His tone has become rather ardent, and he is now standing nearer to her than the size of the garden necessitates. So GRACIOSA demurely steps down from the bench, and sits at the far end.
GRACIOSA And that is all I can think of. What would you do if you were duke,
Messer Guido?
GUIDO (Who is now sitting beside her at closer quarters than the length of the bench quite strictly demands.) I? What would I do if I were a great lord instead of a tradesman! (Softly.) I think you know the answer, madonna.
GRACIOSA Oh, you would make me your duchess, of course. That is quite understood. But I was speaking seriously, Guido.
GUIDO And is it not a serious matter that a pedler of crystals should have dared to love a nobleman's daughter?
GRACIOSA (Delighted.) This is the first I have heard of it.
GUIDO But you are perfectly right. It is not a serious matter. That I worship you is an affair which does not seriously concern any person save me in any way whatsoever. Yet I think that knowledge of the fact would put your father to the trouble of sharpening his dagger.
GRACIOSA Ye-es. But not even Father would deny that you were showing excellent taste.
GUIDO Indeed, I am not certain that I do worship you; for in order to adore whole-heartedly the idolater must believe his idol to be perfect. (Taking her hand.) Now your nails are of an ugly shape, like that of little fans. Your nose is nothing to boast of. And your mouth is too large. I do not admire these faults, for faults they are undoubtedly—
GRACIOSA Do they make me very ugly? I know that I have not a really good mouth,
GUIDO, but do you think it is positively repulsive?
GUIDO No…. Then, too, I know that you are vain and self-seeking, and look forward contentedly to the time when your father will transfer his ownership of your physical attractions to that nobleman who offers the highest price for them.
GRACIOSA But we daughters of the poor Valori are compelled to marry—suitably. We have only the choice between that and the convent yonder.
GUIDO That is true, and nobody disputes it. Still, you participate in a monstrous bargain, and I would prefer to have you exhibit distaste for it.
Bending forward, GUIDO draws from his jewel pack the string of pearls, and this he moodily contemplates, in order to evince his complete disinterestedness. The pose has its effect. GRACIOSA looks at him for a moment, rises, draws a deep breath, and speaks with a sort of humility.
GRACIOSA And to what end, Guido? What good would weeping do?
GUIDO (Smiling whimsically.) I am afraid that men do not always love according to the strict laws of logic. (He drops the pearls, and, rising, follows her.) I desire your happiness above all things, yet to see you so abysmally untroubled by anything which troubles me is—another matter.
GRACIOSA But I am not untroubled, Guido.
GUIDO No?
GRACIOSA No. (Rather tremulously.) Sometimes I sit here dreading my life at court. I want never to leave my father's bleak house. I fear that I may not like the man who offers the highest price for me. And it seems as if the court were a horrible painted animal, dressed in bright silks, and shining with jewels, and waiting to devour me.
Beyond the wall appears a hat of scarlet satin with a divided brim, which, rising, is revealed to surmount the head of an extraordinarily swarthy person, to whose dark skin much powder has only loaned the hue of death: his cheeks, however, are vividly carmined. This is all that the audience can now see of the young DUKE of FLORENCE, whose proximity the two in the garden are just now too much engrossed to notice.
The DUKE looks from one to the other. His eyes narrow, his teeth are displayed in a wide grin; he now understands the situation. He lowers his head as GRACIOSA moves.
GRACIOSA No, I am not untroubled. For I cannot fathom you, and that troubles me. I am very fond of you—and yet I do not trust you.
GUIDO You know that I love you.
GRACIOSA You tell me so. It pleases me to have you say it—
GUIDO Madonna is candid this morning.
GRACIOSA Yes, I am candid. It does please me. And I know that for the sake of seeing me you endanger your life, for if my father heard of our meetings here he would have you killed.
GUIDO Would I incur such risks without caring?
GRACIOSA No,—and yet, somehow, I do not believe it is altogether for me that you care.
The DUKE laughs. GUIDO starts, half drawing his dagger. GRACIOSA turns with an instinctive gesture of seeking protection. The DUKE'S head and shoulders appear above the wall.
THE DUKE And you will find, my friend, that the most charming women have just these awkward intuitions.
The DUKE ascends the wall, while the two stand motionless and silent. When he is on top of the wall, GUIDO, who now remembers that omnipotence perches there, makes haste to serve it, and obsequiously assists the DUKE to descend. The DUKE then comes well forward, in smiling meditation, and hands first his gloves, then his scarlet cloak (which you now perceive to be lined with ermine and sable in four stripes) to GUIDO, who takes them as a servant would attend his master.
The removal of this cloak reveals the DUKE to be clad in a scarlet satin doublet, which has a high military collar and sleeves puffed with black. His tights also are of scarlet, and he wears shining soft black riding-boots. Jewels glisten at his neck. About his middle, too, there is a metallic gleaming, for he is equipped with a noticeably long sword and a dagger. Such is the personage who now addresses himself more explicitly to GRACIOSA.
THE DUKE (Sitting upon the bench, very much at his ease while the others stand uncomfortably before him.) Yes, madonna, I suspect that Eglamore here cares greatly for the fact that you are Balthazar Valori's daughter, and cousin to the late Marquis of Cibo.
GRACIOSA (Just in bewilderment.) Eglamore!
THE DUKE For Cibo left many kinsmen. These still resent the circumstance that the matching of his wits against Eglamore's wits earned for Cibo an unpleasantly public death-bed. So they pursue their feud against Eglamore with vexatious industry. And Eglamore goes about in hourly apprehension of another falling beam, another knife-thrust in the back, or another plate of poison.
GRACIOSA (She comprehends now.) Eglamore!
THE DUKE (Who is pleased alike by Eglamore's neat plan and by his own cleverness in unriddling it.) But if rich Eglamore should make a stolen match with you, your father—good thrifty man!—could be appeased without much trouble. Your cousins, those very angry but penniless Valori, would not stay over-obdurate to a kinsman who had at his disposal so many pensions and public offices. Honor would permit a truce with their new cousin Eglamore, a truce very profitable to everybody.