Scenes From an Unfinished Drama - Scene 2
Scene [II] — The front of the Candian Palace
Enter G REGORY
Gregory . This comes of travelling. It seems all a dream. I'm not sure that I shan't wake and find myself in the arms of the dear old chair at the Bull. My master, whom it is impossible to resist, offers me to go with him; I consent; and so he ties me in a manner to his coat like a witch, and off I go; first scouring over the road to the sea-side; then rocking up and down, up and down, till I'm sick; then scouring away again; then dragged up mountains into the clouds, till my teeth chatter for fear and cold; then whew! down again like a flourish on paper; then jolted along, all unbuttoned for heat; then bitten till I could have got the sign of the comb to scratch me; or scraped acquaintance with a brick wall; or taken to the cunning custom of flogging myself for penance; or winced, and tumbled, and beaten myself and the very air about me, like a shirt hung out to dry in a high wind: — then comes some more sea-rocking, and then says my master, " Now, Gregory, we land for good:" — thinks I, looking about me, and seeing nothing but canals for streets, and houses standing out of them like so many cows in a pond, — — I hope we don't land for evil: and I had scarcely thought the word, when we took to boating it again, and hey! presto! down goes that Will-o'-the-wisp, my master, souse over head and ears after a fish in petticoats.
Enter V ANNI
Vanni . Well, Gregory, this is a strange unaccountable circumstance, isn't it!
Greg. What, a fall in the water! not half so strange to me, Vanni, as that you Venetians will have so much water to fall in.
Van. If we hadn't so much water to fall in, we shouldn't have so much love to fall in. Our shows and our shows-off by day, our gondolas, and our serenades, what should we do without them? And the water causes or sweetens them all. You'll hear guitars to-night twinkling about like stars. I won my mistress's heart by a plunge higher than was known before into the River of Song!
Greg. How these Venetians do talk! Guitars twinkling about like stars! and a plunge into the River of Song! there 's a name for a canal! It's fine talking, and sometimes puts me in mind of my master's friends, Master Shakspeare and the others at the Mermaid; but what name comes home to me like the manly and natural one of Fleet Ditch!
Van. You seem sad, Gregory. We shall cheer you up before long. We have every thing here to make a man merry, — rowing, laughing, sunshine, music, women, every thing.
Greg. No, Sir, no, Sir, — you haven't my wife and Bunhill-fields.
Van. There 's plenty of fields over the water, and as to your wife, my dear Gregory, I never heard you talk much about her before. Besides, she told you she should be quite happy, you know; and she looked so.
Greg. Ah, Sir, and then you pretend that the English women are not so chearful as yours. Oh, I never loved my wife more than now I am in the thick of 'em. Oh, how I loved her during the squall at sea! and how prodigiously I did love her, when I thought I should have broken-my neck on the top of the Alps! I hope, Sir, you found your intended as well as could be expected after your absence.
Van. Better than ever: as hearty as you'll find your wife, Gregory: — but how formal and ceremonious you seem to think it necessary to be in your pathetics. Come, man, I'll show you the lions, as you used to say, and keep my word better too, as far as stone lions can go; and then I'll introduce you to Momola. She'll rouse your spirits for you. We'll cross the way to St. Mark's. Bartolo, there! Hallo! Mind the canal, Gregory, you'll run over the parapet.
Greg. Lord! the very dangers in this place have nothing Christian about them! We can't even be run over by a horse, but must be warned how a parapet is run over by a man.
Van. We'll go round by the bridge if you prefer it, Gregory.
Greg. Ah, do.
Van. Never mind, then, Bartolo, this time.
Greg. Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of meeting with some dust.
Enter G REGORY
Gregory . This comes of travelling. It seems all a dream. I'm not sure that I shan't wake and find myself in the arms of the dear old chair at the Bull. My master, whom it is impossible to resist, offers me to go with him; I consent; and so he ties me in a manner to his coat like a witch, and off I go; first scouring over the road to the sea-side; then rocking up and down, up and down, till I'm sick; then scouring away again; then dragged up mountains into the clouds, till my teeth chatter for fear and cold; then whew! down again like a flourish on paper; then jolted along, all unbuttoned for heat; then bitten till I could have got the sign of the comb to scratch me; or scraped acquaintance with a brick wall; or taken to the cunning custom of flogging myself for penance; or winced, and tumbled, and beaten myself and the very air about me, like a shirt hung out to dry in a high wind: — then comes some more sea-rocking, and then says my master, " Now, Gregory, we land for good:" — thinks I, looking about me, and seeing nothing but canals for streets, and houses standing out of them like so many cows in a pond, — — I hope we don't land for evil: and I had scarcely thought the word, when we took to boating it again, and hey! presto! down goes that Will-o'-the-wisp, my master, souse over head and ears after a fish in petticoats.
Enter V ANNI
Vanni . Well, Gregory, this is a strange unaccountable circumstance, isn't it!
Greg. What, a fall in the water! not half so strange to me, Vanni, as that you Venetians will have so much water to fall in.
Van. If we hadn't so much water to fall in, we shouldn't have so much love to fall in. Our shows and our shows-off by day, our gondolas, and our serenades, what should we do without them? And the water causes or sweetens them all. You'll hear guitars to-night twinkling about like stars. I won my mistress's heart by a plunge higher than was known before into the River of Song!
Greg. How these Venetians do talk! Guitars twinkling about like stars! and a plunge into the River of Song! there 's a name for a canal! It's fine talking, and sometimes puts me in mind of my master's friends, Master Shakspeare and the others at the Mermaid; but what name comes home to me like the manly and natural one of Fleet Ditch!
Van. You seem sad, Gregory. We shall cheer you up before long. We have every thing here to make a man merry, — rowing, laughing, sunshine, music, women, every thing.
Greg. No, Sir, no, Sir, — you haven't my wife and Bunhill-fields.
Van. There 's plenty of fields over the water, and as to your wife, my dear Gregory, I never heard you talk much about her before. Besides, she told you she should be quite happy, you know; and she looked so.
Greg. Ah, Sir, and then you pretend that the English women are not so chearful as yours. Oh, I never loved my wife more than now I am in the thick of 'em. Oh, how I loved her during the squall at sea! and how prodigiously I did love her, when I thought I should have broken-my neck on the top of the Alps! I hope, Sir, you found your intended as well as could be expected after your absence.
Van. Better than ever: as hearty as you'll find your wife, Gregory: — but how formal and ceremonious you seem to think it necessary to be in your pathetics. Come, man, I'll show you the lions, as you used to say, and keep my word better too, as far as stone lions can go; and then I'll introduce you to Momola. She'll rouse your spirits for you. We'll cross the way to St. Mark's. Bartolo, there! Hallo! Mind the canal, Gregory, you'll run over the parapet.
Greg. Lord! the very dangers in this place have nothing Christian about them! We can't even be run over by a horse, but must be warned how a parapet is run over by a man.
Van. We'll go round by the bridge if you prefer it, Gregory.
Greg. Ah, do.
Van. Never mind, then, Bartolo, this time.
Greg. Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of meeting with some dust.
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