LIBRARY OF^ CONGRESS. 
 
 7^^,^^ 
 
 Srf-^- iiijnjn# :|o. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
MADALENA; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Maids' Mischief. 
 
 A DEAMA. 
 
 BY 
 
 THEODOEE DAYEJSTPOET WAENER .^^ 
 
 1> 
 
 i 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 1888, 
 
 \V 
 

 Copyright, 1887, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 
 
 ■i||| |'stereotypersanoprinters'| ||i» 
 
PEOEM. 
 
 Whatever may have been the influence of the stage 
 upon the art by which it subsists, — and it cannot be con- 
 sidered as wholly beneficial, — yet it is true that it must 
 always largely influence the imagination of the dramatic 
 writer. As the scene by land or sea is present to the 
 mind of him who writes epically, so must the mimic 
 concentrated scene float, after a method of his own, 
 before the inner eye of the dramatist. Hence no play 
 can be good as such that is intrinsically unfit for repre- 
 sentation. But there is a difference between essential 
 fitness in this respect and the many accessories which 
 may interfere with success before an audience, even 
 when the case is not that of a poet who transcends the 
 powers of any actor. The dramatist may decline, in 
 the due development of his subject, to contract his 
 work within the prescribed physical limits; he may 
 find it impossible to conform to the limitations imposed 
 by modern taste; his work may have caught uncon- 
 sciously the spirit of an older time and speak a some- 
 what unknown language. JS^o resource is then left 
 him but the alternative proposed by Pope's scribbler, — 
 he must print. The present writer is quite sensible of 
 the risks to be encountered from this other horn of the 
 dilemma. The. drama, considered as literature, as a 
 living literature at least, is at a sufficiently low ebb. 
 Plays that have been received with approbation when 
 
4 PROEM, 
 
 acted are seldom read, and what is to be expected for 
 one that has not been acted, unless it be, in a measure, 
 sustained by a reputation otherwise made? It is, 
 therefore, with the feelings of one who has worked 
 with enthusiasm at something which has no object 
 beyond itself, and who, on looking around and finding 
 no place for it in the world, consigns it to Limbo, that 
 this piece is published. But Hope will venture down 
 to that first precinct of the regions of despair, and 
 things impossible are still conceivable. It is a com- 
 forting reflection that there is no natural and necessary 
 reason that a play should be unworthy perusal although 
 not written in the age of Pericles, Elizabeth, or Louis 
 XIY., and that in a time of general intellectual activity 
 there must be, here and there, minds congenial to such 
 employment, and who will be willing to accord a hear- 
 ing upon the merits. To such the author commends 
 his little work. 
 
DEAMATIS PEESOlsr^. 
 
 Men. 
 
 Leonello, Duke of Venice. 
 
 Julio, a young Lord of Venice^ afterwards general of the Venetian 
 
 forces. 
 EuGENio, a young Lord of Venice, lieutenant to Julio. 
 Franco, confidant of the Duke. 
 Jacopo, an old courtier. 
 AsTOLFO, servant to Jacopo. 
 An Officee. 
 
 An Officer of the Duke's Guards. 
 The Chief of the Post. 
 A Messenger of the Post. 
 Captain of the Watch. 
 A Crier. 
 A Jailer. 
 A Musician. 
 A Boy. 
 
 Lords, Senators, Councillors, Quards, Watch, Attendants. 
 
 Women. 
 
 Madalena, the Duke's daughter. 
 
 Laura, his niece. 
 
 Catarina, sister to Eugenio and friend to Laura. 
 
 Lucetta, wife to Jacopo. 
 
 1* 5 
 
MADALENA; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Venice. A Council Chamber in the Ducal Palace. 
 
 The Duke and Senators ; Julio, Eugenio, Lords, etc. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Hail, hoDored friends ! Sage men and valiant, hail ! 
 Met are we to commune ; to blend in one 
 Our counsel and its sequence in such wise 
 That each shall draw as from a common lot 
 His own and others' voices, and be strong 
 As wisdom's self is strong in the event. 
 Be it our gain or loss. To you I owe, 
 For my particular, in this your swift 
 Assembling at my wish, those thanks that come 
 From one who leans upon his colleagues' thought 
 When weighted in his own by circumstance. 
 Never did prince more full assurance find, 
 Never did prince more need it. 
 
 7 
 
8 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 First Lord. 
 
 J^eed it ! how ? 
 What news, my lord? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Oh, sir ! you know my need. 
 High placed are we, the times are dangerous. 
 Grave things and fateful hang upon the least 
 In nice conjunctures. We have found you true, — 
 Girt are we with your loyalty and love, — 
 Yet often love grows cold when storms arise. 
 And small the disaffection that would now 
 Poison my cup and strike the land with death. 
 I have a cause for politic shrewd doubt, 
 And therein need your counsel ; that it be 
 Well given let each look to his heart and see 
 No selfish thought is there. 
 
 First Lord. 
 
 Does my lord hear 
 111 tidings from abroad ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Nay, only such 
 As are of common knowledge, yet therefore 
 It is we are met. Our ancient enemies, 
 The proud aspiring Genoese who name 
 Themselves our rivals, have anew declared 
 Against us war ; — a base, an envious war. 
 Nor less have they attempted than declared. 
 Our peaceful merchants they have slain or spoiled; 
 Our peaceful vessels taken and condemned ; 
 Assailed our cities, laid our country waste, 
 Adjudged and punished ignominiously 
 All wretched souls who bear Yenetian name. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 
 
 They need reproving. Our great admirals 
 
 Upon the seas already spread their sails ; 
 
 The breeze of conquest fills them ; were the strife 
 
 Confined to ocean, then our hopes might swell 
 
 As boundless ; but it is not so ; I hear 
 
 Of mighty forces skilfully disposed, 
 
 And led by sage experienced officers. 
 
 Armies-we have, not ominously raised 
 
 From broken navies, nor corruptly drawn 
 
 From foreign soil by mercenary gold, 
 
 But — mark our fear — no chieftains of their kind. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 Pardon, my lord ; has Venice no brave sons? 
 
 DiJKE. 
 
 Ay, brave enough if gallantry were all. 
 
 But age and skill and conduct tried and sure 
 
 Are wanting to our side. You stand our first. 
 
 And yet your oldest has not worn the down 
 
 Ten summers on his lip ; your best trained hand 
 
 Has seen no service but some foreign field 
 
 Or brawl at home; your youngest has not passed 
 
 The nursing of the schools : so much success 
 
 And sovereign sole empire of the seas 
 
 Unfit us for all other enterprise. 
 
 We all are sailors, born so, live so, die so ; 
 
 The milk we draw is Adria's salt wave. 
 
 Our sepulchre her bosom. What is wise. 
 
 Or vahant, seeking glory, thither turns 
 
 Its aspiration, all oblivious 
 
 Of other scenes and duties. 
 
10 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 First Senator. 
 
 Gracious sir, 
 You judge our youth too harshly. You shall find 
 Sure vision under smooth unwrinkled brows. 
 That quality which makes victorious war 
 Is not alone companion of cold age ; 
 It glows in younger bosoms. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Say you so ; 
 There's hope in that and greater in the names 
 Borne by these noble gentlemen, that turn 
 IS'ecessity to favor and our choice 
 Makes natural, for sure dishonor cannot 
 Ever come near them. Julio, you served 
 With Hermio, your father. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, my lord, 
 My life was passed in battles under the eye 
 Of him you name, — the wisest, bravest, best, — 
 He was my sire ; I will not speak his praise ; 
 But nature more than modesty forbids. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Now you whom I have thought of, Julio, 
 And you, Eugenio ; you, my good lord, — 
 None nobler sure, — and you, and you and you. 
 Another time we will remember all ; 
 But that expectancy do you no wrong. 
 Know that our choice between this couple lies. 
 
 [The Duke consults with the Senators. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 11 
 
 Jtjlio. 
 
 How beats your heart, Eugenio ? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Well and soundly. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 You will have the place. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Truly I think so. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 And I? 
 
 Eugenio. 
 My lieutenant; I do hail thee such. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What says Eugenio ? What proffers he 
 To guide our choice in this grave exigence ? 
 What claims has he, what merits that may draw 
 To him our highest favor ? Let him speak. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 You have already spoken, my good lord. 
 For me and for my claims naming desert 
 And honor. I might less than modest seem 
 Urging a theme which is yet known to all. 
 It were no praise from others here, from me 
 Mere folly to rehearse my titles. I 
 Speak rudely being questioned ; honesty 
 Is virtue ever. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 True ; but what sayest thou ? 
 
12 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 That I should have command ; that your wise age 
 
 Has much forgotten that rash youth remembers ; 
 
 As instance, certain services and wounds 
 
 Of mine ; my race's glory only surpassed 
 
 By your transcendent station ; the regard 
 
 In which all Venice holds me ; my tried skill ; 
 
 My courage which not danger, fear, nor fate 
 
 Has ever shaken ;. my ambitious soul, 
 
 The love of country and the scorn of death. 
 
 Duke. 
 And Julio, you ? Unto this catalogue 
 Of virtues, is there aught that you would add 
 Peculiarly your own ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Indeed, my lord. 
 You know me well, and it were little worth 
 To plead my merits when my known defects 
 Would give them all the lie; yet I, perchance. 
 May urge some cause for having ventured thus 
 Among so many worthier ofScers, 
 To seek this dignity. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What is that, fair sir? 
 Take heart ; 'tis not with idle aim that I, 
 In the rude crush of this our vulgar time, 
 Test manhood by nice trials ; take good heart. 
 
 Julio. 
 My father was your friend and' you were his. 
 I think you loved him, and that he loved you 
 It needs no tongue of mine to trumpet forth. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 13 
 
 You were such friends as men have rarely seen ; 
 
 Brothers in youth, compatriots in age; 
 
 Each to the other faithful. You arose ; he waived 
 
 Claims that the state might well have weighed with 
 
 yours 
 
 To aid your rising, ever more content 
 
 With honor than with place. The height of things 
 
 Eemained to you ; he underwent the change 
 
 Of hollow Fortune, in her stormy mood 
 
 Wrecking her idols ; yet not so dismayed 
 
 That courage was not his, nor faith and love 
 
 To motive action that still buttressed you 
 
 And the fair commonwealth. In hoary age, 
 
 Against our present foes the Genoese, 
 
 He took the field, I with him, and he fell 
 
 In victory, breathing commingled names 
 
 Of Yenice, son, and friend. Ah, gentle soul ! 
 
 I boast not, sir, of honor, nor build hope 
 
 Upon a barren heritage of fame ; 
 
 Yet you, my lord, who knew him, well may think 
 
 That undegenerate blood may serve the state 
 
 So sired and so befriended. This is all 
 
 My merit. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 [To the Senators. 
 
 Grood, my lords, this youth hath shown 
 In all his past rare excellence ; he hath walked 
 Among the ways of men by paths unknown. 
 But I have noted him. What shall we say? 
 
 [T/ie Duke and Senators confer. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 How stand we now ? Who wins ? I did not know 
 You were so good an orator. 
 
14 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Notlj— 
 So much I could but say. I would that he 
 Had made comparison less sharp and given 
 To each the other's cause ; I had spoken then 
 
 With eloquence indeed, Eugenio. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 "What means the duke br dilly-dallying thus 
 And prosing matters like a granddam's dam ? 
 'Twere better did he call two squadrons out ; 
 Give one to you, the other to myself, 
 Let the word slip, " on, cut and thrust pell-mell," 
 And see who keeps the field. 
 
 Dtjke. 
 
 Once more attend, 
 And let the welcome of our words be seen 
 In the pledging of your hands. You both will be 
 Appointed to command with that too fine 
 Division as to rank which ancient law 
 In Venice has compelled ; but it is meet 
 That rivalry between you have no place. 
 It is of public import that you be 
 Symbols of faith and unity ; fair friends 
 You have been ever, — swear to continue such. 
 
 Etjgenio. 
 Hail, dear lieutenant ! I do swear. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 And I. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 15 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Hear then our pleasure guided and confirmed 
 By these our councillors. You, Julio, 
 Are made commander absolute in chief 
 Of all our forces ; we being thereto moved 
 By opinion of your prudence and your skill, 
 JSTot by affection. You, Eugenio, hold 
 Under him as second with those powers, 
 To be detailed hereafter, which the state 
 Confers upon its agents in the field 
 
 For its own safety why, how now ? how now ? 
 
 You drop his hand; do you forget yourself? 
 Say, are you not content ? 
 
 My oath is given. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Ay, ay, content. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 But not 3''et absolved. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I pray your grace, I covet not this post. 
 My friend is elder, better worth than I. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Ay, Julio knows me well ; takes no offence 
 At my rash humors ; soothes me when I chide. 
 Pleads my forgiveness oft'ner than I err ; — 
 God mend my faults and save me from his virtues ! 
 We will make brother officers indeed. 
 
 Duke. 
 You are not pleased, Eugenio, with our choice. 
 
16 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 In faith you wrong me; I am pleased, my lord. 
 Whate'er your grace may give I'm thankful for; 
 So much, indeed, that, to be frank and plain, 
 The least of your good favors is my greatest. 
 
 lUxit EUGENIO. 
 
 Duke. 
 I fear he'll make an unfit officer. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Nay, do not think so ; this will but endure 
 Till the first sting of disappointed hope 
 Ceases to rankle. He is brave, is proud, 
 And would aspire to lead ; but when in vain, 
 Then will his virtue be first to obey : 
 So high he soars above all base intent. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Trust not too far. If I perceive aright. 
 How brave soe'er and honest, he is one 
 Whose moods give vantage to the fiend. Look well 
 to him. \_JExeunt omnes. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 17 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Room in Eugenio's House. 
 
 Enter Eugenio. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Cursed be the hour that I became a soldier. A lieu- 
 tenant ! Second in command ! Commissary for the 
 state ! Spy ! Trickster ! What not ? Everything 
 save that one thing which leads to glory and, there- 
 fore, nothing. After all my bragging, too ! How shall 
 I face my friends — my enemies ? What will be said 
 when I am seen trudging at the heels of a fellow five 
 years my junior, a mere babe in arms and a child in 
 tactics? Kneeing to his lordship's orders ; ministering 
 to his caprices ; going when bid, coming when called ; 
 advancing when commanded ; returning when counter- 
 manded. Zounds! who'd have thought it? Shall I 
 hang myself or live and be revenged ! I like the last. 
 No, I like it not ; but my humor must have vent, and 
 I'll die ere I stick to the lieutenancy. Revenged ? on 
 whom ? The duke's too high a mark, and for Julio, 
 it was no fault of his that he has my place; that 
 whining tale about his dad would have damned him 
 utterly had his grace been other than an ass. By all 
 the thunders, senility rules the hour and juvenility 
 follows like a thin shadow after a lame substance. 
 More, — he's my friend, my very good friend, I must re- 
 member that. Tut! the poverty-stricken rogue is my 
 superior, shall I not remember that too ? I'll do him 
 no harm, but he shall be withdrawn from the command 
 and I have the honors of this campaign, or — perish who 
 
 may. \_Exit, 
 
 2* 
 
18 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 SCEISTE III. 
 
 A Boom in the Ducal Palace. 
 
 Laura and Madalena. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Come, Madalena, dry your eyes. It is folly to shed 
 tears for these lovers when they are not by to behold 
 them. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Where are they now, Laura ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Strutting up and down the court-yard in high boots, 
 spurred and feathered like Chanticleer, and far more 
 noisy. You may hear them. Hark to the roll of mili- 
 tary phrases. The campaign has begun already in 
 Venice. The place is well chosen, for here these valiant 
 gentlemen can neither ride nor fight. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 'Tis all for the behoof of us ladies, I fancy. But 
 should they never return, Laura ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Well, we might find better men. 
 
 Madalena. 
 But they will return ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 'Tis doubtful, and I know not why it should be de- 
 sired. These wars make sad changes in the men. IS^ot 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 19 
 
 a virtue have they but they lose ; not a vice but they 
 keep and cultivate and flout in your face as if it were 
 a virtue. Slayers of men, killers of ladies, living on 
 the word of order "ready, march," and the inspiring 
 accompaniment of fife and drum, — a fruitful existence, 
 is it not ? What senseless machines are they on parade 
 day, and yet proud as if Heaven delighted in the spec- 
 tacle ! You have seen the tawdry conceited things, red, 
 yellow, blue, mere birds of plumage, and, despite their 
 feathers, undainty, for are they not hirsute, tawny, be- 
 grimed, seamed, scarred, and sometimes featureless ? 
 They cuddle themselves with glory and demand your 
 worship, for all the world like those idols we dig up 
 here in Italy that blink at you with one eye over no 
 nose at all. Commend me rather to a divinity that is 
 tight and tidy and has a better odor. These fellows 
 will salute you whether you will or no ; taint you with 
 the fumes of the mess-room for a week ; tuck you under 
 their arm like a long sword and carry you through a 
 minuet as if charging at the head of a division. Pray 
 Heaven they may never return ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, cousin, cousin! how you shame your tears! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 No, my tears shame me. We are amphibians, my 
 dear, and the salt water side of me prevails ; — all the 
 more should we have nothing to do with soldiers. How 
 should we like animals that are so wholly terraqueous ? 
 'Tis not natural. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Not natural ? 
 
20 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 Wait till holiday is over and you shall see. Your 
 Julio, that lovely Adonis, shall return to you, if he 
 return at all, transformed into an epic ideal, a big- 
 breasted, bellowing Mars. 
 
 Madalsna. 
 
 Oh, you foolish Laura ! he transformed ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And Eugenio, to know whom is to know a whole 
 army, can you imagine, coz, what impossible thing he 
 will become ? he who is already bursting with bombast. 
 He will defy Homer. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 See where he comes. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Now, if another tear 
 
 Enter Eugenio. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 My service, ladies. Why do you weep, fair mistress? 
 
 Laura. 
 My finger! We have just left our embroidery and 
 I have pricked it desperately. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 Indeed ! I see no bleeding. 
 
 Laura. 
 Have you no pity, monster? It bleeds inwardly. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 21 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Oh ! bind it with this ring ; 'tis a ruby of the first. 
 
 My lady Madalena ha! What's this? Another 
 
 needle wound ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Kay, sir. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 You shall have it healed to your satisfaction ; Julio 
 is on the stairs. — But let us talk of matters worthy of 
 the time. How do you like my equipments, — these 
 boots ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Romantic sir, they fit the calf they carry. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 I have a very Bucephalus in training. ISTot a jockey 
 in Lombardy but would give me a thousand ducats for 
 him. I long to be beyond the sweep of the gondolas 
 and have space to mount him. You admire my horse- 
 manship, Laura. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ay, 'tis a brave sight ; the safety of your neck being 
 then in question. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 A worse thing may happen soon. Within ten days, 
 if Heaven favor us, we shall have fought three pitched 
 battles, taken as many towns, and, in turn, been bom- 
 barded by the enemy's fleet and battered by his bat- 
 teries. Should fortune bring us through these we have 
 still a more dangerous exploit. 
 
22 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Latjra. 
 Alas! and what is that? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 We must attempt the storming of Death's Peak, a 
 noted Alpine fortress in the hands of the Genoese or 
 their allies, overlooking the Lombard passes. 'Tis a 
 villanous spot, and mainly fatal to commanders. No 
 Venetian officer ever assayed it and brought away his 
 life. There Julio's father fell, and there fell his lieu- 
 tenant. What's the hour, Laura ? Oh that the time 
 were come ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Say not so, Eugenio ! 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Where is your color, mistress? Is that wound in 
 the thumb draining your cheek? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Your mockery is too severe; you do not mean all 
 
 this? 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 All this! 'tis nothing. There is hunger, fever, and 
 the banditti, against whom skill avails not; there are 
 precipices and Hyperborean snow, death in a thou- 
 sand ways and a thousand times repeated, for, when one 
 is comfortably dead, and often before, the insatiate 
 
 wolves 
 
 Laura. 
 
 By Heaven, you shall not go ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 23 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Julio. 
 Why, what's the matter, man? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, Julio, JuHo! does he speak the truth? 
 
 Julio. 
 In what? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 That wolves retain their appetite for a dead soldier. 
 
 Laura. 
 You are a heartless villain. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Truth-tellers are ever such. 
 
 Laura. 
 I will not believe you, though you swear it. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Then I'll not swear at all. - 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Say you but meant to mock me ; say it, Eugenio : 
 These terrors seem too real, our speech too vain ; 
 Dear sir, dear friend, give me some comfort now. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 I'll do that straight. Let us walk forth awhile. 
 Farewell, my friend and lady. 
 
 [Exeunt Eugenio and Laura. 
 
24 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Madalena ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You will not go to meet this certain death 
 And leave me living ? No, you will not go. 
 
 Julio. 
 Nay, that's beyond my power. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Then I die too ; 
 But listen, Julio ; will it be so brave 
 To break a heart that loves you ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 'Tis little pain to die upon the field 
 
 When the roused soul, awakened by the trump, 
 
 Looks proudly forth from its clay citadel 
 
 Upon the warlike death ; but 'tis not so 
 
 To wither slowly in the bloom of age, 
 
 Decaying like an autumn stricken leaf. 
 
