# Victor Hugo's Works (Guernsey Edition)/Volume 14/The Fool's Revenge/Act 2

Layout 2
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Torelli and Brigitta discovered, C.
BRIGITTA.
Hark, there 's the quarter. You must hence, fair signor.
TORELLI.
But a few moments more of your sweet presence!
BRIGITTA.
Saint Ursula, she knows, 't is not my will That drives you hence; but if my master found That I received a man into the house, 'T were pity of my place, if not my life.
TORELLI.
Your master is a churl, that would condemn These maiden blooms to wither on the tree.
BRIGITTA.
Churl you may call him! Why, he'd have the house A prison. If you heard the coil he keeps ​Of bolts and bars and locks! Lord knows the twitter I've been in all to-day about the key I lost this morning; it unlocks the door Of the turnpike stair that leads down to the street.
TORELLI.
'T was lucky I came by just when you dropped it.
BRIGITTA.
Dropped!—nay, signor, 't was whipped off by some cut-purse That thought to filch my coin.
TORELLI.
That 's a shrewd guess! He must have flung it from him where I found it, Not knowing [bowing to her] of what jewel it unlocked the casket!
BRIGITTA.
How can I ever pay your pains that brought it back?
TORELLI.
By ever and anon giving me leave To come and sun myself in your chaste presence.
BRIGITTA (coquettishly).
Alas, sweet signor!
TORELLI (in the same tone).
Oh, divine Brigitta!
BRIGITTA.
But I must say farewell. Vespers are over; My mistress will be waiting; she's so fearful.
TORELLI.
As if her unripe beauties were in danger, While your maturer loveliness can walk The streets unguarded.
BRIGITTA.
Nay, I 'm a poor, fond thing; Lord knows the risk I run to let you in.
TORELLI.
I warrant now You've some snug nook where, if your master came, You could bestow me at a pinch.
BRIGITTA.
I know none, Unless 't were here [lifting arras L. 3 E.] behind the arras, look! Here's a hole, too, whence you could peep to see When the coast 's clear.
TORELLI (aside).
There 's room enough for two. [Sternly.] Brigitta!
BRIGITTA.
Signor!
TORELLI (with feigned suspicion).
How if this had served For hiding others before me?
BRIGITTA.
I swear By the eleven thousand virgins—
TORELLI.
That's Too many by ten thousand and ten hundred And ninety-nine! Vouch but your virgin self, And I am satisfied.
BRIGITTA (whimpering).
Alack-a-day! To be suspected after all these years.
TORELLI.
Pardon a lover's jealousy; this kiss Shall wipe away the memory of my wrong. [Aside.] What will not loyalty drive a man to? [Kisses her. There!
BRIGITTA (aside).
He has the sweetest lips! And now begone, Sweet signor, if you love me.
TORELLI.
If, Brigitta! Banish me then to outer darkness straight! Farewell, my full-blown rose—let others prize The opening bud—the ripe, rich flower for me!
BRIGITTA.
Oh, the saints, how he talks! This way, sweet signor, [Taking a key from her girdle. The secret door; the key you found and brought me Unlocks it. [Unlocking secret door, L. 2 E.
TORELLI (taking another from his girdle, aside).
Else, why did I filch it from you— And have this, its twin brother, forged to-day!
BRIGITTA (getting the lamp).
I'll light you out, and lock the door behind you, "Safe bind, safe find."
TORELLI.
Good-night, sweet piece of woman, I leave my heart in pledge. [Aside.] Now for the Duke.
[Brigitta holds open the door and lights him down, then locks it.
BRIGITTA.
He 's gone, bless his sweet face! To think what risks Men will run that are lovers, and indeed Weak women, too! Lord! if my master knew. [Getting on her mantle. 'T is lucky San Costanza is hard by, I should be fearful else. Faenza's full Of gallants, and who knows what might befall A poor young woman like myself, with naught Except her innocence to be her safeguard! [Exit, R. 2 E.
