Spagnoletto, The - Act 1. Scene 2
SCENE II.
A hall in RIBERA'S house. Enter LUCA and FIAMETTA.
FIAMETTA.
But did you see her?
LUCA.
Nay, I saw her sister, Donna Annicca.
FIAMETTA.
Tush, man! never name her beside my lady Maria-Rosa. You have lostthe richest feast in the world for hungry eyes. Her gown of cloth o' silver clad her, as it were, with light; there twinkled about her waist a girdle stiff with stones — you would have said they breathed. Mine own hands wreathed the dropping pearls in her hair, and pearls again were clasped around her throat. But no, I might tell thee every ornament — her jeweled fan, her comb of pearls, her floating veil of gauze, and still the best of all would escape us.
LUCA.
Thou speakest more like her page than her handmaiden.
FIAMETTA.
Thou knowest not woman truly, for all thy wit. I speak most like a woman when I weigh the worth of beauty and rich apparel. Heigh-ho! I have felt the need of this. Thou, good Luca, who might have been my father, canst understand me? HE was poor as thou. Why shouldst thou be his lackey, his slave? My hand were as dainty as hers, if it could but be spared its daily labor.
LUCA.
Yes, poor child, I understand thee, and yet thou art wrong. He is more slave to pride than I am to him. I know him well, Fiametta, after so many years of service, and to-day I pity him more than I fear him. Why, girl, my task is sport beside his toil! If my limbs be weary, I sleep; but I have seen him sit before his canvas with straining eyes and the big beads standing on his brow. When at last he gave o'er, and I have smoothed his pillow, and served and soothed him, what sleep could he snatch? His brain is haunted with evil visions, whereof some be merely of his own imaginings, and others the phantoms of folk who are living or have lived, and who rouse his jealousy or mayhap his remorse, God only knows! If that be genius — to be alive to pain at every pore, to be possessed of a devil that robs you of your sleep and grants no space between the hours of grinding toil — I thank the saints I am a simple man!
FIAMETTA.
I grant thee thou mayst be right concerning him; he hath indeed a strange, sour mien. I shudder when he turns suddenly, as his wont is, and bends his evil eyes on me. The holy father tells me such warnings come from God. No matter how slight the service he asks of me, my flesh creeps and my limbs refuse to move, till I have whispered an Ave. But what of Lady Maria-Rosa? Both heaven and earth smile upon her. To-night she wears a poor girl's dowry, a separate fortune, on her head, her neck, her hands, yes, on her little jeweled feet. One tiny shoe of hers would make me free to wed my lad.
LUCA.
If he have but eyes, I warrant thee he finds jewels enough in thy bright face. Tell me his name.
FIAMETTA.
Nay, that is my secret.
LUCA.
He must be a poor-souled lad if he will wait till thou hast earned a dowry.
FIAMETTA.
A poor-souled lad! my good Vicenzo — ah! but no matter; thou knowest him, Luca, my Lord Lorenzo's page. There! — is he poor, or mean, or plain, or dull? He claims no dowry, he — but I have my pride, as well as the great ones.
LUCA.
May the saints preserve thee from such as theirs! I am heartily glad of thy good fortune. I am not sure whether thou or Lady Marie-Rosa be the most favored. Well, the end proves all.
[Exeunt.]
Enter on one side ANNICCA and DON TOMMASO, attired for the ball; on the other side, RIBERA.
RIBERA.
What do ye here, my children? Haste away!
Maria waits you for the ball; folk say
'T will be the bravest show e'er seen in Naples.
I warrant you the Spagnoletto brings
The richest jewels — what say'st thou, my son?
DON TOMMASO.
I who have robbed you of one gem, need scarce
Re-word, sir, how I prize it.
RIBERA.
Why, 't is true.
Robbed me, thou sayst? So hast thou. She was mine —
The balanced beauty of her flesh and spirit,
That was my garland, and I was her all,
Till thou, a stranger, stole her heart's allegiance,
Suborned — Forgive me, I am old, a father,
Whose doting passions blind. I am not jealous,
Believe me, sir. When we Riberas give,
We give without retraction or reserve,
Were it our life-blood. I rejoice with thee
That she is thine; nor am I quite bereft,
I have some treasure still. I do repent
So heartily of my discourteous speech,
That I will crave your leave before I kiss
Your wife's soft palm.
ANNICCA (kissing him repeatedly).
Why, father, what is this?
Can Don Tommaso's wife so soon forget
She is the Spagnoletto's child?
RIBERA.
Enough.
I can bear praise, thou knowest, from all save thee
And my Maria. My grave son, I fear,
Will mock these transports. Pray go in with me.
No one of us but has this night a triumph.