 The mournful eye bent on the things to come, 
 
 The heart on those that were. 'Twere hard to feel 
 
 The life-blood that might leap if joy were nigh, 
 
 Too slowly dropping from the cureless wound 
 
 And see the ghastly death exult at last 
 
 In his slow triumph. These are miseries 
 
 Thou wouldst not have me suffer? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 25 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I would not 
 That thou shouldst suffer ; rather would I be — 
 Oh, utmost misery of human thought ! — 
 Unloved of thee than that tliy love should bring 
 Disquiet to thy bosom. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Oh ! if thou 
 So lovest me wilt thou leave me ? I have taught 
 The nightingales a note of happiness ; 
 All things have been most joyous, as if I 
 With every breath imparted and inhaled 
 Communicable bliss ; — thou knowest the cause. 
 Promise to give this mad ambition o'er ; 
 My mind forebodes some evil. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 May we not, 
 Being thus, defy all evil ? Our sweet lore, 
 Glorying in the magic of its might. 
 Making creation subject, has not wrought 
 Its wonders in our weakness but our strength. 
 Therefore I deem parting impossible ; 
 Heart bound in heart no sorrow can befall; 
 Thou wilt be with me though the world divide. 
 And danger shall not be. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Love's sophistry. 
 That once enraptured faith had made its own ; 
 But now love's self refutes it. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Live with me 
 3 
 
26 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 A moment in the past and thou wilt say 
 
 'Tis simple verity. Remember, love, 
 
 How oft our sail upon the circling seas 
 
 Has borne us in the twilight far beneath 
 
 The influence of skies that tender grew, 
 
 Sole seeing us, and spread their softest veil, 
 
 Lustrous pure night scarce sep'rable from day. 
 
 Eemember how the deepening glow revealed 
 
 The vast of things with glimpses whose far reach 
 
 Lightened infinity, that for the moment was 
 
 Grlorj'- and sanctuary, not mystery. 
 
 Remember how, as thine were mine, mine thine, 
 
 Our lips became melodious in accord 
 
 Of rapture with all sweetness, earth's and heaven's. 
 
 How silence came intense and interfused 
 
 Her breath with nature's, making voice of ours 
 
 Profane though murmured low ; how revery. 
 
 Beyond intelligence of speech or song. 
 
 Feeding on deepest sense, on rarest thought. 
 
 Fell on our souls : it was a seeming sleep. 
 
 Yielding sleep's essence overfraught and quick 
 
 With fugitive fine touch ethereal, 
 
 To seize imagination and to weave 
 
 Air into spirit, light into Paradise. 
 
 Almost we ceased to live when living most ; 
 
 Of being was no sign, save that our eyes. 
 
 Like bright star meeting star in the vault above, 
 
 Spake from our hearts and gave still evidence 
 
 Of ever-during ecstasy, and dreams 
 
 Outliving those of slumber. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Memory 
 Too great is mine. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 27 
 
 Julio. 
 
 N'ot so. — Thus we have passed, 
 All feeling and naught fearing, as we were one 
 With Heaven in its divinest purposes. 
 Scenes consecrate to danger and to dread 
 In this our storied clime; — the shoal, the reef, 
 The cataract's smooth brink, the whirling edge 
 Of angry currents, and the rock-bound mouths 
 Of overshadowed caverns yawning fate, — 
 Perils to awe a waked and watchful sense, — 
 Yet knew no harm; — trust to the future, then. 
 Was it Eugenio conjured up these fears? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 He spoke of death as swift, inevitable, 
 Destined and full of horror. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 His wild mood. 
 Eesume, beloved, thy accustomed calm ; 
 Ee calm and smile again. Oh, then the crown 
 Of this world's beauty is thine! Sweet passion then 
 Changes and is the same, like wind-borne clouds 
 Touched by the heavenly radiance; love, be calm. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Great happiness is calm, my Julio ; 
 How is it with great sorrow? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Fear it not. 
 We will go forth, and from thy breast I'll pluck 
 All fear away and in its place plant hope, 
 
28 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 That like the rose in richest soil shall bloom, 
 
 And like the strong oak thrive. An hour with thee 
 
 Heaven grants and thou, its tutelary grace, 
 
 Wilt not refuse. Swift moments now and few 
 
 Are more than is eternity if lived o'er 
 
 Apart from thee ; each instant here outweighs 
 
 Black War and all his evils. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Now thou feelest 
 As I do ; most sweet interchange has made 
 Our bosoms beat as one, for have I not 
 Thy thought as thou my feeling? Thou shalt find 
 That I will grieve no more. Happy in this 
 Is parting, that the heart reveals its depths 
 And gentle love its immortality. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY. 
 
 Another Boom in the Same. 
 EuGENio, Laura, and Catarina. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Laura, I have brought you my sister, Catarina. You 
 have known each other always, but now I would have 
 you and her and the lady Madalena be more together. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Welcome, dear Kate ; for once I have to thank this 
 barbarian ; but why is he thus suddenly kind ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Oh ! I have imagined in my vanity that there may be 
 some anxiety on my behalf; that, at least, my noise 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 29 
 
 may be missed. ISTow, Kate is vivid ; slie plays with 
 pretty lightnings. She will annihilate sorrow for you 
 should you think it worth while to have any, and ennui 
 cannot live in her presence. She will make you a rare 
 companion. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Do I not know it ? Are we not of kin ? It seems, 
 Kate, that in knowing thee I know myself My heart 
 chirrups when thou art near me, and I feel my eyes 
 take fire at the glance of thine. Let me hear thee 
 laugh again, Kate ; never was music like it. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Alas, Laura ! I have given up laughing since I have 
 found out how naughty the world is. 
 
 Laura. 
 And since when has that been, sweet puss? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Last night, I think it was ; ask Eugenio. The 
 world is certainly getting worse. I know it by his 
 swearing. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 He fancies it becomes him. 'Tis the fault of his 
 foolish profession and the ape-like nature of man. Be- 
 hold, how large he swells. What shall we do to correct 
 him? Play him some prank while he is away ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Yes ; what shall it be ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 We'll study that anon. I owe him something for 
 
 3* 
 
30 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 scaring me into a promise — I forget what ; — would you 
 
 believe it? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 No. is it possible ? I should delight in the promise 
 if I could think him worthy of it. Oh, Laura! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 There is time enough to retract, and, now I think of 
 
 it, 'twas conditioned on his good behavior; therefore, 
 
 I am safe. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 We will take him in hand and give him a taste of his 
 own discipline. He will know its value as never be- 
 fore, when such a prize is at stake. The subject is 
 interesting, brother; why are you so absent? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Oh, do your worst ; as well that I should be your 
 victim as another. But truly, when we are gone, fair 
 ladies, how will you amuse yourselves? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 You will leave behind you mischief enough ; we shall 
 
 be busy. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 But seriously 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Amuse seriously ; there's amusement. But seriously, 
 we will ride, dance, and sing, and, if you remain away 
 unconscionably long, be married and have children. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 If these are all, I can provide you with better 
 subjects. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 31 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And what are they ? To live in seclusion, do alms 
 
 daily, grieve to inanition, and, devoutly be it spoken, 
 
 learn to pray. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 You have mentioned pranks and mischief, — I have a 
 glimpse of something of the kind; it has just come to 
 me ; your wits will help me. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Let us hear. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Methinks it might be excellent drollery; yes, it 
 might be a waj^ to avoid sighing and sugar-plums. 
 
 Laura. 
 But what is it? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Merriment, if you like it, from morning till night 
 and from night till morning. 
 
 Laura. 
 We like it ; go on ; tell us what's to be done. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Will you speak, brother? It will cost us less time 
 in the performance than you in the cogitation. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Well, if you think it worth the doing, 'tis a harmless 
 knavery, — pshaw ! that's not the word, — a test — a 
 psychological experiment our deeper wits would call 
 it — of which our good friend Julio shall afford the 
 
32 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 matter ; — a generous and noble spirit, but possessed with 
 an unreasonable belief that man was not made for 
 jealousy, and he least of all men ; a persuasion I would 
 have you root out of him. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 That we can never do. If ever man was free from 
 such fancies it is he. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 ]S"ay, Laura 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Nay, but she speaks truth. It were as impossible to 
 make him jealous as to find cause for it in Madalena. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Were I here and free from war and business, it 
 
 would be done, and so done there should be jest for a 
 
 lifetime. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 A good jest, but at your own expense: forty mad 
 
 lovers would not be so ridiculous. There is no spark 
 
 in Julio's bosom that can be blown into that pernicious 
 
 flame. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 You think so ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Ay, truly ; the lover of Madalena could never doubt. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Never, although that lover were not Julio ! I but 
 humored your idle chat, and now that I find you 
 are of my opinion, I rejoice that at least one man has 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 33 
 
 SO much favor with you. I agree with you heartily 
 and give over my conceit. It is beyond you ; you 
 could not make him jealous. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Well, well; if the case were your own, Eugenio? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 Ah! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 If the time were to come when I should pity less — 
 think less of wolves and more of living men 
 
 Eugenio. 
 Ah, ha ! 
 
 Latjra. 
 
 We should see what we should see ; and for them — 
 they are but innocents ; — it might be done. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Impossible! Julio jealous of Madalena! those em- 
 bodied perfections, — an angel rom heaven could not 
 do it. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 But we who are less compunctious might. We 
 would have him raving in three days. 
 
 Catarina. 
 In as many hours. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 Jealous of Madalena ? 
 
34 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Ay, despite her saintship. Are we not women ? 
 Do we not know the soul of a lover ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 I dare you to the trial. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 We accept the challenge. What will you wager on 
 our success ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 All the spoils taken from the Genoese, and I will 
 give my help besides ; but no, it will mar the thing 
 placed as I am, and I have weightier matters to think 
 of; let me not be named ; — only this, I must have some 
 proof. Oh, I shall know ! you will have him here in 
 Yenice again as soon as the sport takes effect. I will 
 see to his affairs ; they are mine. But you will fail as 
 sure as heaven's aboveus. 
 
 Laijra. 
 
 If we do may it never shine again. By all the frolic 
 in the world 'twill be a rare jest, a most exquisite jest, 
 dear Kate. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 All the hard and compassionate scenes of a true 
 tragedy will be nothing to it ; 'tis deplorable. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 To have these models of constant lovers outwitted 
 and unwitted thus ! Made mere mortals like the rest 
 of us ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 35 
 
 Catarina. 
 'Tis a heavy day for them ; I'll cry my eyes out. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And then the explanations, the tears, the repentance ; 
 love exalted, love renewed, final happiness ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 Oh, horrible ! The end is worse than the beginning. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Come, Kate, come, Laura ; I have a score of saluta- 
 tions to bestow somewhere and a long story to tell 
 before I begin my expedition, which will be before the 
 day is over. I have ordered all things for despatch. 
 When you next have news of me the enemy shall 
 bring them, for he shall hear, and that suddenly, of 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Nevertheless, my generalissimo, write us with thy 
 own valiant hand. As for the enemy, him will we 
 demolish. \_Exeunt. 
 
36 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 A Hall in the Palace. 
 
 Jacopo and Astolfo. 
 
 JTacopo. 
 'Stolfo, 'Stolfo, where art thou ? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 Here, my lord ; at your elbow. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Why did I not see thee ? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 Ah ! we old totterers do not see as once we did. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Why, villain, how old am I ? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 
 Like your poor servitor, my lord ; past counting, 
 past counting. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I'll give thee the key to the calendar ; go seek it, and 
 report truly. ' \_Striking him. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 37 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 I humbly obey your worship. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Come back. Now, why didst thou provoke me ? Am 
 I ancient ? do I look like it ? 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Truly, my lord, very ancient. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Incorrigible shallow prater, thou dost bewilder me ; — 
 how ? where ? in the fashion of my attire ? I have a 
 taste for simplicity. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Lord, no ! Are we not shrivelled, your worship ? 
 These locks, are they not thin ? These bodies, are they 
 not inclined ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Diavolo ! hold thy peace. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I will, your worship. We were gallants once, fine 
 
 gallants once. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You are mistaken in your man, 'Stolfo, and rarely 
 impertinent. 'Tis thyself thou talkest of, not of me. 
 Truly, thou seest no longer. I am not as old as thou by 
 thirty years. Look at our records ; you will find the 
 day Heaven gave me to Yenice marked in large Romans, 
 not so much on account of my poor self as of three 
 fiery-winged meteors that appeared in the sky about 
 noon and rested above my father's house until mid 
 
 4 
 
38 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 night, the hour 1 was born. Such work as there was ! 
 The Emperor sent his astrologers, but they could 
 make nothing of it. Now, come hither; thy speech 
 reminds me. Our Yenetian artisans excel all the 
 world in mirrors ; I must have one. 
 
 AsTOLro. 
 You, my lord ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 I. Thou shalt buy me a perambulator; one thou 
 canst carry with thee on our travels, of ample size, so 
 that I may at all times see my whole person, that there 
 may be nothing amiss in it. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Your worship needs it not. Look in the glass of 
 that fine fancy of yours, my master, and you will be 
 made in a moment into any shape you please. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Well said, Astolfo. Egad! thou has wit at last. 
 Yes, forsooth ; there is much to be seen however I 
 am looked at, and I am not mystical, not idolatrous; 
 the world shall have its share ; but I owe myself this 
 delectation ; provide me the mirror. 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 Must I carry it, my lord ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 'Twill adorn thee, thou grinning knave ; 'twill make 
 thee known in chronicle. There was another, the 
 Knight of the Looking-Glass ; thou shalt eclipse him. 
 I ask thee not to look in it. Heaven confound thy 
 ugliness! I would not have it broken. 
 
 [AsTOLFO retires as if going. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 39 
 
 I am in an odd ferment to-day, like one who has just 
 begun to live with all his organs full grown ; or like 
 one whose past has been a dream, and who comes stark 
 and staring into this world of reality. Thou art a 
 naked creature, Jacopo; a young sweet cherub with 
 nothing but wings about thee. Hitherto thou hast 
 sailed, soared, floated, and been happy; now thou art 
 incarnate, and art called upon to show the manhood 
 that is ripening in thee ; thou must put forth sinew. 
 I shall aspire, I shall achieve ; but in the mean while, 
 being a worldling, I have wants. Let me set my 
 brain in order. First, how and why it needs not to 
 inquire, but Astolfo is right ; peremptorily, I must have 
 a wig. 
 
 Astolfo. 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The wig must surmount a councillor's robe, for I 
 shall soon be called to the state chamber ; robes, there- 
 fore, robes. 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I shall go from thence to the field ; the war cannot 
 survive without me. I must have a retinue, arms, 
 steeds, and caparisons. In good time the court shall 
 know me, not merely as a wit shining by my own light, 
 but as a politician having no brains but ruffling ; there- 
 fore laces, frills, velvets, all kind of tawdry. I shall 
 be a lover, I shall not escape ; therefore I must tickle 
 quintessential sense and supereminent fancy ; perfumes, 
 therefore, and pearls and poesy. 
 
 Astolfo. 
 My lord. 
 
40 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I will shed incense, scatter jewels, and hang Ovid, 
 love's expositor, at my button-hole. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I shall grow ; I shall excel. I must have all things 
 pertaining to rank, honor, and merit. Splendor I de- 
 spise, but it becomes me. I must teach our paltry 
 Yenetians how to shine. It were noble to subjugate 
 the Turk and then set him to fill up the lagoons to 
 make space for my establishments. Ah, ha! I have 
 him. Parks, palaces, fountains, silks, tapestries, otto- 
 mans, and slaves ! Luxury, thou hast not yet been 
 seen, but thou shalt be. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 My lord, my lord. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 What, art thou not gone yet? What is it thou 
 wouldst have? 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Money for the looking-glass. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha ! let me think. Take the ducat I gave thee last 
 night to drink my health with. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I'll not do it, that's flat. 'Tis the first I have had 
 from you in six months ; besides, 'tis spent. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Improvident dog ! Then borrow. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 41 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Ko one will lend. 
 
 Then beg, beg. 
 I do not like that. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Unfortunate pride ; then thou wilt have to steal. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 I will do that if I can ; Heaven willing. 
 
 [Exit AsTOLFO. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The rogue said I was old ; all men say it or think it, 
 — I see it in the doffino; of their bonnets. Old ! AYhere- 
 fore? There's matter for coo-itation. I must settle 
 that, adjudicate it, and put it awaj^ forever. I'll do it 
 by dint of argument, then who can gainsay. Let me 
 see. I have heard of voices, geniuses, and the like; 
 they hum within me sometimes and to this very tune, 
 as thus: one says, --Fair sir, you are old." The other 
 answers, " By what token ?"' Then the other, " You 
 have wisdom, age's signet." The other, and he's my- 
 self, I concede wisdom ; it is mature in me for my 
 years; but what then ? it may go with beauty; beauty 
 goes with youth, and you will not deny beauty either 
 in ]\Iinerva or me. Besides, good interlocutor, it is 
 only when you are wise yourself that you discern my 
 wisdom. Sometimes you are astray, and then you call 
 me "crack-brain." Give me another reason. '-Sir, 
 you are placable, and, like old men, hate contention." 
 I grant it ; but my ignoble enemies will have that to 
 
 4* 
 
42 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 be cowardice, and it is true that, like the nations, I 
 always draw the sword in the interests of peace ; they 
 are not, therefore, aged. You are answered ; speak 
 again. " You have no vices, none of the sins of 
 youth, eschew vanity and pleasure." Truly said ; I am 
 all this, but it argues for youth, not age. Youth hath 
 modesty and holds the rein ; age throws it away, puts 
 the devil it has been nursing in the box, and then away 
 to Hades. Have we not examples ? On the one side 
 Epaminondas, not old, and Scipio, and the young Au- 
 gustus ; on the other Tiberius, that savory elder. De- 
 tractor, away, or bring me better reasons. He is silent ; 
 he has no better. If the fiend who possesses him can 
 supply his forged opinions with better, I will be con- 
 tent to be called old. Old ! Zounds ! the word is a 
 mockery. My glass does not show me so ; my limbs 
 do not bear me so ; my heart does not beat so ; — how, 
 then, am I old? Let the world consume in its malice; 
 I have known it this many a year. Envy, rank envy ! 
 By the sun above me, I am honored by it. 
 
 Enter Madalena. 
 
 Ah ! bright stars wander from their sphere some- 
 times. I humbly greet your ladyship. How does 
 your ladyship ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 I thank you, well, sir Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 As well as you are wont to be, sweet lady fair ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 I hope so ; why thus particular ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 43 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Methinks there is less of the rose in your cheek than 
 is native there. Its twin-sister the Hly hath usurped 
 its place; but though there is less of bloom there is 
 more of sweetness. Is your ladyship quite well ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Indeed, I have been better. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Where lies your complaint, sweet Madalena ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Probe not too deeply, venerated sir. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Shall I see your hand ? This hand speaks something ; 
 have you not the gout ? There I can feel for you. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I fear you are an unskilful physician, Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Tell me your malady and I will venture my reputa- 
 tion on its cure. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 In sooth, Jacopo, I never thought of naming it ; but 
 suppose, now, I were to call it heart-ache? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Hum! I never had it; it is not down in the books; 
 the phrases are more learned ; cor, cordis — I have not yet 
 finished my Latin. Are you not mistaken in the name ? 
 
44 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Yery like, very like ; it is not worth a name. If all 
 the girlish anxieties of my breast were brought to light, 
 they would seem imperceptible as air. Were I to call 
 them cares, who would not laugh? Yet I, who am as 
 foolish as they, have wept over them. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ah! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You do not laugh at them ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Not I. 
 
 Madalena. 
 You have a kind heart, Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Whose heart would not be kind when yours beat 
 near it ? Had I your hand now, my lady, I would not 
 construe it wrongly. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I fear you would construe it too truly. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 And wherefore fear ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ah, Jacopo ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 That blush ! ten thousand divinities come and go in 
 it. [-ffe takes her hand.'] Lady, here is love ; love un- 
 spoken, or love divided from its object. As a true seer, 
 shall I kiss the hand that bears so sweet a token ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 45 
 
 Madalena. 
 Your lips will hallow it. 
 
 Enter Laura and Catarina. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 How now, cousin ? Hast thou found a lover? 
 
 Madalena. 
 A friend, I hope ; is it not so, Jacopo ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Till death, till death, till death ; a more than friend. 
 
 Laura. 
 What, whispering ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 Who is that tawdry ancient ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 It is Jacopo ; a frequenter of the court ; a sort of 
 privileged unofficial fool ; ridiculous for his absurdities, 
 but endured for the amusement they afford. What 
 means he by thus approaching Madalena? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Does she not know his reputation ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 IsTot the evil of it ; she knows nothing of evil in any 
 one. Men are all angels to her. 
 
46 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I pray you, sir Jacopo, be entertained with my 
 friend and cousin. Farewell, sir; farewell, sweet friends. 
 
 l^xit Madalena. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 'Tis night again. Let me ponder on what she said. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 How now, sir Jacopo ? Why do you muse so deeply ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Friend and cousin, friend and cousin. She is your 
 cousin ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Madalena! Yes, surely. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 And your friend ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 I esteem her such. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 If she were mine ! Friend and cousin ! Would she 
 were my little finger ! [Kissing it. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You admire her, Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Do I not ? By Heaven, I hum ! ha ! 
 