[As soon as she has closed the door, the secret door, C., opens and Torelli re-appears.
TORELLI.
This way, my lord; the dragon has departed.
[Enter Manfredi from the secret door, L. 2 E.
MANFREDI.
'T is time, I was weary of my watch.
TORELLI.
You were alone, at least. Think of my lot, That had to make love to a tough old spinster. T would we had changed parts. Why, good my lord, I had to kiss her. Faugh! When shall I get ​The garlic from my beard? But here 's the cage That holds our bird. We must ensconce ourselves, For they'll be here anon; vespers were over Before we entered.
MANFREDI.
Thanks to your device Of the forged key. Yet that was scarcely needed; I've climbed more break-neck balconies than that [Pointing to window. Without a silken ladder! [Looking about.] So—a lute— A missal—flowers!—more tokens of a maid Than of a mistress! Well, so much the better; I long to see the girl. Is she as fair As Serafino painted?
TORELLI.
Faith, my lord, She's fair enough to justify more sonnets Than e'er fat Petrarch pumped out for his Laura. She is a paragon of blushing girlhood, Full of temptation to the finger-tips. I marvel at myself, that e'er I yielded This amorous enterprise, even to you— But that my loyalty outbears my love.
MANFREDI.
I will requite your loyalty; fear not; But where shall we bestow ourselves?
TORELLI (lifting the arras from the recess).
In here; The old crone showed it me but now there's cover And peeping-place sufficient. Hark! they come! Stand close, my lord.
[They retire behind the arras. Enter Fiordelisa and Brigitta, R. 2 E.
BRIGITTA.
And he was there to-night?
FIORDELISA.
Oh, yes! He offered me the holy water As I passed in. I trembled so, Brigitta, When our hands met, I fear he must have marked it, But that he seemed almost as trembling, too, As I was.
BRIGITTA.
He! a brazen popinjay, I'll warrant me, for all his downcast looks! I wonder how my master would endure To hear of such audacious goings on!
FIORDELISA.
That makes me sad. My father is so kind, I cannot bear to have a secret from him. Sometimes I feel as I would tell him all; But then, I think, perhaps he would forbid me From going out to church; and 't is so dull To be shut up here all the long bright day: From morn till dark, to mark the busy stir Under the window, and the happy voices Of holiday-makers, that go out and in Just as they please. Look at the birds, Brigitta! Their wings are free, yet no harm comes to them; I'm sure they're innocent! And then to hear Sometimes the trumpets, as the knights ride by, And tramp of armed men; [Lute sounds without.] sometimes a lute. Hark! 't is his lute! I know the air, how sweet! My good Brigitta, would there be much harm If I touched mine, only a little touch, To tell him I am listening?
BRIGITTA.
Holy saints, Was e'er such boldness! I must have your lute Locked up. These girls! these girls! Bar them from Court, And they'll find matter in church; keep them from speech, And they'll make cat-gut do the work of tongue. Better be charged to keep a cat from cream, Than a girl from gallants!
FIORDELISA.
Nay but, good Brigitta, This gentleman is none.
BRIGITTA.
How do you know?
FIORDELISA.
He never speaks to me, scarce looks, or if He do, it is but to withdraw his gaze As hastily as I do mine. I've seen him Blush when our eyes met; not like yon rude man Who pressed upon me with such words and looks As made me red and hot; you know the time When that kind lady, Countess Malatesta, Scarce saved me from his boldness.
BRIGITTA.
Tilly-vally. There are more ways of bird-catching than one; He's the best fowler who least scares his quarry. But I must go and see the supper toward. Your father will be here anon! [Exit Brigitta, R.
FIORDELISA.
