D._ Of the two criminals, the man I know,
The woman I know not; but if I knew her,
I am in the mood to kill her.

_L._ (_aside_). Thank heaven, she does not guess me—
Who is the man?

_D._ Better not ask; it matters not to thee:
But thou canst help me find this erring Eve.
If thou’st observed in any of the maids
Conscious behaviour, scrupulous regard
To petty adornment, or, what most betrays,
An inconsiderate blushing....

_L._ (_aside_). The maids, she says! 1590
One of the maids! Good heavens!—

_D._ Marcela:
Could it be she? She is handsome.

_L._ ’Tis not she:
She tells me all her secrets.

_D._ Dorothy?

_L._ I do not think it.

_D._ Katharine?

_L._ No, not Kate.

_D._ I’ll find the traitress out.

_L._ (_aside_). To save myself
I had best fall in with this.

_D._ What do you say?

_L._ I have not a suspicion,—but....

_D._ But what?
What?

_L._ If there’s any one who might be charged
With levity....

_D._ Who is it?

_L._ You’ll not be angry,
Diana?

_D._ Nay: but tell me.

_L._ I should say, 1600
If there’s one frivolous, and more than others
Unapt to profit by the rules....

_D._ ’Tis who?

_L._ I think ’tis your own maid.

_D._ Flora?—pooh! pooh!
Flora’s almost a hoyden.

_L._ (_aside_). How stupid of me!

_D._ They meet at night, Laura: unless he dares
To pass my chamber-door, ’tis in the garden.
Your window looks that way. I thought last night
You might have heard them.

_L._ Why, it’s very unlikely
I should hear through the window.

_D._ Still, your window
Gives you an opportunity to watch. 1610
You could step out and hide in the garden.

_L._ Alone?

_D._ I would not ask my sister to play spy,
If it were possible that any scandal
Dared with its spotted finger point at her.

_L._ But who is the man, Diana?