 Laura. 
 She is worthy of the admiration of so good a nian. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 47 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ay, she is worthy of me. She is gentle, she is gra- 
 cious, she is lovely; she is beyond my praises, yet I 
 could sing them forever. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 The esteem of such a gentleman is precious. I will 
 have pleasure in repeating to her what you have said, 
 sir Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Wilt thou ? Heaven bless thee ! Tell her all I have 
 
 said and all I would say. Do not tarry on thy errand ; 
 
 go, go ; farewell. [_Exit Jacopo. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Was ever antiquity so ridiculous ? Why, what's the 
 matter, Laura? 
 
 Laura. ^ 
 
 Dost thou see nothing, Kate ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Ay, that this fantastical old courtier is half in love 
 with Madalena. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 IS'othing more, Kate ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I have some faint glimmering of a mischief to come, 
 but nothing clear. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 We have a wager to win, Kate. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Good! 
 
48 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 A lover to make jealous. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Ha ! I take thee ; an old fool to decoy. 
 
 Laura. 
 Thou hast it, Kate; thou hast it. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 To set him on a love-chase and then run him to the 
 death. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What a catastrophe will it make when our hyper- 
 critical lover shall find his rival to be a thing like this ; 
 — the mere remains of a man, a shadow, a figment. 
 Eare sport! rare sport! When shall it begin? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 This instant; no, to-night, — the time suits better. 
 Let us walk in the garden and arrange the means. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I will look in thy eyes, Laura, and so the humor of 
 the jest shall never fail. \_Exeii?it. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 49 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Duke's Cabinet in the Same. 
 
 The Duke and a Crier. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Here are despatches I would have proclaimed 
 To all our citizens. Their import is 
 That Julio's thus far master of the field ; 
 That many bravely have demeaned themselves, 
 And most of all Eugenio, his lieutenant ; 
 That our cowed enemies abate their strength, 
 While we still grow in numbers and in heart. 
 Conduct and discipline ; that we roll back 
 The tide of proud invasion and ere long 
 Shall welcome home victorious peace again. 
 Take and proclaim ; you ne'er bore happier news. 
 
 \_Exit Crier. 
 
 Unter Franco. 
 Honest Franco, is it thou? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 If your grace is at leisure I would fain impart a 
 thing to you. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What! are the bailiffs after thee again. Franco ? 
 
 Franco. 
 No, no, my lord. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 In what new predicament, then, has thy impertinent, 
 but not wholly useless, curiosity engaged thee ? 
 
 5 
 
50 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Franco. 
 
 None, my lord ; but in a matter which may prove, 
 if it please you, a most fruitful source of enjoyment. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It is plain. Franco, thou wouldst not have me killed 
 by the cares of state. What new vein hast thou 
 opened now ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 One of pure gold to the lovers of laughter and its 
 
 uses. I was strolling a few minutes since in the garden 
 
 when, as I was hidden behind certain trees, came 
 
 promenading your niece Laura and her friend, the lady 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I know the jade. She was here a day, and at the 
 end of it had sounded the depth of my good humor. 
 I think of sending her after her brother that she may 
 rattle with the drums. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 A most charming fair young lady, my lord. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Ha ! is she so ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 They were earnest in conversation, and from their 
 lively looks and gestures it seemed of a pleasant kind. 
 I dared not intrude ; I could not escape, and so I 
 thought it a small matter 
 
 Duke. 
 To listen ; a hanging matter if there be treason in it. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 51 
 
 Franco. 
 
 To remain, I would have said, my lord. There was 
 so much pantomime enacted by these fair ladies that I 
 could scarcely be said to listen. They seemed to 
 mimic some one who might himself be playing a part. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 And who was he, good gossip ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 You shall hear. Presently they sat down directly 
 before the grove in which I was, and there awhile toyed 
 with the flowers, adorning each other's hair, to beguile 
 the time, as one said, till nightfall; but still they 
 whispered with merry ripple of smiles and bubble of 
 laughter; — it was like the singing of Tuscan brooks, — 
 why should I not listen ? 
 
 Duke. 
 I know not. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Or look ? As they lay reclined among the foliage all 
 mirth and beauty, 1 was fain to do so. The lady 
 Catarina was embraced by her friend — thus. 
 
 Duke. 
 Gro on, knave. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Briefly, this is what I understand. They weave a 
 feminine fine web to entangle those guileless flies, Julio 
 and the lady Madalena. 
 
 Duke. 
 How, an injury ? 
 
52 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Franco. 
 
 No, no, my lord ; they are far from that thought ; it 
 is all jest and all honor. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Let me hear the jest that I may better judge of the 
 honor. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 They will play upon the jealousy of Julio, — nay, do 
 not knit your brows ; 'tis nothing, or just so much as 
 will give zest to the sport, the victim of which will be 
 the fantastical fool, Jacopo. 
 
 Duke. 
 Jacopo ! 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Ay, 'tis he who will be persuaded that he loves your 
 daughter and that she, in her condescension, does not 
 despise him ; he who will make court to Yenus and 
 encounter the rage of Mars. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 And where is the end of this? Does their vision 
 extend that far ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 No ; a spirit of mad mirth runs away with them ; 
 but what matter, your grace ? the marrow of the jest 
 will be Jacopo; gay sir Jacopo, gallant sir Jacopo, 
 loving sir Jacopo. Lord ! how he will strut and swear 
 and swagger and deck his superannuated person with 
 new fashions! How he will grin and lisp and dawdle 
 and deform his deformity in affecting the amiabilities ! 
 Such a sight will ne'er be seen again. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 53 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Methinks, Franco, this same mad spirit runs away 
 with thee. Hast thou ever come to speech with the 
 lady Catarina ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Who — I, my lord ? Oh, my lord ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Well, you shall do so, and with Laura. I would 
 know more of this business. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Your grace will not interrupt it? it would put these 
 ladies in mourning. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 So may the prosecution of it ; we will see. Obtain 
 their confidence, keep in the current with them, and 
 report all that passes. The beginning of the jest is 
 theirs ; the ending may be ours. Thou knowest I have 
 never favored the wild masking of our Italian courts, 
 where, so often, comedy has the prologue and tragedy 
 the epilogue. Performers in that kind distinguish not 
 between paper pellets and leaden balls, and forget nitre 
 and saltpetre. But I say nothing yet. Look to these 
 ladies and — to thyself, somewhat. \_Exeunt. 
 
 5* 
 
54 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Boom in the Same. 
 
 Jacopo, solus. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I have seen her again, but this time she seems shy. 
 It is too much for a sinner to hope for, yet I could 
 have wished Heaven had made her for me. I think I 
 am getting as mad as that fool of mine, Astolfo. When 
 I took her hand but now, how it thrilled me ; and 
 when she said gently, " Probe not too deeply," and, " I 
 have the heartache," and, " Your kissing my hand will 
 hallow my love," I was in the skies. I have fallen to 
 earth since, and am mouldy. Of course, she could not 
 mean me. What's become of that rogue, Astolfo ? He 
 shall seek a new service if he tarries thus. It is strange 
 I never remarked before how lovely she is. Her beauty 
 strikes not at first, it is so veiled by modesty ; but it 
 strikes, and to the heart. J wonder whether I am 
 sleeping or waking ? I feel lightness about the brain, 
 uncertainty as to where I am, what I am. I hear 
 sights, see sounds, — no, see sights, hear sounds ; 'tis the 
 same ; all senses are one when she is their subject ; all 
 things become incorporeal as she seems to be. How 
 like a little child she is, yet how full of the dignity of 
 the woman ! The spirit of love dwells about her, and 
 breathes tenderness and compassionate thought. For 
 the first time in my life I am in charity with all men 
 save myself I will think of her no more, or my wits 
 will desert me altogether. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 55 
 
 Enter Laura and Catarina. 
 
 Laura. 
 Behold our mark, Kate. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Will you begin, Laura? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 How now! "What is your name, old man? What 
 is your name, I say ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You spoke to an old man ; where is he ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Thy name ; truly, if thou answerest not, I will stab 
 thee with my bodkin. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 God a' mercy ! You know me well enough, my lady 
 Laura. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Do I know him ? Dost thou know him, Catarina ? 
 Does any man, woman, or child know him ? What's 
 your name ? Whence come you ? Who sent you ? 
 Whose are you. Heaven's or the fiend's ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 l!^ay, if you would know I can tell thee, and more 
 too, in your ear when we are alone together. 
 
 Laura. 
 I know what thou wert ; thy name was Jacopo ; 
 'twas an honest name, and an honest man bore it ; but 
 
56 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 that man is no longer among us. I verily believe that 
 Satan has crept into his likeness, and is the author of 
 this villany. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Yillany 
 
 Laura. 
 Ay, villany ; why = 
 
 Catarina. 
 ]^ame it not, Laura ; I shall faint. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, thou wily dotard ! 
 
 Oatarina. 
 Oh, thou ancient serpent ! forever changing thy skin 
 and coming forth gay and deceitful as ever. 
 
 Laura. 
 Thou neat compendium of all sin. 
 
 Oatarina. 
 Thou pleasant skimming of all folly. 
 
 Laura. 
 Is it possible it is he who has done this thing ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 What thing? 
 
 Oatarina. 
 Oh, 'tis unspeakable ! What ho ! My salts. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ladies, be not so exorbitant ; fair words best be- 
 come such lips. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 57 
 
 Laura. 
 
 See the bright-eyed, sweet croaking, muddy-tinted 
 creature ; a toad cuddling in a flower-bed. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 In the stainless heart of that adorable being, — that 
 she should endure him ! 
 
 Lafra. 
 
 That she should love him ! Oh, I could weep over 
 it! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 And I. Shall we flay him alive ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Or have him hanged in the market-place. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Or pinch him, or tickle him, or surfeit him with 
 kisses, sweet looks, and courteous words. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Come away, Laura; he will infect us like her we 
 know. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ay, I am dangerous, fair ones, when love is in ques- 
 tion. But tell me ; who is she that has honored me 
 this time ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Shall I tell him, Kate? 
 
58 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 No — yes; it cannot be long concealed, and perhaps 
 he may have conscience and spare her. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 He spare her! That wolf spare that lamb! Oh, 
 my cousin ! Could I have foreseen this ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Your cousin ! The lady Madalena ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 She, iniquity. Come, now, permit thyself to be 
 reasonable and aid us to correct her of this folly. Let 
 it be seen that thou art old. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, as well old as young; have it as you 
 will ; I wear the belt, I carry the favor. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Insufferable! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Eail on, mistress, rail on ; ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Idiot, dost thou mock us ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha, ha, ha ; ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Laura. 
 What shall we do to him ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 59 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I thank Heaven for your coming, ladies; I thank it 
 devoutly. I was a very wretched man before, and 
 you have made me the happiest alive. You think 
 the devil has taken my likeness ; now I think, without 
 disparagement to your beauty, that you have taken 
 his, for, God wot, never was such good news so un- 
 graciously told. Ha, ha, ha. How did you come by 
 this, lasses ? Doubtless like my own her passion over- 
 flowed and she has been heard by you. Does my little 
 one weep and fret and pine away for her lover? Then 
 I must go and comfort her. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Grive him his crutch. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Laura. 
 Lead him along ; he will fall into the canal. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Laugh away, laugh away ; it glads me to the heart 
 
 that you are so merry. I have all the wine of the 
 
 laughter, it were hard to deprive you of the lees. 
 
 Laugh again; what's all this mockery when I think of 
 
 her ? Ah, Jacopo, Jacoj)o, thou hast not lived in vain ! 
 
 [Exit Jacopo. 
 Laura. 
 
 Snared, caught, bound, and hoodwinked! Oh, the 
 absurdity ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What haste to fall into the trap ! it scarce needed 
 the preparation. 
 
60 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 
 He brought the train with him ; we had only to 
 
 apply the match. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 It is most egregious. Was there ever such young 
 blood in old veins? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Almost he deserves better treatment; but it is all 
 phantasmal. Surely his wit wanders. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I know not. We who are young know not the 
 heart of age, and it may be pity to oppress it. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Never fear; the man is without reverence and, 
 young or old, is fair game. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Shall you write Eugenio ? 
 
 Laura. 
 No, no. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Julio ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 We may be spared that. An explosion may come 
 presently the report of which he may hear. Of the 
 two lovers I know not which is the more forward, the 
 young or the old. Surely our mild cousin carries some 
 spell. 'Twere best Julio should come in that way. 
 
 Catarina. 
 But if not?— 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 61 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Then we will write, lovingly and tearfully. We will 
 sprinkle the sheet with eau sucre. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Or have Jacopo help us indite and laugh till we cry. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCEISTE lY. 
 A Terrace in the Palace Garden. 
 
 Jacopo, solus. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Would to Heaven these summer heats were over ! 
 this is warm work for the dog-days. What a consum- 
 mation to my hopes ! she the young, the fair, the angel- 
 ical ! Yenezia's choicest flower ! I could run, I could fly ; 
 I am as nimble as any seven-leaguer of them all. When 
 Madalena and I come into the old duke's place I will 
 abolish gondolas, those slow-moving, funereal things; 
 we will cut air and water by our own proper motion ; 
 — consummation on consummation ! My lady is not 
 here ; does not some heavenly instinct warn her of my 
 presence ? Eest, rest, my heart ; be patient, heart ; 
 confine thyself for a moment within terrestrial limits ; 
 thou shalt see her anon. This is her promenade of a 
 summer's night. I have seen her here many times 
 alone, — the moon draws me to the spot. Once I had 
 almost spoken, but I know not, — the divinity about her 
 awed me. There I was at fault ; will I never know 
 my own merits ? I did suspect she dwelt upon some 
 dear object, but would have sworn it was Diana above 
 
 6 
 
62 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 or Diana's Endymion, rather than the fool beneath. 
 Yet so it is, and even now I am astonished at it. Let 
 the fiend take me if I do not prove worthy of her. 
 Follies of youth, adieu. I am sadly at variance with 
 myself This fire she has kindled subdues even while 
 it glorifies. Though she love me wholly I shall fear to 
 be all myself before her. If she were here now I am 
 deadly afraid I should be dumb. I, the admired of all 
 ladies, to be humbled thus ! I am no man to prate of 
 it. Would she were come ! What a glorious night for 
 love's first tale to be told in ! I rejoice that it is night, 
 and such a night, for although I am not old and not at 
 all the worse for wear, yet the moonlight shall grace 
 me like a delicate SiWy, and who is not the better for a 
 little romancing ? Be that as it may ; by all the gods, 
 the mind is intact whatever rents there may be in the 
 ragged body. Ha ! she comes. 
 
 Writer Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Love's place is here, under the gentle moon. 
 In the sweet silence. Here may I converse 
 With him as he were present ; call faint dreams 
 From their dim cells ; possess a glorious world 
 Of kiugly recollections ; lose a thought 
 Amid the thronging many and have joy 
 To find it again in him. Oh, happy hour 
 That seems to make us one again ! Ah ! no. 
 We are not one again. IS^ow, being here, 
 And having what it gives me, I but feel 
 How powerless is fancy when most sweet ; 
 Her sweetness bears a sting, and I am left 
 Worse wounded than before. Monarch of mine, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 63 
 
 Would that my eyes had vision like my heart ! 
 Would that this sensible touch might reach as far 
 As its swift heatings ! — I would measure o'er 
 Distance thy armies have not trod and be 
 Beside thee in this instant, were it in the storm 
 Of waged war, or in the leaguer still, 
 Under some frowning battlement, when sleep 
 Had closed the warrior's lids and made a peace 
 Where wakeful Love should be the conqueror 
 And Heaven should render tribute. Adria, 
 Embosoming her Yenice in the sheen 
 Of this soft splendor, softly framing spells 
 To charm the ear and eye, less deeply breathes 
 Her passionate murmurings ; less fondly winds 
 Her clasping arms ; with less tenacious hold 
 Entwines her ancient worship, than would I 
 This night in adoration yield to thee. 
 My hero, my heart's all of tenderness. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Entwines her ancient worship, — she means me. 
 Most lovely lady, see me at thy feet. 
 Nay, do not fly ; turn once and look at me. 
 Be not dismayed I have surprised thy secret. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Who art thou ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 He of whom thou speakest, Jacopo. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh ! is it you, Jacopo ? 
 
64 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 None other, sweetest lady. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I am glad it is thou. I had fear some stranger had 
 stolen on my solitude. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Let me quiet the fear, all fear, all pain. If thou 
 yieldest me thy whole heart give me its pains as well 
 as its pleasures. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Nay, Jacopo ; thou playest the courtier to extrava- 
 gance. I said naught of this. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Didst thou not ? Methought thou didst so warble. 
 Art thou not sad ? thou seemest sad ; the moon makes 
 us all sad ; I am very sad. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Why, no ; not now. I feel more like laughing. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Dost thou ? Ha, ha, ha. I will laugh with thee ; I 
 will laugh forever, — ha, ha, ha. I am in the very 
 humor of laughing ; the breeze has laughter in it ; the 
 stars twinkle with it. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Why, Jacopo ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Laugh, laugh, sweet angel. Art thou not an angel ? 
 Yea ; I'll circumnavigate thee ; thou art an angel from 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 65 
 
 top to toe, length and breadth, outfit and infit, — alto- 
 gether an angel. Lucifer himself would worship you. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Jacopo ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Are we not happy, m}^ angel ? By all the saints we 
 
 are. We shall epitomize the world and all its pleasures. 
 
 Breathe but a wish, 'tis mine as I am thine, and shall 
 
 be fulfilled in me. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ah! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I shall please you. Is it not I who can do everything 
 that love delights in, — play, dance, masquerade, make 
 unimaginable verses? Would it now befit this happy 
 occasion that we should perform a saraband ! 
 
 Jacopo ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Fond repetition ! I am a hero for thy sake ; thou 
 hast not called me so in vain. I dedicate my sword to 
 thy service. I feel within me now the strength of ten 
 Orlandos when they were maddest. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I declare, Jacopo, you are young again. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Hearest thou that, Jacopo ? Young again ; yes, 
 if I were ever old. La ! la ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Once I thought you old, but not now. 
 
 6* 
 
ee MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Grazia, most adorable; but let us have done with 
 that. Let us defy time and fate. Love was made to 
 do both. If life be short at the longest, let there be no 
 short and no long, but all one golden circle. Come, 
 we need not go to the gods for their elixir ; we are as 
 young as they and as long-lived, and twice as blissful, 
 if we will but think so. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 That is delightful, Jacopo. I shall remember it, and 
 tell it to some one some day, forty years from this or 
 more. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Tell it again to me, to me. Love's babble bandied 
 from sweet mouth to sweet mouth is love's best evi- 
 dence. Ha, ha ! La, la! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You are astonishing to-night, my brave Jacopo ; but 
 I beseech thee, stand still. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Closer to thee, Madalena ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Where thou wilt, so thou be quiet, or some of the 
 guards will be making a mark of thee as some mis- 
 chievous thing, such as our sailors bring, that has 
 
 escaped. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Truly I am a mischievous thing, ha, ha. Thou 
 wouldst not have me wounded ? I^ot so wounded ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 67 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 It would distress me, certainly. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Love's darts are the things to die by. I'll stake him 
 against your father's archers. Besides, as you see, I 
 am stout and competent and they would hardly dare. 
 'Tis for you I fear, my divinely anxious friend, — these 
 night airs — shall I protect you ? They will chill you, 
 and so chill my poor heart. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I thank you. I have encountered them here many 
 times without harm. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 But there is that which pierces more deeply than 
 hollow airs which I, sweet lady, am not generous 
 enough to guard thee against. 
 
 Madalena. 
 What may that be, Jacopo? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 A lover's confession, which, by yonder fateful moon, 
 it is now time thou shouldst hear. Shall I tell thee 
 how a fond youth hath loved thee, how adored? How 
 he hath joyed at thy coming, sorrowed at thy departure, 
 paled as thou didst pale, bloomed as thou didst bloom, 
 revived or was dejected as thy beams shone on him or 
 were withdrawn ? Oh ! shall I show you his heart, 
 that matchless heart ? thou hast not known it yet ? 
 
68 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 It is gently thought, graciously said; but I pray 
 you speak not of him. Abuse not that which thou 
 didst overhear. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 But, oh, listen ! thou low-voiced cherub, while I tell 
 thee how he has fed only upon his passion, drunk only 
 of his hopes until now, oh, rapture ! they turn into 
 fruition. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Some other time, not now. How does your good 
 lady ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 My lady ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Ay, your wife, the lady Lucetta ; that excellent 
 woman. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Declining daily. Like that same Cynthia whom in 
 girth she so much resembles, she begins to break at the 
 edges. Soon will she dwindle and be diaphanous and 
 then vanish altogether. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 * 
 
 What mean you, Jacopo ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 She wanes, I say ; she wanes. She has lost three of 
 her three hundred pounds of fleshly essence. Dissolu- 
 tion has set in. Die she must, and that shortly. ]N"o 
 fear of her. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 69 
 
 Madalena. 
 That must grieve you very much. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 It does ; it does ; — ah ! could you see me weep. 
 But help it who can ? IS'ature still holds her course ; 
 still she makes vacancies and fills them. But be she 
 living or be she dead, what matter to us ? She is a 
 mountain in our path, what then ? I would scale an 
 hundred such to arrive at thee. Art thou going, lady ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ay, the hour grows late. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Do not go yet. Thou knowest thou wouldst rather 
 not leave me thus. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Why, are you not well, Jacopo ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Are you well, Madalena ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 In faith, yes ; well enough. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Sing not falsehoods, little bird ; I know thou art not 
 well. Didst thou not tell me so ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 But thou couldst not heal me, most unwise physician. 
 