Dear father! Would he were here that I might rest my head Upon his breast, and have his arms about me; For then I feel there's something I may love And not be chidden for it. [Lute sounds.] Hark! again. If I durst answer! How sad he must be out there in the dark, Not knowing if I mark his music. [Takes her lute, then puts it away. No! My father would be angry; sad enough, To have one joy I may not share with him; Yet there can be no harm in listening. I thought to-night he would have spoken to me, But then Brigitta came, and he fell back! I'm glad he did not speak, and yet I'm sorry, I should so like to hear his voice, just once. He comes in my dreams, now, but he never speaks. I'm sure 't is soft and sweet! [Listening.] His lute is hushed. What if I touch mine, now that he is gone? I must not look out of the casement! Yes, I'm sure he's gone?
[Takes her lute and strikes a chord, L.
MANFREDI (aside, lifting the arras).
She is worth ten Ginevras!
TORELLI (holding him back).
Not yet!
MANFREDI.
Unhand me, I will speak to her!
[Bertuccio appears at the door, R. 2 E.
TORELLI.
My lord! It is Bertuccio! In—quick!
[Bertuccio stands for a moment fondly contemplating Fiordelisa; his dress is sober and his manner composed. He steps quietly forward.
BERTUCCIO.
My own!
FIORDELISA (turning suddenly, and flinging herself into his arms with a cry of joy).
My father!
BERTUCCIO (embracing her tenderly).
Closer, closer yet! Let me feel those soft arms about my neck, This dear cheek on my heart! No, do not stir, It does me so much good! I am so happy,— These minutes are worth years!
FIORDELISA.
My own dear father!
BERTUCCIO.
Let me look at thee, darling. Why, thou growest More and more beautiful! Thou'rt happy here? Hast all that thou desirest,—thy lute, thy flowers? She loves her poor old father? Blessings on thee, I know thou dost, but tell me so.
FIORDELISA.
I love you— I love you very much! I am so happy When you are with me. Why do you come so late, And go so soon? Why not stay always here?
BERTUCCIO.
Why not! Why not! Oh, if I could! To live Where there's no mocking, and no being mocked; No laughter but what's innocent; no mirth That leaves an after bitterness like gall.
FIORDELISA.
Now, you are sad! There 's that black ugly cloud Upon your brow; you promised, the last time, It never should come when we were together. You know when you're sad I'm sad too.
BERTUCCIO.
My bird! I'm selfish even with thee; let dark thoughts come, That thy sweet voice may chase them, as they say The blessed church bells drive the demons off.
FIORDELISA.
If I but knew the reason of your sadness, Then I might comfort you; but I know nothing, Not even your name.
BERTUCCIO.
I'd have no name for thee But "father."
FIORDELISA.
In the convent at Cesena, Where I was reared, they used to call me orphan. I thought I had no father, till you came, And then they needed not to say I had one; My own heart told me that.
BERTUCCIO.
I often think I had done well to have left thee there, in the peace ​Of that still cloister. But it was too hard; My empty heart so hungered for my child! For those dear eyes that look no scorn for me, That voice that speaks respect and tenderness, Even for me! My dove, my lily-flower, My only stay in life. Oh, God! I thank thee Thou hast left me this at least! [He weeps.
FIORDELISA.
Dear father! You 're crying now; you must not cry,—you must not. I cannot bear to see you cry.
BERTUCCIO.
Let be! 'T were better than to see me laugh.
FIORDELISA.
But wherefore? You say you are so happy here, and yet You never come but to weep bitter tears. And I can but weep too, not knowing why. Why are you sad? Oh, tell me,—tell me all!
BERTUCCIO.
I cannot. In this house I am thy father; Out of it, what I am boots not to say; Hated, perhaps, or envied; feared, I hope, By many; scorned by more; and loved by none. In this one innocent corner of the world I would but be to thee a father,—something August and sacred!
FIORDELISA.
And you are so, father.
BERTUCCIO.
I love thee with a love strong as the hate I bear for all but thee. Come, sit beside me, With thy pure hand in mine, and tell me still, "I love you," and "I love you,"—only that. Smile on me—so! thy smile is passing sweet! Thy mother used to smile so once; oh, God! I cannot bear it. Do not smile; it wakes Memories that tear my heart-strings. Do not look So like thy mother, or I shall go mad!