Let us make ready.
[Exeunt.]
A hall in RIBERA'S house. Enter LUCA and FIAMETTA.
FIAMETTA.
But did you see her?
LUCA.
Nay, I saw her sister, Donna Annicca.
FIAMETTA.
Tush, man! never name her beside my lady Maria-Rosa. You have lostthe richest feast in the world for hungry eyes. Her gown of cloth o' silver clad her, as it were, with light; there twinkled about her waist a girdle stiff with stones — you would have said they breathed. Mine own hands wreathed the dropping pearls in her hair, and pearls again were clasped around her throat. But no, I might tell thee every ornament — her jeweled fan, her comb of pearls, her floating veil of gauze, and still the best of all would escape us.
LUCA.
Thou speakest more like her page than her handmaiden.
FIAMETTA.
Thou knowest not woman truly, for all thy wit. I speak most like a woman when I weigh the worth of beauty and rich apparel. Heigh-ho! I have felt the need of this. Thou, good Luca, who might have been my father, canst understand me? HE was poor as thou. Why shouldst thou be his lackey, his slave? My hand were as dainty as hers, if it could but be spared its daily labor.
LUCA.
Yes, poor child, I understand thee, and yet thou art wrong. He is more slave to pride than I am to him. I know him well, Fiametta, after so many years of service, and to-day I pity him more than I fear him. Why, girl, my task is sport beside his toil! If my limbs be weary, I sleep; but I have seen him sit before his canvas with straining eyes and the big beads standing on his brow. When at last he gave o'er, and I have smoothed his pillow, and served and soothed him, what sleep could he snatch? His brain is haunted with evil visions, whereof some be merely of his own imaginings, and others the phantoms of folk who are living or have lived, and who rouse his jealousy or mayhap his remorse, God only knows! If that be genius — to be alive to pain at every pore, to be possessed of a devil that robs you of your sleep and grants no space between the hours of grinding toil — I thank the saints I am a simple man!
FIAMETTA.
I grant thee thou mayst be right concerning him; he hath indeed a strange, sour mien. I shudder when he turns suddenly, as his wont is, and bends his evil eyes on me. The holy father tells me such warnings come from God. No matter how slight the service he asks of me, my flesh creeps and my limbs refuse to move, till I have whispered an Ave. But what of Lady Maria-Rosa? Both heaven and earth smile upon her. To-night she wears a poor girl's dowry, a separate fortune, on her head, her neck, her hands, yes, on her little jeweled feet. One tiny shoe of hers would make me free to wed my lad.
LUCA.
If he have but eyes, I warrant thee he finds jewels enough in thy bright face. Tell me his name.
FIAMETTA.
Nay, that is my secret.
LUCA.
He must be a poor-souled lad if he will wait till thou hast earned a dowry.
FIAMETTA.
A poor-souled lad! my good Vicenzo — ah! but no matter; thou knowest him, Luca, my Lord Lorenzo's page. There! — is he poor, or mean, or plain, or dull? He claims no dowry, he — but I have my pride, as well as the great ones.
LUCA.
May the saints preserve thee from such as theirs! I am heartily glad of thy good fortune. I am not sure whether thou or Lady Marie-Rosa be the most favored. Well, the end proves all.
[Exeunt.]
Enter on one side ANNICCA and DON TOMMASO, attired for the ball; on the other side, RIBERA.
RIBERA.
What do ye here, my children? Haste away!
Maria waits you for the ball; folk say
'T will be the bravest show e'er seen in Naples.
I warrant you the Spagnoletto brings
The richest jewels — what say'st thou, my son?
DON TOMMASO.
I who have robbed you of one gem, need scarce
Re-word, sir, how I prize it.
RIBERA.
Why, 't is true.
Robbed me, thou sayst? So hast thou. She was mine —
The balanced beauty of her flesh and spirit,
That was my garland, and I was her all,
Till thou, a stranger, stole her heart's allegiance,
Suborned — Forgive me, I am old, a father,
Whose doting passions blind. I am not jealous,
Believe me, sir. When we Riberas give,
We give without retraction or reserve,
Were it our life-blood. I rejoice with thee
That she is thine; nor am I quite bereft,
I have some treasure still. I do repent
So heartily of my discourteous speech,
That I will crave your leave before I kiss
Your wife's soft palm.
ANNICCA (kissing him repeatedly).
Why, father, what is this?
Can Don Tommaso's wife so soon forget
She is the Spagnoletto's child?
RIBERA.
Enough.
I can bear praise, thou knowest, from all save thee
And my Maria. My grave son, I fear,
Will mock these transports. Pray go in with me.
No one of us but has this night a triumph.
Let us make ready.
[Exeunt.]
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