70 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I have studied more deeply since, and if I cure thee 
 
 not now and thou suffer, I shall be content to suffer 
 
 with thee. I have a simple for thee ; wilt thou take 
 
 it? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Well, to please thee ; how shall it be taken ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 On the cherry of thy lip. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Forbear, good father. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Not till I repeat the medicament, there is life in it. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Farewell, farewell. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 One word more; when shall we meet again ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 When? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Where ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Where? Why, anywhere. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 In your apartment ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 71 
 
 Madalena. 
 Heavens ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 An hour from this ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Wherefore ? What mean you ? 
 
 J ACOPO. 
 
 Charming inquisitor ! Exquisite sly rogue ! Most 
 delectable fairy, whose blush betrays thee even in this 
 pallid moonlight ! Shall I tell thee ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, shame, ancient sir ! you mean me no insult ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Death to him who thinks it ! Let him beware of 
 molesting love like ours. Who scofPs at Jacopo now? 
 I am mortal no longer. I look with scorn upon the 
 creatures of perishable time. An hour from this ! Eoll 
 rapidly, you moon ! roll as if you felt my rapture ! All 
 adorable, all perfect, didst thou say an hour, a long 
 long hour? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I must go, sir. ]^ay, sir, unhand me. I leave you 
 to recover your wits, if that be possible, for certainly 
 they are much disordered. 
 
 [Exit Madalena, followed by Jacopo. 
 
72 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCEISTE I. 
 The Duke's Cabinet. 
 
 The Duke and Franco. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Well, my good Franco ; any more news innocently 
 obtained ? Any more unconscious eavesdropping ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 I have not failed, my lord, to be near these ladies. 
 To be honest, ray lord, they are as magnets and I the 
 poor needle that is drawn by them ; but I learn no- 
 thing, they are wary; yet by this, I fancy, the plot 
 thickens. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I would know one thing : will the plot, as you call 
 it, bring home Julio ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 It will be seen whether love or glory be the more 
 powerful with him ; that much they intend. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I do not think he will return ; but I would know his 
 heart. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 73 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Happen what may, your grace will know how to 
 bring all to a fair conclusion. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Perchance ; I have my thought. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Your grace is serious, — too serious for such business. 
 You should see our ladies and partake of their mirth. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Let the mirth be theirs while it lasts ; 'tis as well 
 some one should be serious. The issue of the war must 
 needs now be prosperous, — no danger there. Let the 
 puppets in the side scenes play, therefore, while it 
 pleases us. Go, and as occasion serves, learn what thou 
 canst. ^ [Exit Franco. 
 
 Enter Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, father, father ! I have been so frightened. 
 
 Duke. 
 At what, my daughter ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 The lord Jacopo. I met him but now on the ter- 
 race, and though I would not harm him in your esteem, 
 yet never did man behave so strangely. Is he not mad ? 
 
 Duke 
 What did he, child? 
 
 7 
 
74 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 More than I rightly understand ; — it was all so absurd ; 
 yet it drove me, he following, into your presence. Do 
 you laugh, father? What did he mean ? 
 
 Duke. 
 He was making love to thee, Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 To me ! he making love to me ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Assuredly ; are you not young and fair ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Is he not old, father ? should he not be reverend ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Truly ; but youth and good looks have many times 
 ere this parted age from its reverence. Stand not 
 aghast, 'tis time thou shouldst know thyself and the 
 world better; so much innocence is poor equipment. 
 As for this fantastical make-sport, he is privileged, and 
 thou mayest laugh at him, as I do. To-morrow thou 
 shalt find thyself forgotten and his pipe playing to a 
 new shepherdess. 'Tis his foible ; fair skin and bright 
 eye never yet went unchallenged by Jacopo. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I am sorry ; I thought him a better man. 
 
 Duke. 
 Spare your pity ; he will tell you it is his crowning 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 75 
 
 virtue. But hark thee, daughter, should he assail thee 
 again, let me know, for there are means in play to 
 work his cure. Art thou still discomposed? Me- 
 thinks I have a cordial that may comfort thee ; I have 
 
 heard from 
 
 Madalena. 
 Julio ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 The duke of Florence, who has been with us in these 
 wars; and what says he, think you ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Nay, I care not. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 So pleased is he with our young general that he 
 gives him on his return one of the noblest seigniories 
 in Lombardy ; a fief won by the duke's ancestors in the 
 German wars three hundred years ago, and ever since 
 held by his house. In former days, Julio's father 
 rendered certain services in keeping true the balance 
 of the states in our uneasy Italy whereby Florence, 
 then at war with Pisa, profited greatly, and this is its 
 chief's acknowledgment. He calls it a marriage gift, 
 for he would have thy hand go with it. 
 
 Madalena. 
 The duke is most noble. Has Julio heard of this ? 
 
 Duke.^ 
 
 No, no; war has no time for trifles; you shall tell 
 him in your next effusion. Now, I have another letter 
 about me, — from whom, think you ? 
 
76 MADALENA; 07?, 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ah ! you would have me guess again, — but I will not. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Shall I tell you? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Nay, I care not. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Well, here it is ; shall I read it ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 If it be yours, read it ; 'tis of no import to me. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I should not so imagine from that quiver of your 
 fingers ; but since so it is, thus I commit it to air and 
 water; [Going to a window,'] but Julio, poor boy, will 
 be distraught. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, father ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Will you turn mermaid, child, and sit and sing at 
 the bottom of the lagoon ? 
 
 \_She snatches the letter, 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, I'll be revenged on jo\x ! 
 
 Duke. 
 To the death, daughter ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 77 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Something as bad ; your gray hairs may grow now 
 for me ] I'll not pluck them out. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Well, what says the letter ? — Do you hear me, child ? 
 Madalena, I say. — Nay, the spell is on her. Well now, 
 what says the letter ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 He is un wounded ! he is well ! successful in all his 
 enterprises, and will be home in a month ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Is that all? What trash besides fills up those 
 
 mortal pages ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You shall hear; you shall hear. I will sit by you 
 and read you some. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Spare my ears. If I listen to such nonsense to-night 
 how shall I sit in council to-morrow? Besides, I know 
 it by heart; I told the same story to your mother 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You have done many good things, but you never 
 wrote a letter like this. He begins, "Dearest Mada- 
 lena " 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Amazing ! Was ever beginning like that ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Now, father! 
 
 7* 
 
78 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 Well, daughter? 
 
 Madalena. 
 " I seize upon this momeDt of leisure " 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Seize upon ! Oh, vulgarity ! Seize upon ! Seize upon 
 rogues and ruffians ; he has been consorting with the 
 dragoons. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 '' To pour into thy expecting ears " 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Presumptuous dog! Who told him thy ears were 
 expecting ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Why, father, they are so. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Humph ! go on. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 " A story of some hardship, more success, and all 
 love. I will begin with my warfare, continue with my 
 triumph, and end with my passion, the latter of which, 
 like fine gold, shall pervade all the other, even as 
 within me it pervades and ennobles all qualities I call 
 mine." 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Fine gold, passion, pervades, end and pervades, en- 
 nobles, — fine gold pervading, — fine air, fine moonshine. 
 Spell that over again, my child ] the sense escapes me. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 79 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I'll tickle thee to death ; hear this : " I am now look- 
 ing at the walls of Alessandria " 
 
 Duke. 
 May he never lie before them. 
 
 Madalena. 
 "Thinkincr " 
 
 Duke. 
 He needs thought. 
 
 Madalena. 
 " That had I wings " 
 
 Duke. 
 A goose hath wings. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Now, dear father 
 
 Duke. 
 
 On, on to the catastrophe. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 " Thinking had I wings how swiftly I would fly to 
 
 thee." 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Would he ? He would fly to a halter, or a halter 
 would fly to him. Upon my word ! at the head of an 
 army and talk of flying ! he's made of proper stufl^. Go 
 on ; we shall have him convicted of high treason ere 
 we get through. 
 
80 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 " To repose " to repose, repose — I can read no 
 
 farther. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Wipe your eyes and to it again. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 What wrong have I done you, sweet father, that you 
 should use me thus ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 The letter ! the letter ! I swear I will listen patiently. 
 
 Mad ALENA. 
 
 I will read you the conclusion ; I think you will like 
 that better. 
 
 DiTKE. 
 
 ]N"ot now ; here comes thy wild cousin ; let her not 
 see it. 
 
 Mad ALENA. 
 
 Oh. yes ! she must, she must ! 
 
 Miter Lattra. 
 See, cousin ; but where's Catarina ? Some one- 
 
 Unter Franco. 
 
 You, Franco ; go and tell the lady Catarina I would 
 see her ; quick, good Franco ; run. 
 
 Laura. 
 What's the matter now ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 81 
 
 Madalena. 
 Look what I have ! A letter from Julio. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Don't show it to me ; don't read it. I am sick of love- 
 letters. I have one from Eugenio; 'tis enough. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What says he ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Heaven knows, not I. 'Tis all rant and rhapsody. 
 
 Duke. 
 But the subject ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 His horse mainly, and hard drinking, which he ex- 
 cuses on the score of my health, which has been toasted 
 and chorused by a whole regiment of good fellows and 
 put most of them under the table. 
 
 Duke. 
 What says he of the war ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis all summed up in his own exploits. Judging 
 by them G-enoa will no more be heard of. Thrice has 
 he been surrounded when outstripping all his compeers ; 
 thrice has he redeemed himself by his own mere valor. 
 All the great deeds have been his and all the hard 
 knocks, in proof of which he has lost a tiny piece of an 
 ear and my miniature, which was shattered by a ball 
 in lieu of his heart. I wish it had been safe with me 
 then. It cost, brilliants and all, five hundred ducats, 
 
82 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 and he talks with as much glee of its saving his heart 
 as if that veiy insignificant portion of him were worth 
 it. He will look long ere he has another. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Oh, you strange girl ! I venture the letter now is 
 just where your picture was. But here comes Kate. 
 She has none of these pretty perplexities of her own, 
 and all the more will feel ours. 
 
 Unter Catarina and Franco. 
 
 Now, Kate, I pray thee do not laugh and I will tell 
 thee something. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Why, what fearful thing has happened ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 ]N"ay, do not pucker up thy saucy mouth in that way, 
 or I shall lose courage. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What ambrosial business is this, that we shall not 
 laugh and have mouths ? Shall we talk with our toes 
 and be fed through our skins ? What dainty work 
 have we now? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Thou hast said it, Kate; a very nectar for me, for 
 thou knowest how suspense has shaken me ; a letter 
 from Julio ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 He has not forgotten thee, then ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 83 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 He ! No ; I never dreamed of his forgetting me. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I am glad to hear it ; it is war's worst evil, however. 
 Men soon forget and are forgotten when they are once 
 given over for dead. Does he certify his constancy by 
 
 this document? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ah me ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Sigh not, sweet one ; he shall not delude thee. Come, 
 
 Laura ; comfort your cousin ; I am sure you have been 
 
 rude with her. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I am horriby sick of love-letters, and the more be- 
 cause, as Madalena says, they stick to the heart in spite 
 of you. But for your sake, my dear, I will make a 
 grimace and try to swallow one more. Must we have 
 
 it all? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 All but a very little. Shall I see yours ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Yes ; with a corner turned down also ; but I swear 
 that is some business. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Now you'are my Laura ; my dear good Laura. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And you ! As I live, you charm away not only the 
 letter but the heart it rests on. ^They retire. 
 
84 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Here is thy opportunity, Franco. Probe them to the 
 quick. Make them see thou knowest their devices, and 
 then to avoid betrayal they must take thee into their 
 confidence. \_Exit Duke ; Franco withdraws. 
 
 Laura, 
 
 Now, my dear Madalena, gently and in sooth, what 
 has happened to you of late ? We never see you. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Nothing I remember ; what should happen to me ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Many things ; have any of your friends died ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 None. 
 
 Laura. 
 Have any of them married ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 It may be ; I think of none. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Have you been teased, vexed, crossed, beset, waylaid, 
 importuned, preposterously treated by any one? 
 
 Madalena. 
 I have no such enemies. 
 
 Laura. 
 Well, then, have you any new lovers ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 85 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 No ; yes — yes ; I have a new one, — I should say an 
 old one ; would you believe it? the lord Jacopo. 
 
 Laura. 
 Jacopo ! has he dared ? i 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What! that opprobrious creature! He that lacks 
 nothing but cap and bells and a little virtue to be 
 court fool in ordinary. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 The same ; but I pray you do not speak of him so 
 harshly. He is old and, I fear, turning into his second 
 childhood, which must excuse his folly. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Will it ? We will see to this ; we will tear him in 
 pieces for thee, Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I should not be the happier for that. I beg you con- 
 sider the thing as lightly as I do. 
 
 Laura. 
 Why, then we must think his homage pleases you. 
 
 Madalena. 
 How? Laura! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Plainly, that you respond to his affection. 
 
 8 
 
86 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 I beseech you do not speak so. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Do not constrain me to speak so. Put a guard upon 
 your heart. Think of Julio; of him the absent, the 
 endangered, the suffering. To yield your liking even 
 for a moment to another has peril in it. Perversity 
 dwells in fancy, therefore it seeks strange objects. 
 Jacopo is ancient, but he is airy, he is bizarre; he 
 carries youth into age, which is good modern poetry 
 and sound antique philosophy ; — what prohibits that he 
 should carry age into youth, his own and thine ? So 
 through all the domain of nature time may be oblit- 
 erated, the oneness of creation preserved, earth and 
 heaven mixed over again, love be made immortal, and 
 all things indistinguishable. Remember this, and re- 
 member, thy beauty was not given thee to be a snare. 
 Let Julio continue happy and Jacopo relapse into 
 
 gravity. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 And, Madalena, if thou shouldst see us convulsed at 
 any time ; — I mean if we should seem to laugh as I am 
 doing now, be sure it is from fear of Jacopo and pity 
 for thee. A great doctor once told me that grief when 
 greatest always went off in a spasm of some kind, — 
 tears or laughter. JSTow, things being as they are with 
 
 you and Jacopo 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I would not have believed you could think thus of me. 
 
 Laura. 
 Did you never give him encouragement ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 87 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Never ! JSTever ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Never lent ear to his blandishments ? Was there not 
 one relenting thought ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 The man seemed kind and may have been amusing ; 
 but his babble passed away from me as something 
 heard but not listened to, beyond the due of courtesy. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I am glad to hear this ; but be wiser for the future. 
 How didst thou discern his love ? Now that I know 
 thee safe, we may gossip a little. What did the jack- 
 anapes say and do ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I have met him before when his demeanor gave no 
 offence; but walking on the terrace a little since, he 
 came up to me skipping and chattering; he knelt, 
 kissed my hand, talked of protecting me, likened me 
 to the moon and stars, with much other incomprehen- 
 sible 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ah, Incomprehensible ! there I fear again. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 And in the end said — I know not what he said, but 
 it made me run away from him. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Cease, cease, Madalena; cease, Laura; oh, I shall 
 die ! I shall suffocate ! 
 
88 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 I think you are both as foolish as Jacopo. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I hope we may be foolish and he also for thy sake ; 
 but henceforth, my darling, walk out no more at night; 
 leave terraces and moonbeams, and thank Grod he has 
 preserved thee in this great danger. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I did not think I was in such great danger. 
 
 Latjea. 
 
 Ah, sweet innocence! thou wilt never think and 
 mayest thou never know. — But look, here comes the 
 man! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 What! Jacopo? 'Tis he, and as I live as mad as 
 ever. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And as full of love. Well, stay and confront him ; 
 we are with you. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 No, no ; let me fly ; let me fly. 
 
 [_Exit Madalena. 
 
 Miter Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 She loves me not ! She loves me not ! I am dis- 
 carded, lost! Is it you, ye false ones? She wavers, 
 she has changed; I am loved no longer. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 89 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Alas ! Jacopo ; why this passion ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Have I not cause ? I am stricken to the soul. I left 
 her but now, all sweetness that she is, to meet again — 
 let me not say where. There have I been, or as near 
 as I could be, embracing the stones that enclose her. 
 But her jalousie is fast shut; her light burns not; 
 darkness reigns there ; it reigns in me. Let the earth 
 yawn, hell seize me, — I care not. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Under her balcony, did you say ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Why not? She confessed her love for me. Less 
 than an hour ago she confessed her love for me, and it 
 has not lasted so long. 
 
 Laura. 
 Confessed her love for you ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Surely ; you should have heard her rhapsodize ; — even 
 I could not comprehend her; she did so belabor the 
 moon and mix up me and the muddy Adriatic together. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, rhapsodize ! She was soliloquizing, was she ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You would have thought so had you heard her ; but 
 
 8* 
 
90 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 what boots it when she keeps her window closed and 
 will not so much as put forth the tip of her lily finger ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Why, thou hare-hearted gallant, thou madcap im- 
 patient boy ; 'tis true we love thee not, but seeing thy 
 sincerity this much we will say, that she was here even 
 now, and perceiving thee fled at thy approach, blushing 
 sweet confusion. She fled, but by all the unnotable 
 signs of love her eye said thou wouldst follow. 
 
 Jaoopo. 
 Thou givest me life again ; which way, — which way ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Yonder ; away, good Jacopo ; fly, brave Jacopo. 
 
 [Exit Jacopo. 
 Laura. 
 
 Thou excellest me, Kate ; I yield myself quite beaten. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh, thou art matchless ! What next, Laura? What 
 
 next? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 See where he comes again. 
 
 Be-enter Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 She's gone ! she's gone ! 'Tis false and I am betrayed. 
 You have all conspired against me ; yes, all, — one, two, 
 three ; 'tis conspiracy ; it suflSces. She is safe from me, 
 — even now she is safe from me ; but upon you I can 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 91 
 
 * 
 
 have vengeance. Why did you tell me that she loved 
 me? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Why, so she does, sir Jacopo, — in her own sweet way. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I tell you 'tis false, and ye know it. Ye have played 
 upon me, and by this good sword I will be revenged. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, not here, Jacopo ! This is the duke's closet. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 A fig for dukes and dukedoms. G-ive me Madalena 
 or die. 
 
 Laura. 
 Kun, Kate; run. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You shall not run ; stand there ; you shall learn 
 other sport besides breaking of hearts. ]^ow answer 
 as I ask you. Why did ye .say she loved me ? What 
 certain proof had ye that she loved me ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Why, sapient sir, we kept no book of it ; we are 
 ladies, sir ; very weak poor women, sir ; but we thought 
 so. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Why did ye think so ? Speak, I charge you. 
 
 Laura. 
 Do not murder us, sir ; do not, kind sir. 
 
92 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Answer, or I will do something ; why did ye think 
 
 so? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Be but reasonable, noble sir ; we are but women, — 
 we have said it; was one woman ever mistaken in an- 
 other ? Only five minutes ago she was here ; we have 
 told you what we saw — and heard. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 What was that ? Tell me again ; I am confused. 
 
 Laura. 
 Your name — from her lips. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 My name ; — her own lips ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Her own lips. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 How long ago ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Not five minutes ago. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 What more ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 She said your speech „was like air, — it passed — it 
 passed. Air is precious, sir Jacopo ; we breathe air. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Think you she meant it that way ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 93 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Never trust a woman else. Did she mean it that 
 way, Kate ? 
 
 Catamna. 
 
 What other? You are cruelly incredulous, sir Ja- 
 copo. She has but one heart, sir Jacopo. You know 
 she is modest, sir Jacopo. If she says nothing, 'tis a 
 declaration, believe me ; if she flies away from you, 
 what more would you have? Would she fly if she 
 were indifferent ? Good tokens, believe me. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Well, I am strangely puzzled ; let me have time to 
 think. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 What said she when you followed her? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 But two words, — "Farewell, Jacopo." A pest on 
 such farewells. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Farewell is a pretty word ; have you thought what 
 it means, Jacopo ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Nothing could be sweeter, Catarina. It was as if 
 she said, " Fare-well now ; fare better another time ; I'll 
 meet thee again ; come to me anon ; lose not courage." 
 Oh, it is rich in meanings. 
 
 Catarina. 
 I have meant it that way myself — once or twice. 
 
94 MADALENA; OR, - 
 
 Jaoopo. 
 
 Then it must be so. Between ourselves I don't think 
 she could refuse a man with a face like mine ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Do not think it. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Or of my carriage and pretensions? 
 
 Laura. 
 Bless your noble figure, no. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 And of my true heart and approved wit and valor ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 l^ever, oh, never! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Then will I roast ere I give her up. 
 