FIORDELISA.
Oh, tell me of my mother!
BERTUCCIO (shuddering).
No, no, no!
FIORDELISA.
She's dead?
BERTUCCIO.
Yes.
FIORDELISA.
You were with her when she died?
BERTUCCIO.
No! Leave the dead alone; talk of thyself, Thy life here. Thou heed'st well my caution, girl,— Not to go out by day, nor show thyself There, at the casement.
FIORDELISA.
Yes; some day, I hope, You will take me with you, but to see the town; 'T is so hard to be shut up here, alone.
BERTUCCIO.
Thou hast not stirred abroad? [Suspiciously and eagerly.
FIORDELISA.
Only to vespers; You said I might do that with good Brigitta I never go forth or come in alone.
BERTUCCIO.
That's well. I grieve that thou should'st live so close, But if thou knewest what poison's in the air, What evil walks the streets, how innocence Is a temptation, beauty but a bait For desperate desires— No man, I hope, Has spoken to thee?
FIORDELISA.
Only one.
BERTUCCIO (fiercely).
Ha! who?
FIORDELISA.
I know not. 'T was against my will.
BERTUCCIO (eagerly).
You gave No answer?
FIORDELISA.
No, I fled.
BERTUCCIO (in the same tone).
He followed you?
FIORDELISA.
A gracious lady gave me kind protection, And bade her train guard me safe home. Oh, father, ​If you had seen how good she was, how gently She soothed my fears,—for I was sore afraid,— I'm sure you 'd love her.
BERTUCCIO.
Did you learn her name?
FIORDELISA.
I asked it, first, to set it in my prayers, And then, that you might pray for her.
BERTUCCIO.
Her name? [Aside.] I pray! [Contemptuously.
FIORDELISA.
The Countess Malatesta.
BERTUCCIO (aside).
Count Malatesta's wife protect my child! You have not seen her since?
FIORDELISA.
No; though she urged me So hard to come to her; and asked my name, And who my parents were, and where I lived.
BERTUCCIO.
You did not tell her?
FIORDELISA.
Who my parents were? How could I, when I must not know myself?
BERTUCCIO.
Patience, my darling; trust thy father's love, That there is reason for this mystery!
Dessiné par A. Guès Photogravure Goupil & Cie
Bertuccio.
Photogravure by Goupil et Cie—From Drawing by A. Gués.
​The time may come when we may live in peace, And walk together free, under free heaven But that cannot be here—nor now!
FIORDELISA.
Oh, when— When shall that time arrive?
BERTUCCIO (bitterly).
When what I live for Has been achieved!
FIORDELISA (timidly).
What you live for?
BERTUCCIO (with sudden ferocity).
Revenge!
FIORDELISA (averting her eyes with horror).
Oh, do not look so, father!
BERTUCCIO.
Listen, girl, You asked me of your mother; it is time You should know why all questioning of her Racks me to madness. Look upon me, child; Misshapen as I am, there once was one, Who, seeing me despised, mocked, lonely, poor, Loved me, I think, most for my misery; Thy mother, like thee, just so pure, so sweet. I was a public notary in Cesena; Our life was humble, but so happy; thou Wert in thy cradle then, and many a night Thy mother and I sat hand-in-hand together, Watching thine innocent smiles, and building up Long plans of joy to come!
[His voice falters; he turns away.
FIORDELISA.
Alas! she died.
BERTUCCIO.
Died! There are deaths 't is comfort to look back on; Hers was not such a death. A devil came Across our quiet life, and marked her beauty, And lusted for her; and when she scorned his offers, Because he was a noble, great and strong, He bore her from my side, by force, and after I never saw her more; they brought me news That she was dead.
FIORDELISA.
Ah me!
BERTUCCIO.
And I was mad For years and years, and when my wits came back— If e'er they came—they brought one haunting purpose, That since has shaped my life,—to have revenge! Revenge upon her wronger and his order; Revenge in kind; to quit him,—wife for wife!
FIORDELISA.
Father, 't is not for me to question with you; But think! revenge belongeth not to man It is God's attribute, usurp it not!
BERTUCCIO.
Preach abstinence to him that dies of hunger, Tell the poor wretch who perishes of thirst, There's danger in the cup his fingers clutch; But bid me not forswear revenge. No word! Thou know'st now why I mew thee up so close; Keep thee nut of the streets; shut thee from eyes ​And tongues of lawless men,—for in these days All men are lawless,—'t is because I fear To lose thee, as I lost thy mother.
FIORDELISA.
Father, I'll pray for her.
BERTUCCIO.
Do, and for me; good-night!
FIORDELISA.
Oh, not so soon, with all these sad dark thoughts, These bitter memories. You need my love; I'll touch my lute for you, and sing to it. Music, you know, chases all evil angels.
BERTUCCIO.
I must go: 't is grave business calls me hence. [Aside.] 'T is time that I was at my post. My own, Sleep in thine innocence. Good! good-night!
FIORDELISA.
But let me see you to the outer door.
BERTUCCIO.
Not a step further, then. God guard this place, That here my flower may grow, safe from the blight Of look, or word impure,—a holy thing Consecrate to my service, and my love!
[Exit Bertuccio and Fiordelisa, R. Enter from behind the arras, Manfredi and Torelli.
MANFREDI.
His daughter! That so fair a branch should spring From such a gnarled and misshapen stock!
TORELLI.
But did you mark how he raved of revenge Upon our order?
MANFREDI.
By the mass, I think That Guido Malatesta is the man That played him the shrewd trick he told the girl of. 'T was at Cesena, marked you—the time fits. That's why he hounds me on after the Countess. What! must I be the tool of his revenge? I'll teach the scurrile slave to strike at nobles.
TORELLI.
Hark! what's that? [Listening.
MANFREDI.
'T is outside the window.
TORELLI (listening).
Yes, By Bacchus, some one climbs the balcony.
MANFREDI.
A gallant?
TORELLI.
In, sir; see the play played out.
MANFREDI.
But I'll not be forestalled!
TORELLI.
We've time enough.
[They retire to the recess. Enter Dell' Aquila from the balcony.
DELL' AQUILA.
Pardon, sweet saint, if I profane thy shrine. I watched Bertuccio forth; he passed me close, I feared he would have seen me. I have sworn Not to betray their foul design to him. And to warn her, this means alone is left me. Hark! 't is her gracious step, she comes this way.
[Enter Fiordelisa; she kneels before the statue of the Madonna.
FIORDELISA.
Comfort of the afflicted, comfort him! Turn his revengeful purpose to submission, And grant that I may grow to take the place My mother has left empty in his heart! He's gone! And I had not the heart to speak Of the young gentleman who follows me. He asked if any spoke to me; I told The truth,—he never spoke to me. [Turning round and seeing Dell' Aquila. [In great terror.] Who's there? Brigitta! help!
DELL' AQUILA.
Silence! but have no fear. I am not here to harm you, do not tremble. I would die, lady, rather than offend you.
FIORDELISA.
Oh, sir, how came you here?
DELL' AQUILA.
I knew no other way But by the balcony. Desperate occasions Dispense with ceremony. My respect Is absolute. Fear not: I am not here ​To say, "I love you," nor to tell you how For months your face has been my beacon star. My passion never would have found a tongue; It is too reverent; but your safety, lady, I can be bold for that.
FIORDELISA.
My safety!
DELL' AQUILA.
Threatened With desperate danger. Think you one so fair Could even pray in safety in Faenza? You have been seen: your beauty hath been buzzed In the Court's amorous ear. There is a project To scale your balcony to-night.
FIORDELISA.
Oh, father!