 Laura. 
 Magnanimous sir Jacopo ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 If she love me I will proceed to extremities. 'Tis 
 strange she seems so cold now ; but it is the way with 
 ladies, especially our court ladies. Love, in them, gives 
 first a little sparkle ; the duller son of creation wakes 
 up and takes fire ; ofi* scuttles my beauty, and by dint 
 of damned manoeuvring, now standing still to allow a 
 little gain, then forward, — backward and forward, side- 
 ways and all ways, — keeps him fluttering aloof for the 
 best part of the wind and weather of life. However, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 95 
 
 the chase is begun ; my sails are set ; look to it, my 
 
 fair-freighted ship of loveliness ! Escape me if thou 
 
 canst. [Going- 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And hark, sir Jacopo ; we find thee noble ; our ani- 
 mosity is buried ; we will love thee and serve thee. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 And remember, if you will abide by our direction 
 you shall prosper and be happy, for bear away this 
 certainty, she loves. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I believe you. [N'ow, Cupid, hence ; Bellona calls on 
 me. \_Exit Jacopo. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 There, Kate; the prince of vanity again succumbs 
 and is worse entangled than ever. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 [^Advancing. 
 It was well done, my ladies. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Laura, this is the duke's man ; we are betrayed. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Our good Jacopo has afforded amusement ere now, 
 but never aught like this. It was with much ado I 
 could forbear laughing. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 How now, master Franco? Have you been eaves- 
 dropping ? 
 
96 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Franco. 
 What to hear, my lady? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Answer that thyself. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Willingly; to hear something that much resembles 
 
 a plot. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 'Tis all over, Kate. We must relinquish our sport 
 and lose our wager. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 ]^ot yet ; this fellow may know less than he pretends. 
 Fair sir, we are at a loss to comprehend you. 
 
 Franco. 
 Fair lady, 'tis you I would comprehend. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 As to what thou hast heard ? What was that ? Tell 
 us and we will enlighten thee. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Ah, my lady, tax a willing heart rather than an idle 
 
 memory. My tongue will only mar in the repetition. 
 
 Tou can better tell me why you should thus incite 
 
 Jacopo, and why my master's daughter should be the 
 
 subject of a jest. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 By whose authority did you steal upon our conversa- 
 tion ? The duke shall be informed of it. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 97 
 
 Franco. 
 
 And of the plot also ? But I pray your pardon ; I 
 was left here to receive certain Hungarian ambassadors. 
 You should be more careful, mj' lady Laura, when your 
 conversation has aught of private. 
 
 Laura. 
 What shall we do ? 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Jacope is rare game, is he not, ladies ? By all that's 
 delicious you tickled him finely. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 This seems a jovial fellow, and, withal, handsome. 
 He appears more to relish the humor of the aifair than 
 to condemn its levity. Would it not be well to trust 
 him? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Should he tell the duke ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 He will surely do so if we win him not over. He 
 holds us in his power, and we must confide in him. 
 Sirrah, what says the lord Leonello to all this ? 
 
 Franco. 
 He ! does he know ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Have you not told him ? 
 
98 MAD A LENA; OR, 
 
 Franco. 
 
 How should I ? Can I be at once listener and in- 
 former? Bethink you, fair lady. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Well ; how like you the jest ? Jacopo in the alti- 
 tudes ; is it not good fooling ? 
 
 Franco. 
 By heavens, the most exquisite I ever knew ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 If you like the jest and do not dislike the company, 
 what say you to a share in it ? We have need of a 
 trusty heart like thine. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 I am honored, my lady, and eagerly accept your 
 proffer. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Under one condition. Franco. 
 
 Franco. 
 Name it. 
 
 Latjra. 
 
 Secrecy. Above all, report not to the duke ; for the 
 sake of the good joke report not. You know what a 
 majestic old ferret it is ; how he makes mountains of 
 mole-hills and tumbles indifferent things into all man- 
 ner of shapes. If he know, the thing is spoiled for- 
 ever. Promise for the love of Heaven. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 99 
 
 Franco. 
 The duke knows not of it ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 ISTo. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 And there is nothing he should know ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 ISTo, no. 
 
 Franco. 
 Then he shall not know. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 And now, being of our confederacy, we will instruct 
 you in all that has taken place. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 I will listen devotedly, sweet lady ; but what is it 
 
 you now propose ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 To bring home the real lover. 
 
 Franco. 
 Good ! Julio ; and how ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Walk with us ; this is not the place ; we will tell you 
 all. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Oh, glorious plot ! if it should be marred now, what 
 a misfortune ! [Exeunt. 
 
100 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 sce:n:e il 
 
 Madalena's Apartment. 
 Madalena, sola. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 My dear love reproaches me that he receives no 
 letters from me; that all come to hand but mine; that 
 he is without that which is the food of absence and 
 perishes for a word from me. Sure there is some fa- 
 tality. I have wearied the post with my due and lov- 
 ing observance. What has he thought of me? Here 
 1 have written him a letter which is many letters in 
 one, seeking to explain all ; but it is the misfortune 
 itself that I may not be able to exj)lain. I have set 
 down all. from day to day, even to the simplicities of 
 that foolish Jacopo ; — writing as lightly as I could, for 
 my friend has cares enough now without being burdened 
 by mine. Will it also miscarry ? I have spoken to my 
 father, and he bade me send for the Chief of the Post 
 here at Yenice, and he will give command concerning 
 it ; but first I will see the man myself, for I am most 
 anxious. 
 
 Enter Chief of Post. 
 
 You are he who has charge of the correspondence 
 with the army ? 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Yes, ni}' lady. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Certain letters of mine to the general Julio have not 
 been received by him. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 101 
 
 Chief. 
 
 I know not, my lady ; war makes all things uncertain. 
 We have done what is possible. 
 
 Madalena. 
 But others have received theirs. 
 
 Chief. 
 
 They have been more vigilant to be in communi- 
 cation with the post ; or have had better fortune. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 How ? we speak of the general ; to whom would my 
 letters be delivered ? 
 
 Chief. 
 
 'Twere hard to say, my lady. The camp until re- 
 cently has been a flying one ; nothing but marches and 
 countermarches in a difficult country. My lord Eu- 
 genio commands the cavalry and, therefore, and as 
 commissary, it would be within his duty. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Eugenio ! but that is the same as if my lord Julio 
 himself received them. 
 
 Chief. 
 
 I know not ; often such things devolve upon subal- 
 terns and many mishaps occur. More than once all 
 ray matter has been captured, — letters, despatches, 
 mail-men, horses, and all. In war that is considered 
 the best booty. 
 
 9« 
 
102 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, weary war ! will it never have an end ? Here is 
 a letter ; might I send it better by a private person ? 
 
 Chief. 
 -And inexperienced? when it comes into the seat of 
 war it would not escape capture an hour. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Well, then, my friend, do thou take it; as thou art 
 a good servant to my father and the state, as thou hast 
 the heart of man in thee, see that it be placed in the 
 best keeping and be delivered to the general himself. 
 If there be risk it shall be royally rewarded; What- 
 ever may happen thou shalt know what it is to oblige 
 
 the duke's daughter. 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Be sure, madam, I will do my uttermost. 
 
 \_JExit Chief of the Post. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Bough hands to work fine purpose! oh my heart! 
 That art so held in check by all around, 
 When will the happy moment come when thou 
 May'st pour thy rich accumulated store 
 Into that bosom which alone divines. 
 Alone can answer thee ? IN'ow Heaven be 
 Propitiate and kind and rule for once 
 These petty gods of accident that thus 
 Thwart love's immensity, and, kinder still. 
 Keep safely that dear head. May peace o'er thee 
 Hover with gentle sway ; to thy rude couch 
 Bear all he steals from me. Eepose be thine. 
 
 IScene closes. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 103 
 
 SCEISTE III. 
 
 Terra Firma; a Highway. 
 
 Jacopo and Astolfo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Stand to your arms, 'Stolfo; are the pistolets loaded? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 Yes, my lord. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You carry your sword at your finger-ends, — that's 
 not the way. Hold it up, — advanced, thus. What 
 ails thee ? Art thou afraid that thou tremblest so ? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 
 I know not ; but I would rather be at home. I was 
 not bred to soldiering. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Stand to your arms. 
 
 [Astolfo drops them. 
 What dost thou see coming ? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 Nothing, my lord ; thank Heaven ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Take up thy arms again ; this is abominable. Tliou 
 
104 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 hast been my servitor these many years, hast known 
 me, hast had my example, — and now, to be thus abject. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I cannot help it; besides, I like not the business. 
 Heaven be good to us! do you know what you are 
 doing? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Displaying my zeal on the duke's highway. Are not 
 the times warlike ? Shall we be the only laggards ? 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 War is bad enough, but highway robbery ! Oh, 
 Lord ! highway robbery ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Astolfo, thou art not much, but thou feedest, and 
 thou shalt no longer eat of my provender without 
 putting thyself in requisition. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 But highway robbery, sir ; think of it. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Well, highway or low-way, — thou wouldst not scruple 
 to steal and art afraid to rob. Have I not seen thee 
 cheat at dice ? Have I not seen thee filch my lord's 
 purse and my lady's jewel? Would I not have pre- 
 vented thee, but that being noble I could not seem to 
 know ? What difference is there between this and 
 that, except that then thou wert a thief and now thou 
 art a hero ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 105 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 The hangman will come to know, — that will make a 
 difference ; there's my sagacity. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The hangman take thee and thy sagacity and Beel- 
 zebub all three. I must have money, 'Stolfo ; things 
 are at that pass I must have money. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Some other way than this, good master ; do not rob 
 and I will provide thee. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Thou art not able to provide for thyself, thou scanty- 
 ribbed rascal ; thou art at the end of thy devices. 
 Have done with thy whimpering. The world owes 
 me tribute. What else was this scum of mankind 
 made for but to nourish a phoenix like me ? 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 But a courtier and a gentleman ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The more need of money. Say no more, 'Stolfo; I 
 have not a ducat left, and were Mammon himself to 
 preach against lucre I would laugh at him for a very 
 foolish imp. Dost thou not know, too, that I am a 
 lover, and that a lover without money is like a ship 
 without ballast, that may have good acquaintance with 
 the wind and sea, but none at all with the haven it 
 would be in ? 
 
106 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Good angels, succor me ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Thou wilt shoot thyself, thou shakest so. Cease thy 
 exclamations, and put the pistoletto in thy bosom. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I will not. Take it thyself, and I will use the sword 
 boldly. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Wilt thou strike off the head of the first man we 
 meet? 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Kay, let me get in the rear of him ; that's the way 
 to make sure work. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Then I will do the shooting myself. But look ! who 
 comes here ? Stand to thy arms ; stand to thy arms. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 I will, if you stand by me. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 There are two of them. Take you the bigger; I 
 will master the less ; 'tis the little rats that bite hardest. 
 
 Unter a Blind Musician and a Boy. 
 Stand ! 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Stand ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 107 
 
 Musician. 
 At your worship's pleasure. 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 What are they like ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Like yourself, infamous coward ; dead with fright. 
 
 How now, you rogues ! How dare you travel this 
 
 road ? 
 
 Musician. 
 
 Why, sir, where are we ? Where are we, son ? Is 
 not this the state's highway ? I have travelled many 
 times on this road, please your worship. Would your 
 worship like to hear my music ? I have skill ; is it not 
 so, my son ? 
 
 Boy. 
 
 Oh, yes ! My father has rare skill, and he is blind. 
 Do but hear him, good sir ; — and I can play too. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 ]N"ot now, young Orpheus ;^put up thy lyre, old 
 Timotheus ; I make my own music. What money hast 
 thou in that pouch ? 
 
 Musician. 
 Money, my lord ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Let me see ; let me see. 
 
 Musician. 
 I am but a poor musician, my lord. 
 
108 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I warrant thee, a poor musician ; but with money 
 enough for all that. You scurvy fellows go tinkling 
 about all Italy making fools of the people, who stand 
 agape while the jingles jump out of their pockets into 
 your own. Do I not know thee ? I have bestowed on 
 thee myself in former days, and so I might again but 
 for this new law thou hast heard of. 
 
 Musician. 
 What law, your worship ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Oh, it makes thy calling a crime and thee a vagrant, 
 and as these are war times and every man his own 
 policeman, I must apprehend thee unless thou disgorge. 
 
 Musician. 
 Alas, good sir ! is there such a law ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ay, the very dogs know of it ; do they not bark at 
 
 thee sometimes? 
 
 Musician. 
 
 Yery often, indeed. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 See there, now; skill has declined since Apollo 
 founded thy profession, or the brains of the beasts have 
 grown larger ; no more fawning and licking of hands. 
 Thou must lay aside this idle trade and live in safety. 
 
 Musician. 
 But then, sir, I should starve. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 109 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 'Tis no evil ; a man can live without eating ; — proba- 
 tum est. Water thou shalt not want for. 
 
 Musician. 
 Your honor is pleasant. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Truly I am. Thou hast been handed down from the 
 past, oh, most rusty minstrel ! and I would enlighten 
 thy antiquity. When thou hast lived awhile in these 
 jolly young times we shall see thee sportive also. But 
 come ; we babble and the cake grows cold ; thy money 
 or I apprehend thee. Here, my worthy corporal, take 
 thy pistol. 
 
 Musician. 
 
 Must I give you all ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Every quattrino ; every minim now is sesquipedalian ; 
 thy all will be too little. 
 
 Musician. 
 Sir, I am very poor. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 So am I ; so is the country. 
 
 Musician. 
 And old. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Thou needest less than we who are young. 
 
 10 
 
110 MAD A LENA; OR, 
 
 Musician. 
 A son of the Muses, air ; a harmless musidan who 
 loves his art and has led an innocent life though hum- 
 ble, which blindness has overtaken. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 As for innocence, Heaven knows it has been my un- 
 doing, and it will be thine ; as for love, who loves like 
 me ? for blindness, Cupid is blind, and he is the live- 
 liest god on all Olympus. • 
 
 Musician. 
 Must I become a beggar ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 !N"o, become a gentleman ; then thou shalt know, as 
 I do, what it is to want money ; then would pity move 
 thee, if reason did not, to part with these gains. Wilt 
 thou? 'No, thou wilt not. Ofl&cer of the law, where 
 is thy weapon? Take them in custody; they refuse 
 submission. 
 
 Boy. 
 
 I pray you, sir, do not break my old father's heart. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ha ! What art thou ? His poor purse, his charity- 
 box, his sign, seal, and deliver. Thou art passing young 
 to be so far gone in the ways of the devil. The purse, 
 I say ; the purse. 
 
 BoT. 
 
 It is the savings of many long years. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 It must be well filled by this time. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. Ill 
 
 Boy. 
 
 Shall I give it to him, father? 
 
 Musician. 
 Ay, let it all go. 
 
 [The Boy gives the purse. 
 
 I did not think to lose it thus ; even banditti have 
 respected it ; but let it go. If I grieve at all, it is for 
 thy sake, my boy ; it was for thee I hoarded. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Talk not of grief, old man, — 'tis I who grieve ; but 
 there is no help, — law must be obeyed. There will be 
 a new one to-morrow — I tell this in requital — for send- 
 ing to the galleys all such wanderers as thou. Thou 
 wouldst make a poor figure chained to an oar. Be- 
 gone, therefore, out of the duke's dominions ; his jus- 
 tice is rigid; it stops not at confiscation. Betake thee 
 to thy friends, the banditti. 
 
 Musician. 
 
 It matters little, but I thank you, I will go. I have 
 but little cause to stay here. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 And, boy, come hither. 
 
 Boy. 
 
 Now, father, he will give us part of our money again. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Have you ever read Aristotle ? 
 
 Boy. 
 Who, sir? What, sir? 
 
112 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Aristotle ; him whom the great Tuscan calls " the 
 master of those who know." 
 
 Boy. 
 
 "Would he know, sir, how to make you give us the 
 ducats again ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Oh, ignorance ! read him and thou shalt not desire 
 ducats. 
 
 Boy. 
 Will you not read 'Stotle and let us have the ducats? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Away, young viper ! Away ! 
 
 \_E^eunt Jacopo and Astolpo. 
 
 Boy. 
 A heavy day, dear father. 
 
 Musician. 
 Are the}^ gone, child ? 
 
 Boy. 
 Ay, sir. 
 
 Musician. 
 
 We must follow their advice ; let us leave this place, 
 for here is no safety. Put the harp on my shoulders. 
 Things fall out strangely in these days ; — there were no 
 such laws when I could see. Blind as I am, methinks 
 I could make better ones. Give me thy hand, my boy ; 
 I need thee, for I tremble and would make haste. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 113 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 The Venetian Camp. 
 
 Julio and an Officer. 
 
 Julio. 
 Have our scouts returned ? 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Yes, my lord. They report the enemy still in great 
 force upon our front ; but they are closing in their 
 positions and have thrown out secretly a strong de- 
 tachment on our left flank. Their preparations indi- 
 cate battle. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Could our men come at their numbers and disposi- 
 tions ? 
 
 Officer. 
 
 They are too wary ; we have taught them strategy. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 It matters not; a surprise will be attempted to-night 
 or in early daybreak on what they take to be our 
 weakest point. It is what we have desired. We shall 
 defeat them, and ere this time to-morrow our standard 
 will float in Genoa. Gro ; prepare your command, and, 
 as you pass his quarters, send me Eugenio. 
 
 10* 
 
114 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Officer. 
 
 I obey you, sir. Here is a letter for you brought 
 just now post from Yenice. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 From Yenice ! — Gro ; see that all things are in readi- 
 ness for a change of position before nightfall ; call in 
 the horse, double the videttes ; no noise, no drum-beat. 
 Let this hour be well spent, for the next will be de- 
 cisive. — What says the messenger? Any news of his 
 own from Yenice? 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Only this, that there is much rejoicing at our suc- 
 cesses and much gayety ; the court has had its share. 
 Some rumors there were that the ladies of the duke's 
 household were unwontedly brilliant and unreserved. 
 There was talk of an intrigue, — some singular affair, — 
 the lady Madalena's name was mentioned. 
 
 Julio. 
 What! what say est thou? 
 
 Officer. 
 Idle chat, doubtless, — there were no particulars. 
 
 Julio. 
 Where is the man ? 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Yanished, my lord, in the bustle of our preparations ; 
 but his function will bring him back when the action is 
 over. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 115 
 
 Jtjlio. 
 
 This is the rank product of war, which brings forth 
 its follies as well as its miseries and its heroisms. Li- 
 cense is then insanity. It will pass, and the state set- 
 tle again into order and virtue ; but it marks its greatest 
 enormity when such a family as our Leonello's is not 
 free from aspersion. But go, and forget not to send me 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 [Exit Officer. 
 
 Can this be from Madalena? No, it is not her hand. 
 Again am I disappointed ; but twice have I heard from 
 her in all this dreary interval, and that was at the be- 
 ginning. Strange! Most strange! I would suppose her 
 ill, suffering, but that I learn from Eugenio that she 
 is well, gay, and more beloved and courted than ever ; 
 — so should she be, — so I would have her be, — and the 
 messenger, ha ! but that's nothing ; — yet why not write 
 to me ? Is there aught I know not ? Is there mystery ? 
 Is there misfortune ? She did forebode misfortune ; 
 can there be worse than that which she now inflicts on 
 me? She knows not — even she knows not — the power 
 that lies in a word of hers ; it were more to me in this 
 hour than all the forces I command. I sicken, I con- 
 sume. 'Tis not she, — I know it, — the fault cannot be 
 hers ; I wrong her in my thought ; all is not well ; all is 
 not as it should be. This action over I will look to it. 
 What is this now ? It seems alien to my fingers. 
 When the reality is denied, how cold the counterfeit ! 
 'Tis from Laura ; that's unusual. What may be the 
 contents ? 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 "I write you in sore perplexity and have hesitated 
 long, but with the best advice I can have it behooves 
 
116 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 me to write. A present evil, if known, may avoid a 
 greater, and he who is most concerned is he who 
 should think and act." 
 
 An odd preface ! What next ? 
 
 " Yet if you would escape great grief and possibly 
 some danger, read no more ; but acquit us then from 
 consequences." 
 
 What mystery is this ? Some pretty imbroglio, I 
 imagine, wrapped up in mock gravity ; very like our 
 fair Laura. 
 
 "Your betrothed, our dear cousin," — ha! — "Alas! 
 my hand and my eyes betra^^ me, my pen refuses its 
 office, — our beloved Madalena has forgotten her vows 
 and you. It is the strangest bewilderment ; in favor of 
 the most extraordinary rival. — I know not how to say 
 more by this method, — but such a change! — Every- 
 thing here seems moonstruck, myself included, who 
 scarcely retain sense enough to say that your idol is in 
 peril, momentary and great, and that you are her only 
 saviour. — Farewell." 
 
 Have I eyes to read this page and not to weep ? 
 A heart to comprehend and not to break? 
 'Tis but a little story and well told, — 
 Why should I weep, and why should my full heart, 
 That but a moment since was adamant 
 In the discourse of imminent fierce war. 
 Be flawed by this fair-worded gentle scroll ? 
 It says my love is false, and it implies 
 More than is spoken ; but shall I believe 
 The accusing parchment when the face of her 
 Whom it traduces, rising yet again. 
 Silent and sad in heavenly purity, 
 As I have seen it in my dreams of late, 
 Bent o'er me like an angel's, pours rebuke 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 117 
 
 On the poor eyeless, voiceless instrument, 
 
 And shame that is its own ? Methinks it should 
 
 Vanish from sight. It is from a true friend, — 
 
 But she were easier false ; — I'll hold her so. 
 