DELL' AQUILA.
He cannot save you. What were his sole strength Against the bravos that the duke commands, For any deed of ill? My arm and sword Are stronger than your father's, and are yours As absolutely. And yet what were these? I could die for you, but I could not save you.
FIORDELISA.
What shall I do?
DELL' AQUILA.
Have you no friends, protectors, To whom you might betake yourself?
FIORDELISA.
Alas! I am a stranger here.
DELL' AQUILA.
Think, have you none?
FIORDELISA.
Ha! if the Countess Malatesta—
DELL' AQUILA.
What? You know her?
FIORDELISA.
She once rescued me from insult Of a rude man, and promised help whene'er I chose to seek it.
DELL' AQUILA.
She is good and pure And powerful, moreover. That's the chief. Go to her straight; you have no time to lose. Midnight is fixed for their foul enterprise.
FIORDELISA.
But how to find the house? And then the streets Are dark and dangerous. I've but our servant, Brigitta—
DELL' AQUILA.
Not a word to her! She 's false. Can you trust me? I'll lead you to the Countess.
FIORDELISA (aside).
Were this a stratagem!
DELL' AQUILA.
I see you doubt me; I know you have good cause to doubt all men. Oh, could I bare my heart, and show you there ​Your image set amongst its holiest thoughts, Beside my mother's well-remembered face. Could truth speak with the tongue, look from the eyes, You would not doubt me! What can oaths avail? He who could cheat you, would not fear to cheat God and his saints! Lady, it is the truth That I have spoken! May Heaven give you faith To trust me; but if not, I will stay, And die in your defence.
FIORDELISA.
Sir, I will trust you! And Heaven so deal with you as you with me! Go with me to the Countess Malatesta. I'll seek the shelter of her roof to-night, To-morrow must bring counsel for the future.
DELL' AQUILA.
Oh! bless you for this trust! Come, quick, but softly. Put on your veil, fear not, I am your guard, Your slave, your sentinel. I crave no guerdon, Not even a look! Enough for me to save you.
[Exit Fiordelisa and Dell' Aquila.
MANFREDI (breaking from behind the arras; Torelli following him).
Why did you hold me back? Our project's marred. This moonstruck poet bears away the prize, And I am fooled.
TORELLI.
Nay, trust my cooler brain. I'll follow him to Malatesta's. Sure, He'll give her shelter?
MANFREDI.
In his lady's absence?
TORELLI.
Even so. The old ruffian can be courteous When there's a pretty face in question!
MANFREDI.
Let him! I'll break his house, or any man that dares Set his locks in the way of my good pleasure!
TORELLI.
Why not? 'T will give a double pungency To our revenge upon Bertuccio. We only looked to keep the foul-mouthed knave Out of the way while we bore off his pearl; But now we'll use him for the robbery. He shall see us scale Malatesta's windows; But she whom we bear thence, muffled and gagged, Shall be the hunch-backed scoffer's pretty daughter!
MANFREDI.
A rare revenge! and so this brain-sick poet And my curst jester may console each other. Watch them to Malatesta's! I'll to our friends, And find Bertuccio by San Stefano!
[Exit by secret door, L. 2 E.
SCENE II.
A street near the Church of San Stefano; stage dark. Enter Bertuccio, L., cloaked and masked.
BERTUCCIO.
The hour has struck,—they will be here anon,— Trust them to keep tryst for a villainous deed. I had need to whet the memory of my wrong, Or my girl's angel face and innocent tongue Had shaken even my steadfastness of purpose! And Malatesta's wife has done her kindness,— I would that she had not! But what's such slight service To my huge wrong? Let me but think of that! I grow too human near my child. I lack The sharp sting of court scorn to spur the sides Of my intent! With her I'm free to weep, With them, I still must laugh,—still be their ape, To mop and mow and wake their shallow mirth. True, I can sometimes bite, as monkeys do. They'll make mirth of that, too! O courtly sirs! Sweet-spoken, stalwart gallants! if you knew The hate that rankles underneath my motley, The scorn that barbs my wit, the bitterness That grins behind my laughter, you would start And shudder o'er your cups, and cross yourselves As if the devil were in your company! Once my revenge achieved, I'll spurn my chain, Fool it no more, but give what's left of life To thought of her I've lost, and love of her That yet is left me.
[Enter Manfredi, Ascolti, and Ordelaffi, masked and cloaked.
MANFREDI.
Hist, Bertuccio!
BERTUCCIO.
Here, gossip Galeotto,—you are punctual; Ascolti too; grave Signor Florentine, We'll show you how the gallants of Faenza Treat greybeards who aspire to handsome wives. Remember your beard 's grizzled—and beware—
ASCOLTI.
I will stand warned. You have the ladders here?
BERTUCCIO.
The lackeys wait in charge of them hard by. But where 's Torelli? we shall want his help.
ORDELAFFI.
Pshaw! our three swords are plenty.
BERTUCCIO.
Cry you mercy! 'T is not Torelli's sword we want.
ORDELAFFI.
What then?
BERTUCCIO.
His marvellous quick scent of danger, man. Stick to his skirts, I'll answer for 't you're safe. Perhaps he smelt some risk of buffets here, And so has ta'en him home to bed.
MANFREDI.
Away Towards Malatesta's house! 't was there he promised ​To meet us. Sirrah fool, be it thy post To hold the ladder while we mount; and see Thou play'st us no jade's trick, or 'ware the whip!
BERTUCCIO.
Fear not, magnanimous gossip! do your work With as good will as I do mine. The Countess Sleeps in the chamber of the balcony Which rounds the angle of the southern front; I came but now by the palace,—all was quiet.
MANFREDI.
Set on, then, cautiously,—use not your swords, Unless on strong compulsion; blood tells tales, And I want no more feuds upon my hands. [Exeunt, R.
SCENE III.
DELL' AQUILA.
Be of good cheer,—this is the house; I'll knock, And summon forth the Count. [Knocks.
FIORDELISA.
Oh, sir! what thanks Can e'er repay this kindness?
DELL' AQUILA.
But remember Who 'twas that did it, I am thanked enough.
FIORDELISA.
I'll pray for you after my father—hark!
DELL' AQUILA.
They come! [Enter a Servant from house. Two strangers who crave instant speech Of the Count Malatesta. [Exit Servant.
DELL' AQUILA.
And I should see your father?
FIORDELISA.
Then you know him?
DELL' AQUILA.
Yes.
FIORDELISA.
And his business—occupations? [He bows. [Sadly.] 'T is more than I do, sir, that am his child. I do not even know his name.
DELL' AQUILA.
What he Keeps secret from you 't is not mine to tell; 'T were well you should not question him too closely; He shall learn you are safe.
FIORDELISA.
And tell him, too, That 't was you saved me, sir. Promise me that!
[Enter Malatesta, L.
MALATESTA.
Who is it would have speech of Malatesta?
DELL' AQUILA.
You know me, Count?
MALATESTA.
Dell' Aquila, well met! But your companion? [Aside.] Ha! a petticoat! So ho, my poet!
DELL' AQUILA.
Pardon, if I pray This lady's name may rest a secret, Count; She is in grievous danger,—one from which Your house can shelter her. She owes already Your countess much, for good help given at need. So craves to increase the debt.
MALATESTA.
My house is hers, But she should know my countess is not here.
FIORDELISA.
Not here!
MALATESTA.
But if she dare trust my grey hairs She shall have shelter.
DELL' AQUILA.
Nay, she cannot choose.
MALATESTA.
I'll give her my wife's chamber, if she will; Her woman to attend her.
DELL' AQUILA.
All she needs Is your roofs shelter for the night; to-morrow Must see her otherwise bestowed.
MALATESTA.