 And Madalena — fy! this shall not weigh 
 
 'Grainst the great evidence of her life and love 
 
 As much as would that vapor which the air 
 
 Eeceives not in its bosom ; all as light 
 
 Shall mine reject the fable and my thought 
 
 Eemain as free and uncontaminate ; 
 
 No proof so strong to bring conviction here ; 
 
 Belief impossible so pain shall be ; 
 
 My peace, deep-hearted, and the unconscious song 
 
 That came when faith was thought on, shall not cease. 
 
 Shall not be broken. — Dull responsive throb, 
 
 Stifled and stifling; sullen undertone, 
 
 Elusive negative, — what is it thou sayest, 
 
 Or durst not say, that yet has potency 
 
 To stay asseveration and to freeze 
 
 The fountain whence it springs ? — It is the curse 
 
 Of uttered doubt. My dim offended eyes 
 
 Eegard this paper still ; my echoed voice 
 
 It seems to be that to its louder note 
 
 Eeturns denial. All's not ponderable 
 
 By the judgment's flneness ; all is not now 
 
 As once it has been. Vaguely breathed by lips 
 
 Of the known liar, doubt will taint the sense 
 
 And thence the purer spirit that o'erclouds 
 
 Even to the measure of the chastity 
 
 That has been sullied. Oh, those words of hers 
 
 1 have so longed for! Were they wafted here 
 
 Scattered were all these shadows and a sun 
 
 Would break through mist to morning. ]S"ow the blank 
 
 Takes meaning, dreadful meaning ; vacancy 
 
118 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Now fills with monstrous shapes with which I wage 
 Fruitless contention. Oh, new strange fear ! 
 Oh, sorrow ! that appals before it strikes 
 Like things unknown to nature. All I feel 
 Is mere distraction, whose uncertain whirl, 
 Like crossing currents in wind-shifted seas, 
 Changes each moment and each moment grows 
 Stronger than will and fiercer. Shall I go. 
 And on the eve of battle ? — 'twere the death 
 Of all my new-born honors. Shall I stay. 
 Gather those honors, reap the world's acclaim, 
 While she, the bloom and sweetness of my life, 
 Declined from her divinity or pierced 
 By slander's venomed shaft, sinks and decays 
 And passes from my sight ? Shall she be lost ? 
 If all the world contains were threatened wreck. 
 Who would not rather from the unworthy mass 
 Pluck one frail flower, a token of sweet Heaven, 
 Than millions of its riches. 
 
 JEnter Eugenio. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 How now, my general ? Why are you so pale ? 
 The battle never found you thus before. 
 
 Julio. 
 I pray you trouble me not ; what do you here ? 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Why, general 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Have I no leisure, sir, 
 And you no duty elsewhere ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 119 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Has there been 
 Some shock of the planet you have caught, I missed, 
 That you so talk and look so ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 It may be, 
 But I would be alone. Must I enforce 
 A wish by a command ? 
 
 BUGENIO. 
 
 It shall not need ; 
 Good faith ! I, too, might wish to be alone, — 
 Much reason for it, — but you have sent for me. 
 
 Julio. 
 Why, so I did ! Eugenio, oh, Eugenio ! 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 What is it, Julio ; are you ill, my friend ? 
 
 Julio. 
 Ill, ill, indeed ! Oh, who shall say how ill ! 
 
 Eugenio. 
 Come, go with me ; this way 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I need no help ; 
 Not such my suffering. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Oh, you are strange! 
 
120 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 
 It is not strange that, being thus, I'd have 
 No eye behold me. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 There's some mystery ; 
 Is it enfolded in this paper ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Touch it not ; 
 ITay, nay, I say you shall not ; there is more 
 Of deadly mischief here than pestilence 
 Ere visited upon the health of man ; — 
 But all so churlish and unsociable 
 That it has shut my heart within my heart 
 Swelling and pent as in a dungeon. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Comes it from Yen ice ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 From another world 
 I think it comes, for Yenice nor the earth 
 Ere furnished such intelligence. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Why, then, 
 As you do love me, let me see the letter. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 No, no, no more ; I tear it thus and thus 
 And give it to the winds. Oh that I might 
 As easily the sting it leaves tear out ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 121 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 How fare our friends ? How fares your Madalena ? 
 
 Julio. 
 Oh! 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Do you not answer ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Well, I trust ; yes, well ; 
 Well, very well ; the letter spoke of her. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Perchance it came from her ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 No, not from her. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 She loves you still ? I hope there can be naught 
 In that which works this wondrous change in you ? 
 
 Julio. 
 Oh Madalena! canst thou answer this? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 It is demonstrated. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Thou art mad to think 
 Love should survive our absence. For myself, 
 When I did buckle on my sword I cast 
 Love and love's thoughts away. If they survive, 
 Good ; if they perish, good. Why should I pine 
 For her who from the matter of my loss 
 Finds means to slip allegiance? To the souls 
 
 11 
 
122 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Of women doubt and danger bring a sting 
 
 They cannot long endure. To them 'tis pain 
 
 To know the touch of pain that dares intrude 
 
 In their deliciousness. Impatience works 
 
 In their frail blood ; the flattered sense grows cold ; 
 
 Free fancy curbed rebels ; all her most sweet 
 
 Exhilarations burdened and depressed, 
 
 Sigh as they sink and ask the unconscious why 
 
 Are we not as we were. So, pleasure lost, 
 
 Passion is lost, or turns itself to that 
 
 I^ew object which may feed it. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 You speak truth, 
 But not the all of truth. What you describe 
 Is sorrow only in well-tempered souls 
 That live by faith and conscience. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Who shall know 
 Their sanctuary ? Tour exalted thought 
 Deals with the things above that pass the bounds 
 Of humbler nature. Now you think of one 
 Whom fond imagination tricks with hues 
 That only angels shine in. Bright she is ; 
 Her sweetness lends delusion to belief; 
 I would deny she's woman if I could ; 
 Most sure she loves like — woman. — Truce to this ! 
 We have talked of it before ; such time as you. 
 Having no letters from her, peaked because 
 You seemed forgotten. I am sorry you 
 Have found by proof I erred not. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 ]^o, not I! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 123 
 
 Proof! there's no proof; you are in error still ; 
 Your speech is error wholly. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Then all's well, 
 There where so easily all might be ill ; 
 From your looks I feared the worst. We, being young. 
 And scantly trusted by the owls at home, 
 In this must show our steely temper first 
 To master appetite, and most of all 
 Woman's allurement, that wavy sea 
 Blown by such doubtful gales, that we shall never 
 Eeach honor's port if we confide in them. 
 For why is youth suspected but because 
 It serves caprice, and ever in blind heat 
 Coursing, makes war on judgment. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I know not 
 I should dispute you ; all is fair and wise ; 
 Yon setting sun gives promise of a day 
 That he shall bring to-morrow ; — but to-night 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Ay, that's the word ; to-night, my general ! 
 Why prate we thus ? 'Tis most unseasonable ; 
 The foe will be upon us in an hour; 
 Even while we talk he comes. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Well, let him come. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 We must prepare to meet him. 
 
] 
 
 124 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, to meet him. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 It will be nip and tuck with him to-night. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, ay, to those whom it shall then concern. 
 I go this night to Venice. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 How, to Yenice? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, sir, to Venice; what is strange in that? 
 
 The roads are smooth, I have good steeds in plenty, 
 
 Have learned to ride hard since I took the field ] — 
 
 Why not to Venice ? 'Tis an easier way 
 
 Than this we travel here, where every step 
 
 May be the first upon the path to hell. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Use your own pleasure. You've somewhat to lose,- 
 Such things as station, fortune, hope, and fame ; 
 ISTothing to win but danger and disgrace. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Why, what are they? I have no sense of them. 
 Disgrace; — perdition ! there's but one disgrace 
 Which swallows up all others ; this I shun 
 By now incurring the poor name of shame. 
 Which thousands of brave hearts have borne before. 
 And what is station ? what is hope ? what fame ? 
 If I remain station will be a thorn 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 125 
 
 From which the rose is scattered ; here despair 
 Blasts hope and withers love, and fame enshrouds 
 Death and the longing for the bloodiest grave. 
 
 If my advice- 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Were given 'twould be in vain. 
 I am a lover, not a soldier, now ; 
 Consuming thought is busy in my brain 
 And circles but one object, which is she. — 
 Without there, — ho ! my horse. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 You stagger me. 
 Stay but a moment's needful questioning 
 On the so urgent business of the time. 
 Above all else, how shall your place be filled ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 See you to that, farewell; — fill it yourself; 
 By due degree 'tis yours, by merit yours. 
 So once again, farewell ; — all things farewell, 
 If this unhappy journey fruitless prove. 
 
 [Exit Julio. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Now this is pitiful ! Most sad and pitiful ! 
 A shame ! A grievous shame ! A villany ; 
 Frank villany ! Would that it moved him less ! 
 Faith, I could almost wish the thing undone. 
 But that it comes right in the very nick 
 To me who would be general ; there's the stone 
 O'er which my conscience stumbles ; — let it pass ; 
 Should mischief come of it, why, bless my stars ! 
 
 11* 
 
126 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 'Twill be a text for many a goodly sermon, 
 
 And I a benefactor of the race, 
 
 Set forth and rounded into fair example. 
 
 These merry fair ones have performed their part. 
 
 And our great Julio rarely is befooled. 
 
 He will return anon in as much haste 
 
 As now he goes and wiser ; — not, I hope. 
 
 Till I have put completion to the war. 
 
 What then will follow ? Shall we laugh or cry ? 
 
 Most likely laugh, for he is placable 
 
 And will be happy ; — may he be so ever 
 
 Save when he thwarts Eugenio ! Should he chance 
 
 Be ireful and spout honor, easier still, 
 
 For he will challenge, and we'll fight it out. 
 
 ]N'ow to the field to play the general. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Messenger. 
 Letters, my lord. These for you ; here's for Yin- 
 cenzio ; here's for Bertoldo ; here's for Sparetro, and 
 here's for my lord Julio; this in especial, which I am 
 charged to deliver into his own hand. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 "Why, sirrah, are there two of you? Letters have 
 been delivered before. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 True, my lord. The enemy lay^all about us, and we 
 were compelled to leave our horses with the boys, 
 divide our luggage, and come in as best we could ; 
 one of us by one way ; I by another. I brought with 
 me that which was most important. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 127 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Among the other letters, were there any for my lord 
 Julio ? 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 One, sir ; but we had no charge concerning it beyond 
 the common. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 And such you had as to this ? Let me see it. 
 
 [ Takes the letter. 
 The general is not here and would not be spoken to ; 
 he has so commanded. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 My lord, do not keep the letter. My charge was 
 most urgent. My chief bade me that be was under 
 most sacred trust to bring it safe to the general. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 The trust has been executed. In this I am the gen- 
 eral. All letters come to me as commissary ; most of 
 all, the general's. My power goes further if I choose 
 to exercise it; but we have no treason here. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Sir, my chief was most particular; he relies upon 
 my zeal. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Thy zeal hath been shown. 
 
 Messenger. 
 But, sir, my chief 
 
128 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Thy chief be hanged! AVill he override us and the 
 law ? Put thy letters in my tent, all but this wbich I 
 retain. Eeport so to tby chief. Tell him I commend 
 thy zeal and thy wisdom as well. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 I thank you, sir ; I will do so. Alas, my reward ! 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 Eugenic. 
 
 A hugely asinine, honest good fellow. 
 
 There has been some stir ; who cares for it ? ITot I. — 
 
 To the flames, sweet document ! No meaner death 
 
 Be thine, nor one less native to thee. I am less 
 
 At fault with thee in this than with thy mates. 
 
 Thy gentle sisters that have gone before thee. 
 
 At most the sin has but a feather's weight ; — 
 
 A moment weighs no more — and hark ! 'tis o'er ; 
 
 There goes the thundering gallop of my friend ! 
 
 Soon will he be more happy than dead scrawl 
 
 Like this could ever make him. jN^ow, by Heaven, 
 
 I feel a kind of fury ; such despite 
 
 I'll wreak to-night upon the enemy, 
 
 He shall wonder while he quakes ; such work I'll do, 
 
 That it shall blazon, like a stream of fire, 
 
 The minds of men, scorching all else away. 
 
 lExit. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 129 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 Venice; a Sail in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Jacopo and Astolfo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Well, Astolfo, brave lad ; art thou belted and plumed 
 to-day? Shall we have another escapade? Egad! I 
 am in love with the work. I could breakfast and sup 
 on it. 
 
 Astolfo. 
 
 Ahem ! ahem ! that reminds me. I pray, your wor- 
 ship, do not forget the aid you had from me. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Have I forgotten thee? Did I not share with thee? 
 
 Astolfo. 
 You gave me but one poor ducat, and that's all. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Come hither, Astolfo. I would to God I was as sim- 
 ple as thou and couldst live upon as little. How many 
 heads has your wisdom ? Here ; do you need to feel it 
 and see it. 
 
 Astolfo. 
 
 One, your worship. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 How many mouths ? 
 
130 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 One mouth, but it can swallow — ha, ha, — it can 
 swallow more of that breakfast and supper than has 
 come in its way, — ha, ha. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Let it swallow thy own wit and thou wilt be stalled 
 forever. You see ; a man may have but one thing and 
 it may be more than sufficient. How many bodies hast 
 thou? 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 One body. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Would it not be monstrous if thou hadst two ? And 
 to sum up all, how many ducats ? 
 
 ASTOLPO. 
 
 One ; I can take my oath to that ; — one ducat. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 To give thee more would disorder thy economy. If 
 one head be sufficient for such brains ; one mouth for 
 such appetite ; one body for such valor, surely one ducat 
 is enough for thy purse. Be grateful; I conform to thy 
 capacity and copy wisdom from nature. Unity prevails 
 in all things ; there was ^sop, his fables ; — " A father 
 having several sons " 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 You stole a hundred from old Timothy, and would 
 not have dared do it without me. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Without thee! Why, thou impudent rogue, thou 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 131 
 
 didst nothing but shut thy eyes and pray to be at 
 home. Didst thou contrive the expedition ? Didst 
 thou provide the weapons and the eloquence ? 'Gad ! 
 I think it was the eloquence that did the business ; 
 the old gentleman seemed e'en glad to part with his 
 treasure. Didst thou receive it? — What didst thou do? 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I did not receive the money ; no, forsooth ! you re- 
 ceived the money; but I held the pistoletto to the 
 
 boy's head. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 And I commanded thee. Away! Away! thou dis- 
 appointest me. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 And thou me, sir Jacopo ; you are not honest, sir 
 Jacopo ; I scorn to be fobbed so after putting my life 
 in peril. If you give me not more of the plunder, I'll 
 be revenged on you. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I am serenely comfortable to-day and can bear this 
 of thee; yet thou art but a sorry knave, Astolfo; I 
 blush for thee. Thou hast my countenance, and it saves 
 thee from the gallows. Thou art permitted to live, to 
 breathe, to eat, drink, and wear clothes. Thou hast 
 flesh on thy bones, or, at least, bones in thy skin 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 For the matter of that 
 
 Jacopo. 
 I know what thou wouldst say, " as well hang as 
 
132 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 starve;" — try starving first, however, and that thou 
 mayest do so, cease this endless clamor for money. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Well, I am no scholar and cannot answer your arge- 
 fyings ; but conscientiousness tells me I ought to have 
 more of the ducats, and, since you will not give them, 
 I will be revenged. [Exit Astolfo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Shall I see the court poet and have him put this last 
 affair into heroics ? Without embellishment it might 
 do, and it would delight Madalena. It might go far to 
 content Astolfo. Timotheus and his no eyes would be 
 superb. I' faith ! it shall be done, and that it may not 
 be spoiled in the doing I will do it myself. Who but 
 I, born lover and poet as I am, can feel the rapture of 
 the ducats ? Already the vein gushes — 
 
 Cupid now hath golden wings. 
 
 Enter Laura, Catarina, and Franco. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ah ! sweet sir Jacopo ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 Ah, gentle sir! well met. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Well met, well met. I say, lasses, are we friends 
 now? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 The best of friends. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 133 
 
 Catarina. 
 The best of friends till death. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 But you would not have me die ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Heaven forbid, sir Jacopo ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Then tell me quickly ; how fares my love ? how fares 
 my Madalena ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Hist ! not so loud, sir Jacopo ; yonder is Franco, the 
 duke's man. You would not have him know your 
 secret ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I care not if the whole world knows I am in love ; 
 is it not honorable and sweetly commendable ? As for 
 Franco, he is an honest fellow and tells no tales. 
 Know therefore. Franco, I am in love. 
 
 Franco. 
 Alas for love ! will it endure the outrage ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ay, and by the twinkle of thy eye and an innate 
 sympathy I have, I will be sworn you keep me com- 
 pany. Ah, ha, Franco ! dost thou blush ? Foolish 
 Franco, when did blushing ever help a man ? Behold 
 him, ladies ; you see how ridiculous a man may be 
 when he is in love and is ashamed to own it. 
 
 12 
 
134 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Franco. 
 Peace, idiot. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Take him in hand, my Catarina; teach him how to 
 make love as I have thee. By his half-closed eyelids 
 and the fire under them, thou shalt find him an apt 
 scholar. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Peace. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Peace, good Jacopo. 
 
 Franco. 
 Peace, or I'll break thy head. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Now, by my nobility 
 
 Franco. 
 Swear by thy royalty, king of Cockaigne. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 By my nobility, I say ; royalty may be a lesser 
 matter. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Not when thou rufflest so, most royal peacock. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 For shame. Franco ! Be not angered, Jacopo ; such 
 flouting can never touch thee. What matters it? 
 King, noble, knight, peacock, or high-stepping barn- 
 yard fowl, thou art always and in everything superla- 
 tive. Leave this insensible rogue and attend to us ; we 
 have news that will please thee. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 135 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Let me hear it, lasses ; I am in a proper humor for 
 good news. Is it of Madalena ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Not 80 loud, sir Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 My love, my dove, my Madalena ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 But not so loud. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I will not ; is it of her ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Ay, sir Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The heavenly fair! Has she heard of my achieve- 
 ments ? Those exploits I have performed for her sake, 
 and can she resist no longer ? Hath she sent for me ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 If you speak so loud we will not tell you. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I'll breathe in whispers : am I too loud now ? — but 
 
 tell me, tell me ; why are you so glum ? why do you 
 
 look at each other? Is this your friendship? Tell 
 
 me of Madalena, the duke's own daughter and mj own 
 
 dear love ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Nay, I am disappointed in you; — a lover and vo- 
 
136 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 ciferous, and when so much depends ! Come, Laura, 
 shall we leave him ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Baal and Ashtaroth! Would ye make a dumb idol 
 of me? If a man have a voice shall he not use it? 
 Come, stay and tell me, and I will be silent altogether. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Let it be so, then ; now, Laura. 
 
 Laura. 
 Listen, sir Jacopo. 
 
 \_He points to his ears. 
 
 Ay, sir Jacopo ; they will serve ; like all your other 
 
 merits, they are conspicuous. You are very charming 
 
 to-day, sir Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Madalena ! Madalena ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ah ! I remember. But, sir Jacopo, you will agree 
 that attractions such as yours are very confusing. 
 Happy Madalena ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Tell me of her — of her ; tempt not my constancy ; 
 
 'tis vain. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Well, since so it must be ! I have seen her ; she 
 
 confesses her love, — would that I Alas ! I forget 
 
 me ; she implores my friendship to aid her, — hard 
 task! but I will perform it if I die; — mourns the 
 separation, and determines within all modest bounds 
 to make amends for all. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 137 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha! I knew she would. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Be not too hasty ; let your lips shut the door upon 
 your heart, that its counsel escape not. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Fear me not; I will be secret as an owl and silent as 
 a church-yard. What more, sweet heart ? 
 
 Laura. 
 She grants you an interview this night. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 You heavens, I thank you ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You will be in the garden below her lattice at the 
 hour of nine. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 "Why, it was there 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You were before and failed of an interview ; true, but 
 then your own eagerness deceived you, not she. You 
 will be faithful and cautious ; her honor will be safe 
 with you, most noble cavalier ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 As safe as if no man knew she had any. Did you 
 say under her balcony or in her bower ? 
 
 12* 
 
138 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Heavens! sir Jacopo. Is this your prudence? Is 
 this jour delicacy? Will you make us repent what 
 we have done for you ? Under her window, remem- 
 ber, at nine. There will she beam upon you and be 
 the interpreter of her own chaste heart. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Yery good; if there's no earthquake I'll be there. 
 Sir Jacopo, sir Monkey, thou shalt climb to-night,— 
 thou shalt climb. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Say no more, now ; I am fearful of the secret. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 So am I ; ye are but women. 
 
 Snter Astolpo a?id Lucetta. 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Well, Jacopo; here I am. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Woman ! 
 
 Lucetta. 
 
 It has been long since you have seen me ; but you see 
 
 me at last. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Woman ! 
 
 Lucetta. 
 
 You have many a burrow, old fox ; but I have tracked 
 you to the end. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 139 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Woman ! 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 You have been at the wars, have you? and I was to 
 come after you, was I ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Grood madam, who are you ? 
 
 Lucetta. 
 Bad madam, who are you ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Are you Lucetta, his wife, of whom we have heard so 
 much? 
 
 Ltjcetta. 
 
 Marry, I am she ; I am not ashamed to confess who 
 
 I am. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 You are a much-injured woman. 
 
 Lucetta. 
 
 Well now, that's proper; has he been injuring you 
 
 too? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Nay, madam ; I have thus far escaped his fascinations j 
 but you come in good time, 
 
 Lucetta. 
 Oh, thou villain ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Eut, madam, he is very dangerous. If I were you I 
 would reckon with him soundly. 
 
140 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 And so you would ; you have a spirit ; but I, — I am 
 nothing but a poor loving fool. He leaves me nothing 
 but his shadow, and I keep on following after it. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 And a noble figure you make. What want you with 
 shadows when you have such substance of your own ? 
 Come, get you home and cultivate the graces • so may 
 you capture your runaway. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 I will not go home, sir Jacopo ; I will have nothing 
 to do with the graces ; you do me base wrong, and I 
 will not go home. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What wrong, dear madam ? 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 Would you believe it, my lady ? he has a kind of itch 
 in him ; he wanders away and makes love to every 
 woman he sees ; every one but me, his wife. 
 
 Catarina. 
 Is it possible ? Wicked sir Jacopo ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Don't believe it, Kate ; don't believe it. We all 
 know him to be gallant, and, God knows, our sex is 
 much to blame where he is concerned, but wicked ! I 
 thought you knew him better. 
 
 J 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 141 
 
 Catarina. 
 We must believe his wife. 
 
 Ltjcetta. 
 
 As you do the saints, mistress ; let him deny it if he 
 
 can. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Come, Jacopo ; refute this slander. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Ha ! what is it ? — what are you talking of? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Of your cruelty to this fair lady, your wife. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 The duke flies his hawks to-day on the mainland. 
 Methinks I should be there. 
 
 Catarina. 
 To the purpose, Jacopo ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ah ha! there goes a hawk! there goes a hawk! 
 Well swooped, nimble wings. 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 "Was ever woman cursed with such a man ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Or man blessed* with such a woman ? Ladies, you 
 perceive I am gallant even in extremities. Ah ! thou 
 unrecognizable fairy whom once I did call mine ! Dost 
 
142 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 thou remember thee as thou wast in those days, Lu- 
 cetta ? Thou wast taper then and I could span thee ; 
 but now — behold this rotundity! thou hast grown to 
 be equal to a whole population. If our friend the Turk 
 had thee he would embrace the faith when he embraced 
 thee and want no harems ; — "/ecZe e sustanziay Oh, thou 
 lovely complainer ! how can I believe you suffer in this 
 trial of thy love for me when thy dimensions, magnifi- 
 cent as they were before, have doubled since I last saw 
 thee? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Oh, you inscrutable, double-tongued defamer ! I hate 
 you! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 You hear, my fair friends ; and yet she would have 
 you think the fault is mine. 
 
 LlJCETTA. 
 
 And whose is it, then, you cunning rogue ? 'Tis ever 
 thus, ladies ; he has devils in him all the time. I never 
 know where to find him, or what to do with him ; — 
 such a life as he leads me! — and it makes me burst 
 almost to think how I have to bear it all, while he 
 comes off free. Yes, he prattles and capers and plumes 
 his feathers and is all the while as deep as the sea, and 
 pretends innocence and has all the world after him, 
 while I, poor victim, am given over to despair and the 
 black suggestions of Satan. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 'Tis lamentable. Good Franco, can you not assist 
 this lady ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF, 143 
 
 Franco. 
 
 If the fellow were thirty years younger 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I should be sucking my fingers in niy nurse's lap. 
 Would I not, my little Lucy, if her lap were like thine ? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Dear madam, you see how he flouts me. May you 
 never have beauty and have it so despised. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I vow, madam, I will not ; none that shall resemble 
 yours. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 You are a good girl, I do believe. Look at him now ; 
 see how he jigs around on his toes, grinning to him- 
 self; — I will be bound he is thinking of some other 
 woman, and me he is going to make a Turk of and put 
 a harem in me; — that exceeds all! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Unfeeling man, is it thus . thou abusest Heaven's 
 great gift to thee ? Lo ! she weeps. Come now, are 
 you not moved ? G-o to her and wipe away her tears. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Let her go home first ; when I arrive we will weep 
 
 together. We are in the court, my lady, and it is no 
 
 place for Niobes. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 You are as cold-hearted as the stone into which 
 Niobe was converted. You should go home, indeed, 
 
144 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 and hide yourself. I do not love thee now; I will 
 shun thee evermore. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Come, come ; I think you carry this matter too far. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 As far as they will ; what care I ? — 
 
 When one has little wit, 
 
 One still must borrow it. 
 I will lend them mine if they will give over trying 
 to make an edge on it for their own ] mine grows the 
 duller, and theirs is not the sharper. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 He is an honest man and ray friend ; I will not have 
 him abused. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Are you a woman, Laura, and take his part; how 
 hath he treated this lady ? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Ay, how, how ? Let him answer that. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You are deceived, Catarina ; it is she who is the of- 
 fender ; she has been the plague of his life. I accuse 
 her of no wrong, but did not Heaven create him for 
 gayety and love, to dazzle and to adorn, and does she 
 not extinguish his fine spark with those urns, those 
 watery orbs ? He was not born under Aquarius, why 
 should he live under him ? Those flowing streams, 
 covering that fair field of face, have their use in nature, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 145 
 
 but not for him. He is to be pitied, Kate ; he is to be 
 
 pitied. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 And so I am. 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 To be pitied is he? Because he makes me weep he 
 is to be pitied ? Oh, villain ! do I weep without cause ? 
 Oh, unkind lady ! I am an urn, am I ? An Aquarius, 
 a man with a watering-pot? This is too much! Oh, 
 my poor eyes, my poor heart, this is too much ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Laura, you are rebuked. I grant he is agreeable, 
 but duties must be considered as well as delectations. 
 If you can pity him you deserve such a husband your- 
 self. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Alas ! I never hope for such a one ; there is no such 
 other. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 That pleases me ; if I were a lion I would roar at 
 that. This for thee, my fair advocate. 
 
 [^Kisses her. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 I will endure this no longer. Watery as I am, I will 
 seek my lord Leonello. You shall have a taste of him, 
 my honeys; you will find his humor dry enough. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Il^o, no, good madam. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Leave that to me who am jo\xv friend. 
 
 13 
 
146 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 iNone but myself can do justice to my wrongs. Who 
 but I can tell what I suffer ? I will tell him what a 
 viper his court nurses; I will tell him you are all 
 hatching conspiracies and treasons; that his life is in 
 danger; that his daughter is not safe, nor his niece 
 either, — ha ! do I touch you ? You shall soar no longer, 
 old lark ; my turn has come ; we shall have you twigged 
 at last. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Do what you will, madam. When you come into the 
 duke's presence, you shall be duly honored ; you are the 
 wife of Jacopo. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 Honored shall I be ? Not if I say to him that you 
 rob and murder his people on the highways. 
 
 Laura. 
 Alas, Jacopo ! have you done this ? Nay, then 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Woman, you comprehend not ; or some villain hath 
 maligned me. 
 
 AsTOLFO. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Oh, thou ! was it thou ? 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Never do you mind ; for all your fanfaronades you 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 147 
 
 will be whipped out of court, and then be hung ; — God 
 be praised, you will be hung. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Hung! what thief would die in his company? They 
 will case him in glass like a speckled snake, and point 
 sticks at him. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Before God ! I should like to see that. 
 
 Oatarina. 
 
 Or have him perform as the missing link, one foot at 
 a time, on the top of a pole, and then hand him over to 
 a regiment of ragged boys ; or, to the doctors. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 I would follow him all around. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Or chain him to a stake like a little black bear, and 
 make him dance and prance to the sound of a pipe. 
 
 ASTOLFO. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha. I should die of laughter. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Thou shalt die, base dog, but not of laughter. 
 
 [^Exit AsTOLFO followed by Jacopo flourishing 
 his rapier. 
 
 Laura. 
 Is he out of hearing, Kate ? 
 
148 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 Ay, Laura ; what now ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Fair Lucetta, my good madam, I beseech you pardon 
 me. I know your sorrows and I pity them ; but we 
 have that in hand, my friend and I, which would have 
 been quite dashed had not one of us, at least, seemed 
 to take sides with this torment of yours. 
 
 Lucetta. 
 'Twas very wrong, my lady; I have endured much. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Do I not know it ? You have suffered much indeed. 
 
 What I speak of concerns Jacopo. Would you have 
 
 him reformed ? 
 
 Lucetta. 
 
 Yes, madam ; if I may first be revenged. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 In reforming him you shall be revenged ; but say, 
 then, revenged. Will you do as we shall tell you? 
 
 Lucetta. 
 Yes, madam. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Well, then, wipe your eyes and listen ; so, you shall 
 have no more need of tears. Your husband has the 
 belief that he is beloved by my cousin Madalena; 'tis 
 his folly, but it serves our purpose and yours. He 
 goes to-night under her window, thinking that she will 
 see him. Prepare yourself with such assistance as 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 149 
 
 you may think proper, and then do what his good and 
 your just resentment may dictate. So may you make 
 him a better husband. 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 If his punishment do not equal my injuries I will be 
 content to bear them forever. I will show him what 
 a Turk can do. [Exit Lijcetta. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 So make we, and without much harm to him, an end 
 of our ancient lover, whose folly, growing like a giant's 
 appetite, threatens otherwise to devour us all. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 And were the true lover arrived we should also make 
 an end of our tragi-comedy. 
 
 Laura. 
 Eeceived he the letter, think you ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Yes, and brings his own answer ; see where he comes. 
 Leave us, good ally. \to Franco.] 
 
 [Exit Franco. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Laura. 
 Why, how now, Julio ! Wherefore in such haste ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 What news, dear Laura? What of Madalena? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Why, master Julio; know you not your friends? 
 
 13* 
 
150 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 I know you, Kate ; good Laura, what's the news ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Anon I'll tell you ; you have ridden hard ; 
 
 I pray you come go in with us and taste 
 
 Needful refreshment. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Presently ; not now. 
 I had your letter, Laura, read it too, 
 And on the spur of most excited thought 
 Took horse for Yenice. I have left behind 
 My army on the eve of an engagement. 
 With all that makes up life in vulgar eyes ; — 
 But these are trifles. — What have you to tell ? 
 Speak quickly ; ha ! you smile. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Faith, no ; I weep ! 
 
 What is it you would know ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Why, everything 
 That touches her dear honor and my peace. — 
 Why do you pause? Surely this reticence 
 Comes now too late ; must I confound my tongue 
 With hideous questioning, and, oh, misery! 
 Extort the thing I would not know ? Must I 
 Hint of the how and when, and urge a proof 
 That made destroys mc ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Nay, 5'ou shall not know ; 
 This passion is too great; it troubles me. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 151 
 
 Julio. 
 
 So you confirm my fear ; sweet friend, dear coz, 
 
 Have pity ; is it true what you have written ? 
 
 Is that one heart where all my bliss was stored 
 
 i^o longer mine ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 A freak ; a young girl's fancy. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Fancy ! Can it be of her you speak ? 
 She seemed aloof from fancy, save that one 
 Which lighted all the depths of her clear will ; 
 But yet — but what am 1? Oft have I mused 
 On her great grace and my mere nothingness. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You rob me of all power of utterance ; 
 But since I must speak, I will speak ; 'tis vain 
 To hide what all men know ; but I beseech 
 Lend a light ear ; perchance all will be well, 
 If you are temperate. She whom you love, 
 Moved by the strangest vagary under heaven. 
 Wavers in her first troth ; the wretch for whom 
 She has forsaken duty and your love, — 
 Oh, strange perversion of a maiden's wit! — 
 Is but the common laughter of the court ; 
 An ancient phantasm ; you know him, Jacopo. 
 
 Julio. 
 What, Jacopo ! By Heaven you but trifle ! 
 
 Laura. 
 Would that I did ; would that he trifled ; no ; 
 
152 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 No trifler he; lie loves, and loves as one 
 Whose love is crowned and happy. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh, ye powers ! 
 
 That make and unmake man and to his thousrht 
 
 Confound his being and his thought itself, 
 
 Can this be true ? Why, what's befallen me ? 
 
 I have sometime been handsome ; am I old, 
 
 Crippled, and crooked, bald, squint-eyed, and blear? 
 
 Give me a glass ; am I an Ethiop 
 
 Or muddy-colored Moor ? Where is the change 
 
 In me that deadens sense in her and kills 
 
 Fair nature in its blossom? Say, what change? 
 
 Latjra. 
 'Tis strange, 'tis very strange, and truth is strange. 
 
 Julio. 
 So strange in this that proof should come with it. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Proof! 'tis a heavy word and overweighs 
 More subtle essences. What proof had you 
 She loved you save a word, a glance, a sigh, 
 Touch yielded and withdrawn. Proof, do you ask? 
 Proof is a word not made for woman's lips, 
 But some dull advocate's ; say we have none, 
 And live and love forever. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 So I shall ; 
 But I must know what you know ; will you speak ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 153 
 
 Laura. 
 
 When I have done with weeping ; Catarina 
 Meantime will tell you something. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 What knows she ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 She's of my counsel ; tell him all, sweet Kate. 
 
 Julio. 
 Come, Kate ; your tongue was swift enough at school. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I have no heart to use it now, dear sir ; 
 
 My tongue is ever light upon light themes, 
 
 But tales of sorrow choke its utterance quite. 
 
 But since I must do what my Laura says, 
 
 I will unfold. This old lord Jacopo, 
 
 Or old sir Jacopo, or plain old Jacopo, 
 
 Or, sir, the Lord knows what ; — the devil you know 
 
 Is fond of having titles in his train. 
 
 Julio. 
 What ! are you mad ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 A little mad, I think ; 
 It is this business ; give me leave to breathe ; 
 I'll come to it anon. This old lord Jacopo, 
 Finding between the twinges of the gout 
 Some leisure to make love, begins his suit 
 With all precipitance and fiery zeal 
 To Madalena. She, at first amazed, 
 Listens to artful eld, by sympathy 
 
154 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Secret and strange close working in her heart, 
 Drawn to her opposite, if indeed he be 
 Her opposite, for meeting streams blend not 
 More indistinguishably than her soul with his 
 Blent in that moment. Was it some witchery 
 That did disguise his looks as was most like, — 
 For sure the wretch has spirit and a grace 
 That turns him into favor, — or because 
 She knows that reverence lies not, she believes 
 And yields her bounty freely. Happy, he. 
 With crest erected and triumphant swell, 
 Through all the court the blissful tidings tells; 
 His talk is all of kisses and kind looks 
 Bestowed at their last meeting ; even now 
 He was here, full of his rapture ; Franco, 
 Whom we all know as worthy, will vouch for it. 
 Grood Franco, will you speak ? He too was with us. 
 
 Jtjlio. 
 
 He is not here ; I would not have him here. 
 Tour speech I bear; methinks another's would 
 Pour gall into my wound. May this not be 
 A fool's delusion only ? Have you seen. 
 Conversed with Madalena? Laura, you? 
 
 Lauka. 
 
 Why, we had scarce ceased laughing at the swain 
 
 Ere we had found by certain test that we 
 
 Must mourn for her. We do entreat, upbraid. 
 
 But all in vain. Ino-enuous as she is, 
 
 She offered no denial, no concealment; 
 
 She only wept. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I'll see her. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 155 
 
 Laura. 
 
 So you shall, 
 If you avoid all scandal, and be swift 
 In taking leave of Yenice, for I fear 
 This passion in you. Eut as you desire 
 Assurance of the truth, let it precede 
 Your meeting ; therefore, if we may advise, 
 See him, see Jacopo ; there is a means ; 
 He is in his antics; he'll perform anon. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 The vain, besotted, beastly, bragging knave ! 
 Yulcan to "Venus! Oh, conjunction rare! 
 Let Mars return to war ; break heads, not hearts ; 
 Sunken and pale is he, unthroned, unstarred, 
 And wandering from his orbit. 
 
 Such a thino' 
 
 Laura. 
 
 To have supplanted you ! 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I know the man ; — 
 From head to foot he is all infamy. 
 Oh, fy ! the rankness of it suffocates me! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 What will you do ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 "Why, for all time 
 I can no more than marvel. I did weep ; — 
 Yea, my whole heart went out in dear compassion ; 
 
156 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Yengeance did sleep, thinking of what she was ; — 
 
 But now I am but lost. I am as one 
 
 Who moves without sensation, and who raves 
 
 Without due purpose ; passion at my heart 
 
 Tears all its strings, and yet, disjoined from motive, 
 
 Mocks me with laughter; heavily I feel 
 
 I must do something ; — where now shall I find 
 
 This skeleton, this lean and deathly joke 
 
 Miscalled a man ? I wonder will his ribs 
 
 Sustain man's anger? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Mean you Jaeopo? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Did you ss^y Jaeopo ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, him, him, him ; — 
 
 What! shall we play at echoes? Jaeopo! 
 
 Was not your speech of him ? Is it you or I 
 
 Who swim in vapor and in ignorance ? 
 
 There is no daylight, none; familiar earth 
 
 Trembles beneath me; you, sweet ladies, seem 
 
 Fair fiends and scoffing. I did hear you say 
 
 That Madalena's false and I betrayed ; 
 
 It is some folly; I do know her true, 
 
 Incapable of change ; until I see 
 
 And by my own true senses am convinced, 
 
 I'll nothing doubt; but I will see the man, — 
 
 I know not to what end ; — from emptiness 
 
 Like his belief can come not nor resolve. — 
 
 Where shall I find this puppet ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 If to-night, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 157 
 
 Between the hours of twilight and eleven, 
 You seek her window, chances ten to one 
 You'll meet your rival ; 'tis his wont, I think ; 
 And though he be no hare-brained foolish boy, 
 He'll keep his trist right blithely ; will you venture ? 
 
 Julio. 
 I will be there. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And now, come, go with us. 
 You are forespent with travel, and you take 
 All this too much to heart ; we yet will find 
 Some comfort for you ; all will yet be well. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Duke's Cabinet. 
 The Duke and Franco. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Julio has returned, you say. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Ay, my lord ; he is even now in conference with the 
 ladies ; much distressed in body and mind. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I did not think he would return ; the state incurs a 
 danger. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 To-night they send him under your daughter's bal- 
 cony, where he will find Jacopo. They make merry 
 
 14 
 
158 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 with the thought of the oddities that will ensue from 
 the confrontation of such rivals. 
 
 Duke. 
 Have they no fear of the consequences ? 
 
 Franco. 
 Oh, no! Jacopo will not fight. Afterwards they 
 mean to solace all with a fair conclusion. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Let them not be too sure of that. Hark you, Franco ; 
 the plot is but half unfolded. They who are now its 
 movers shall become its victims ; yet the doubts of the 
 lover shall not be quieted, nor his sufferings ended. 
 Our time is at hand, and there shall be many tears 
 shed and a heart or two half broken before smiles will 
 again revisit us. Leave me now, and send me presently 
 
 the captain of my guards. 
 
 [^Exit Franco. 
 I must rebuke this levity, not by formal precept, 
 which natures such as these reject of their own in- 
 stinctive motion, but in a way that shall be as a blow 
 that is felt and seen not. Imagination shall be touched. 
 The palace of princes is no place for scenes like these ; 
 nor a prince's daughter their proper mark. If per- 
 mitted, the dignity of our station will become like 
 tarnished gold ; true, indeed, as the brightest, but 
 handled as carelessly and spurned as rudely as the 
 basest metal. 
 
 Be-enter Franco. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Did I understand your grace? Did you say the 
 captain of the guards f 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 159 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Surely ; shall I command twice ? 
 
 [Exit Franco. 
 
 My soft-hearted confidant is unhappy ; the smiles of 
 these fair ladies have bewitched him. The army, I 
 think, is safe. Eugenio is no less a skilful and sagacious 
 officer than a valiant soldier. I would trust him in 
 everything when his passions are not concerned, then 
 he intrigues. This whole contrivance were worthy of 
 him, and, by Heaven, methinks it smacks of his in- 
 vention. He alone gains by it, and it suits his pur- 
 poses, his ambition, and his known disaffection. What 
 if it were his! The thought shall be remembered. 
 He shall unmask himself with the others, and that 
 soon. - [Exit. 
 
 SCENE lY. 
 
 The Gardens of the Palace ; under Madalena's window. 
 
 Jacopo, solus. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Here I am, true to my appointment, with a heart in 
 my bosom as light as the feather in my cappello. It is 
 the devil's own night for a lover's finery to be seen in ; 
 but what of that? there's a heaven above these clouds 
 and a heaven above me ; so let wind and weather tear 
 the earth to pieces. Blow ! blow ! blow ! Shine forth 
 my pole-star ; the blacker the night, the brighter thou. — 
 But there is no star ; not even a candle ; the lady, me- 
 thinks, should have her lamp lit; a little light in so 
 much darkness would not spoil whispering, and her 
 beauty must be seen or it shines to no purpose. Does 
 
160 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 she hear me ? Poetry is the thing for ears like hers. 
 I'll improvisate. 
 