Go in, Fair lady; my poor house, with all that's in it, Is at your service. Had my wife been here, You had had gentler 'tendance; as it is, I'll lead you to her chamber and there leave you.
TORELLI (aside).
Now to the hunters; I've marked down the deer.
[Exit Torelli, L. U. E.
MALATESTA (to AQUILA).
You will not stay and crush a cup with me?
DELL' AQUILA.
No, not to-night. [To Fiordelisa.] Did you not well to trust me? Farewell; think of me in your prayers!
FIORDELISA.
I cannot. Choose but do that, sir. [Aside.] Oh, the thought of him Will come, henceforth, betwixt my prayers and Heaven!
[Exit Malatesta, L., leading in Fiordelisa.
DELL' AQUILA.
His child! Since when did grapes grow upon thistles? And yet I'm glad to know the tie that binds The two together such a holy one! Sweet angel,—sister angels guard thy sleep! ​Now to seek out Bertuccio. and tell him The danger she has 'scaped, and thank the saints That made me her preserver.
[Exit Dell' Aquila, R. Enter cautiously, L. U. E., Bertuccio, Manfredi, Ascolti, Ordelaffi, and Torelli, with Servants carrying ladders.
MANFREDI.
Softly, you knaves! with velvet tread, like tigers—
BERTUCCIO.
Say rather, "cats."
[A light appears at the window, L. 2 E.
TORELLI.
Which is the balcony?
BERTUCCIO (pointing).
That! I have noted in this summer weather The window 's left unbarred.
ASCOLTI.
Ha! there 's a light! If she were stirring!
BERTUCCIO.
What an' if she were? A sudden spring,—a cloak flung o'er her head; If she have time to scream, you are but bunglers.
MANFREDI.
My cloak will serve. [Takes it off.
ASCOLTI.
If she alarm the house It might go hard with us.
BERTUCCIO.
O cats that long For fish, yet fear to wet your feet! I'll shame you. Let me mount first; give me your cloak, Galeotto!
MANFREDI.
By your leave, fool, I'll net my own bird. Back! Hold thou the ladder; that is lackeys' work, And fits thee best. Ascolti and Torelli, Guard the approaches! I and Ordelaffi Will be enough to mount, and snare the game.
[The light is extinguished; the Servants set a ladder to the balcony.
BERTUCCIO (holds it).
All's dark now,—up!
MANFREDI.
Why, rogue, how thy hand shakes! Is 't fear ?
BERTUCCIO.
'T is inward laughter, Galeotto. To think how blank Guido will look to-morrow To find the nest cold, and his mate borne off.
[Manfredi mounts the ladder, followed by Ordelaffi. They enter the balcony.
BERTUCCIO (eagerly listening).
Ha! they are in by this time! Cautious fools! I had done 't myself in half the space! So, Guido, You love your young wife well, they say; that's brave.
BERTUCCIO.
'T is done!
MANFREDI.
Away all,—to my garden house, There to bestow our prize!
[Exeunt Manfredi and Ordelaffi, L. U. E.—The Servants carry off the ladder.
BERTUCCIO.
Now, Malatesta, [Shaking his fist at the house. Learn what it is to wake and find her gone That was the pride and joy of your dim eyes,— The comfort of your age! I welcome you To the blank hearth,—the hunger of the soul,— The long dark days and miserable nights! These you gave me; I give them back to you! I, the despised, deformed, dishonoured jester, Have reached up to your crown and pulled it down, And flung it in the mire, as you flung mine! Now, murdered innocent, thou art avenged! But I have private wrongs, too, to repay; This proud Manfredi,—he you spat upon, He you spurned such a day, set in the stocks, Whipped,—he is even with your mightiness! Here is Francesca's ring , and here the letter, To tell her that her vengeance, too, is ripe. The blow shall come from her , but mine's the hand That guides the dagger's point straight to his heart! I cannot sleep! I'll walk the night away; It is no night for me,—my day has come! [Exit, R.