 Look out, my love, 
 From thy heaven above ; 
 Thy face divine 
 Shall gladden mine ; 
 
 Look out, look out, my love. 
 
 I think the wind says, " Well screeched, Jacopo," but 
 she says nothing. She must hear me, and still there 
 is no light; nothing stirs. How's this? 'Tis past 
 the hour and it begins to rain. Fy ! fy ! sir Jacopo ; 
 bury thy impatience, or rather drown it; Leander 
 suffered less from love and more from water. Shall I 
 chide her ? Flower of the world ! sweet daffodil ! 
 sweet lily ! thy servant chides thee not; he will die but 
 never chide. Who chides the rose's scent, the breath 
 of spring, the star of the eve and morning? But, oh, 
 most lovely bird of paradise ! open thy wings, thy lat- 
 tice 'tis I mean. Sweet mate of mine, made in the self- 
 same mould, my wings are grown and spread them- 
 selves towards thee. Does she hear that, I wonder ? 
 Can she resist it? By Jove, I believe she's asleep. 
 Sweet heart of mine, thou sleepest and I wake; how 
 canst thou sleep ? 
 
 No, she is weeping ; dry thy tears, my sweet ; 
 Tears be there none when youthful lovers meet ; 
 Keep but one little drop coyly the while ; 
 So I may kiss it, love, kiss it and smile. 
 
 One drop, did I say? All the drops her divine entity 
 could be distilled into, poured out through heaven's 
 alembic and received by my devoted person, would not 
 equal the hundred thousandth part of an instant of 
 those that now come down, nor drench me as badly ; 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 161 
 
 then I would liquefy balmily, but now, — Neptune, 
 Oceanus, all you gods of fluvius and pluvius, have 
 you all combined against me? Have you all reared 
 your aqueous fronts to extinguish immeasurable love ? 
 Immeasurable disaster! My amorous spirits and the 
 colors of my new doublet are being washed out to- 
 gether. What a deluge ! Father JS'oah, come to my 
 aid. jSTo sign yet. — Zounds ! it is frigid work. To it 
 again, Jacopo. Uphold me, son of Aphrodite, and I 
 will outbellow the hurricane. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Oh, dearest love, thou colder art 
 
 Than night winds bleak and drear ; 
 Here all is chill, and chill thy heart 
 Where oft I eased my burning smart ; 
 Behold, I perish here. 
 
 Not SO well as I have done, — rather lame in the last 
 leg; but good enough for such a night. This trickle 
 that invades me is not Hippocrene, and the Muses, 
 dainty creatures, have fled for fear of taking cold. I 
 am desperate. What can she mean? 'Twas never 
 thus before. I will put some truth in my serenade if 
 not poetry. 
 
 It is a sin most damnable 
 
 To let a lover drown ; 
 But that I am most amiable 
 
 I'd pull the palace down. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 It is his voice. What unmelodious thing art thou, — 
 a man? 
 
 14* 
 
162 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ay, twice a man, and of the right breed each time. 
 Who's he that asks ? 
 
 Julio. 
 Thou shalt learn. What brings thee here ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 What brings thee here, thou rain-begotten thing, 
 Forth frisking with the toads ? Hop and away ! 
 Away, I say, and leave me to my love. 
 
 Julio. 
 Who is thy love ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Most muddy interloper, thou shalt know ; 
 Then dive and croak no more thy leathern note. 
 MadaJena, daughter to the duke 's my love, 
 Whom I to-night will clasp in my fond arms. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 ]^ot till they have tried the strength of mine ; draw. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 G-ood! very good! Have j^ou been shot down by 
 this cataract for no purpose but to ask me to draw? 
 Why should I draw ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Come; thy life or mine; draw or I will run you 
 through. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 What ! in the dark ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 163 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, ay ; you are old, but all the years of Methuselah 
 shall not protect you now. 
 
 Jaoopo. 
 
 'Tis plain you are mistaken ; seek the other man ; the 
 
 old man. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Take what advantage you will ; are you ready ? 
 
 here's for you. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Now, now, now, if this is not too bad. An inter- 
 ruption at such a time is most uncivil. Wilt thou not, 
 in courtesy, wait until Madalena and I have had our 
 interview ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh, villain ! \_Offering a pass at him. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Stand oif a little ; give me time, will you, to get at 
 my weapon ; much advantage you give me. So, so ; — 
 if you did but know what fighting I have seen in the 
 dark. I know the passes then. 
 
 Julio. 
 Well, then, come on. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Why, when I was a soldier, I was once in a mell with 
 twoscore Turks in the dark; great turbaned fellows 
 with scimitars like this, — can you see ? Some one ran, 
 I can tell you. 
 
164 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Will you fight ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 Will you kill me if I don't ? 
 
 Jttlio. 
 
 I say not that; thy baseness must protect thee; but 
 — such as thou! Oh, shame! Oh, degradation! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Strong TTords ; but I know whose they are. You are 
 not worth fighting, and I would not be thy assassin. 
 I have eyes like a bat, and see thee and know thee. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Who am I, dog? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 That prowling thief of a convict who escaped from 
 the galleys last night. I would apprehend thee but for 
 this affair of mine. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Say now, in truth, dost thou know the lady Mada- 
 
 lena? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Does my mouth know my hand ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Slave, I believe thou liest. Do but be truthful, and 
 
 I will spare thee. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 I will tell any lie to save the lady's honor ; but of 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 165 
 
 what use now? Am I not here? Is she not there, 
 waiting to receive me ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 The infamy ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Why do you ask for the truth if you do not like it ? 
 You were not invited to come here and spoil sport. 
 
 Julio. 
 Have you met here before ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 As many times, I tell you, as I have eaten and drunk. 
 'Tis royal pastime with a duke's daughter. Besides, 
 she has a lover, a would-be lover, that is; a jackanapes, 
 a sop, a puling, sentimental boy, of whom a woman 
 tires as she would of gruel. 'Tis that foolish Julio. 
 The duke saw how it was and packed him ofip to the 
 wars to be killed or captured, — 'tis the merest puppy ! 
 Lord ! how I like to be beforehand with him, and how 
 Madalena and I laugh at him ! 
 
 Julio. 
 Thou shalt laugh no more, abomination. 
 
 [Beats him. 
 
 Enter Captain of the Guards, attended. 
 
 Captain. 
 Which of you is my lord Julio ? 
 
 Julio. 
 I am he. 
 
166 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Captain. 
 
 My lord, I arrest you by virtue of the duke's warrant 
 on the charges of military desertion and treason. 
 
 Julio. 
 I submit myself; shall I see his grace? 
 
 Captain. 
 
 Hereafter it may be, but now you must to prison. 
 The proof is clear against you, the offence is great, 
 and it were well to dispense with hope of pardon. 
 
 Julio. 
 I go with you ; lead on. IJExeunt all but Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 There's physic for my bruises ; there's balm sweeter 
 than any in Gilead. Ha, ha. Ye gods ! I could laugh 
 my life out, — if it were not for these pangs. I see 
 through all this. The whipster has heard of my court- 
 ship and has come post home, mad with jealousy; — and 
 to what end ? Answer me that if you are not out of 
 hearing; — the hangman's, four walls of a dungeon, 
 bread and water and a rope, and to give me freer room 
 to thrive with your mistress. Ha, ha, ha. Well, here 
 I lie in the mire, quite like some other animal than a 
 lover. I must climb that balcony. Lord help me, if I 
 can rise. The villain has beaten my bones as soft as 
 this clay. JSTo light in the window yet; no token; 
 may I be stricken dumb if I endure this. Either she 
 is false or I have been vilely deceived. What ho ! 
 Madalena ! Madalena, I say ! Have you no ears ? 
 Here am I sprawling in the mud and you in silken 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 167 
 
 coverlets. If your heart's not stone come down and 
 help me. She will not hear me. What shall I do? 
 'Sdeath ! Since there is no other remedy, I'll e'en 
 crawl home, — medicine — my honorable wounds — and — 
 go to sleep. Nay, I am faint. [^He swoons. 
 
 Enter Lucetta and the Watch. 
 
 Ltjcetta. 
 
 Ah ! here he is, and as I live, asleep ! Now, officer 
 of the watch, what countryman are you ? 
 
 Officer. 
 A Germans ; thank Grot ! 
 
 LrCETTA. 
 
 Are you a good man, now ? 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Ya, madams. I am astrological, historical, meta- 
 physical, and profound. 'Tis de characters of my 
 peoples ; besides, I am bibulous. Dere is de reasons I 
 like not your Yenice ; too much watare. 
 
 Lucetta. 
 
 Yery good, in faith ; but I do not understand it. I 
 mean, can you give good buflfs and blows ? Can you 
 beat a man soundly ? 
 
 Officer. 
 Your ladyships may try me. 
 
 LrCETTA. 
 
 Well now, give yonder ground-pig a round of good 
 
168 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 German salutations, and I'll give thee a good golden 
 ducat. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 It shall be done and for loves, noble madams ; not 
 for ducats. — IPicks up Jacopo.] What mummies is 
 dis ? Did you say dis ting was making courtships to 
 fine ladies ? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Ay, the anatomy ! — 
 
 Officer. 
 
 And neglecting your handsome ladyships? Tour 
 ladyships should have done with him and come to my 
 nations. The Germans, thank Got! are men and know 
 a fine womans when they see her. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 Lay on ; beat him with all your strength. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Ya, your ladyships ; I will crumble him and mumble 
 him and tumble him into jellies and little powders. 
 Gotfried, hand me my maces. \_Beats him. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 How now, master Julio ; hold thy hand ; give my 
 wounds time to heal and thou shalt have satisfaction 
 with thy rapier. Go to, man; what's thy wrong? 
 We'll never quarrel about a woman. 
 
 Officer. 
 To whom is he talking, madams ? 
 
TEE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 169 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Who are ye ? Satan and his minions tormenting a 
 poor sinner? 
 
 Lfcetta. 
 
 It is your wife, Jacopo; your own poor deserted 
 wife. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Then it is the devil indeed. Have you been beating 
 me, madam ? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Paying old scores, Jacopo. Are you ready now to 
 ask my forgiveness and be taken home peaceably and 
 in quiet? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Who'll take me home ? Who'll touch me ? Let me 
 know that ; who'll touch me ? 
 
 LlJCETTA. 
 
 Lord help me ! I must bring him to his senses. 
 Lend me the mace, officer; you are strong, but I have 
 a will. Cruel, cruel Jacopo; I have ever been your 
 faithful wife ; is it not so ? 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Too faithful Oh, Lord ! 
 
 \_She strikes him. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 And doted on every bone in your old body ; is it not 
 
 so ? [Strikes him. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Oh, that I had not been disabled by that ruffian ! 
 
 15 
 
170 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 LlJCETTA. 
 
 [ Who after each ejaculation beats him. 
 I have clung to you in health and ministered to you 
 in sickness; rejoiced with you in gladness and comforted 
 you in sorrow ; wept at your faults and gloried in your 
 virtues — when I could find them. All this will I con- 
 tinue to do while I live. — Ugh ! Ugh ! Heaven knows 
 I admire you! Heaven knows I pity you! Heaven 
 knows I would die for you. — Ugh ! Ugh ! 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Die, then, vile hag; unhand me, filthy hag; vile 
 ronyon, let me go. Brimstone and the fiends ! Must 
 I endure this ? 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Alas, poor man ! he's mad. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Thou shalt die many deaths for this enormity, — thou 
 shalt. Look to yourself, my plump partridge, when 
 once I am afoot again. I'll toast thee, I'll tickle thee, 
 I'll gripe thee ; — ha, ha ! Poison shall be thy diet ; thy 
 food shall be Ferraresan ; ha, ha, ha! thou shalt taste 
 henbane and hellebore. 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 Poor man ; his wits are quite gone. He must wear 
 
 the strait-jacket, or we shall all be murdered. Poor 
 
 soul ! poor soul ! Take him up, my men, and carry 
 
 him to the mad-house. Thou shalt caper no more, my 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Oh, hell of horrors ! Orribilitd ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 171 
 
 LUCETTA. 
 
 Thou shalt be housed at last, my rover ; the duke has 
 given his certificate, and my lady Madalena will testify. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 The duke ! My lady ! 
 
 LuCETTA. 
 
 Did I not tell thee ? Thou wouldst not be warned. 
 Take him up, good fellows. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 A mad-house ! I, the Pegasus of men ! 
 
 Ltjcetta. 
 
 See that the jacket be made to fit neatly. Forward, 
 now; softly. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Oh, son of the morning ! nine times fulminated 
 and nine again ! Hear me, ye slaves of perdition, hear 
 me. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 Shut thy mouths, or I will break it ; I haf a little 
 madness too. 
 
 Jacopo. 
 
 Ye shall be drawn and quartered, broken on the 
 wheel, devoured, thrown to wild beasts, swallowed 
 alive by serpents ; — a strait-jacket ! I in a strait- 
 jacket! Let me go; hear me; Heaven in a strait- 
 jacket! hear me; brood of wild Tartars, hear me. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
172 MADALENA; OR, _ 
 
 Madalena appears above. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 What noise was there ? Methought I heard a sound 
 
 As of contention, and, amid the din. 
 
 My name. Who ventures hither? They are gone, 
 
 But still there comes a cry as if from one 
 
 Who raves and is constrained. I have just left 
 
 My father, who, more thoughtful and more stern 
 
 Than common, spoke of Jacopo, — poor man ! 
 
 As he were bent to punish him because 
 
 He has beset me, — many times, 'tis true. 
 
 More than beseemed — and other things there were, 
 
 But what I know not. I have plead for him ; 
 
 The heavier hand of justice should not fall 
 
 On thing so light as he. The storm abates ; 
 
 Less and less thick the gloom ; the flying rack 
 
 Mounts and is broken, and between the drifts 
 
 Some glimpse of light appears : yet to my thought 
 
 All is not well in heaven ; the forked tongues 
 
 Of the last lightnings seem to hiss, and like 
 
 A lamentation the requiem winds 
 
 Fall with the dying thunder as it rolls 
 
 Faintl}^ its voice away. I am stirred to-night 
 
 Beyond myself by all I feel and fear 
 
 And hesitate to name, and, haply, lend 
 
 To the movement of the elements that which heaves 
 
 My ill-divining bosom. Storm of war. 
 
 Storm of the winds and skies, great nature's voice. 
 
 And man's less awful but as terrible, 
 
 What are ye to the silent tempest here. 
 
 The spirit that informs you ? Portents pass 
 
 As pass the changing clouds, but, fixed within, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 173 
 
 Bound up with life or death which e'er betide, 
 
 Fate's finger marks the moment that restores 
 
 Or takes him quite away, and now I dream 
 
 The moment is nigh and that no cheerful sprite 
 
 Attends its coming. Can it be the excess 
 
 Of an approaching happiness that casts 
 
 Shadows around me? I might hear a step, 
 
 A tone of his so near they seem to me; 
 
 His presence breathes, — I feel it, — and, strange thought 
 
 In this imagined rapture, I would wish 
 
 He were away again ! Are we of those 
 
 Whom long desire has tortured and who die 
 
 In its fulfilment, overwrought, perplexed, 
 
 And wondering it should be ? O'erwrought am I, — 
 
 Things too intensely longed for sway their forms 
 
 As brightness turns to blackness in the gaze. 
 
 Oh, thou ! who art most visible in thy 
 
 Torn temple of the sky, in truth let this 
 
 Be the last of my nights of waiting and of pain. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 15* 
 
174 MAD AL EN A; OR, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 A Boom in the Palace. 
 Laura and Catarina. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Now, sister Kate, our wager's fairly won, 
 And when the war gives back our valiant knight. 
 We'll mock his victories and boast of ours. 
 Till the wreathed soldier shall resign his bays 
 To woman's wit and woman's enterprise. 
 
 Catarina. 
 But, Lord ! my girl, what lying we have done ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Stuck to the letter ; massacred the sense. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I would we had got off by saying less. 
 Methinks Eugenio left an imp behind 
 When he began this business ; I felt 
 Each spoken word a devil that still urged 
 Another forward ; as I think on 't, I have 
 Some trembling at the heart. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 175 
 
 Laura. 
 
 The foolish boy ! 
 Had he but kept the hundred thousandth part 
 Of his good wit about him, he had found 
 As many flaws as we had Oh's and Ah's, 
 And sobs and gulps between ; well, — lackaday ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What monsters jealousy makes of these men ! 
 Were there no other good in what we've done, 
 At least we have shown this, that jealousy 
 Should be avoided. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 'Tis a lesson, Kate, 
 Which, being new, is good. Where's Julio now ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I had his promise ere he left my house — 
 Do what I could I could not keep him there — 
 To meet us here, where, as you know, we purpose 
 To smooth these troubles o'er. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Would he were come ! 
 I long to see them happy once again. 
 
 Enter Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Oh, cousin, cousin ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 What is it, Madalena ? 
 
176 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 Why so distressed, dear friend ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Oh, you have heard ! 
 Weep, weep, I pray you weep. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 For what ? For whom ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 For Julio, your friend ; my love, my Julio. 
 
 Laura and Catarina. 
 
 Oh, what of him ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 He is to die. 
 
 Laura and Catarina. 
 
 To die ! 
 Madalena. 
 
 Ere noon to-morrow on the scaffold, death, 
 By the vile hands of bloody executioners. 
 Will have laid low that fair and noble form, 
 Quenched the free life within, widowed my hopes, 
 And given to the grave my love. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 It cannot be ; 
 He is without offence. — Merciful Heaven ! 
 Of what is he accused ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 He did but leave — 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 177 
 
 Wherefore I know not — his all-conquering troops 
 And home returned without authority, 
 And for it he must die. — Oh, God of heaven ! 
 That I should say, must die. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 By whose decree ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 The duke's, my father's. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Then there must be hope. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 No hope ! no hope ! Oh ! I have knelt to him ; 
 Wept at his feet tears that were liquid fire; 
 Adjured him by all things of earth and heaven ; 
 Besought him by all ties ; — with voice that came 
 Even to my own ears from my own grave, 
 I have besought him. — All is lost ! All's vain ! 
 His iron front turns anguish to affright, 
 And that again to wailing and despair. 
 Sweet cousin, pity me; there is no hope. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 There is ; there shall be ; see now, where he comes ; 
 If in one night his nature be not changed 
 And life-long custom altered, he will not 
 Beject the prayer we offer. 
 
 Enter the Duke. 
 
 Noble sir, 
 
 Dear uncle- 
 
178 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 Well? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 In happy time you come 
 
 To bring us comfort, for we are as those 
 
 On whom deep dread has fallen ; but a word 
 
 From you, sweet kinsman, like a smile from Heaven, 
 
 Will bid us live again. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What is it now? 
 Speak to the matter. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Nay, sir, do not frown ; 
 My heart grows stubborn under frowns, and I 
 Would be as gentle as the boon I crave ; 
 I kneel for mercy, oh ! deny it not. 
 
 Duke. 
 What is your sin, fair lady ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Sin enough 
 Is mine, and when I kneel for it, you may 
 Deny me mercy ; now, I kneel for one 
 Who has sinned not, and yet to grant him grace 
 Will be to pardon me. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 And who is he 
 Who turns your speech to riddle that invites 
 Mirth more than mercy ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Say not so, my lord ; 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 179 
 
 That irony's too keen that cuts a heart 
 Already full to bursting. — It is he, 
 Your general Julio; our beloved friend, 
 The noble, virtuous, gentle, gallant youth ; 
 Whose life reflects pure honor as a glass ; 
 Whose hopes are in their dew and early dawn ; 
 Whose heart-born love and race-born constancy 
 To us and all our blood will make his death 
 A deed unnatural ; my lord will think it such ? 
 
 Duke. 
 I have not thought it such. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, dear my lord ! 
 Help my poor speech in your benignancy 
 To say what I would say and not offend. 
 You know this youth ; before this cruel hour 
 'Tis you I had selected from the world 
 To be his champion ; twice and thrice is he 
 Your son and more : as being enthroned within 
 Your daughter's heart; as being that friend's son 
 Whose life was given for you; as beiDg himself 
 To you in duteous following and love 
 True as the planets are that in their course 
 Circle the sun. Recalling this, your greatness 
 Will yield itself to pity and forego, 
 As is your wont, this dreadftd punishment. 
 
 Duke. 
 It is decreed ; heard you not that before ? 
 
 Laura. 
 But not to die ? 
 
180 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 I told my daughter so. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 JS^ever, by Heaven, never ! I, too, kneel ; 
 
 Whilst thou hast eyes and ears and we have tongues. 
 
 Or mute imploring gestures, you shall not 
 
 Inflict this misery and so spot your fame 
 
 That time shall loath its keeping. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What! another? 
 
 What is his fate to you ? You have no cause 
 
 For this so earnest pleading for his life. 
 
 Catarina. 
 We have some cause ; oh, Laura ! we have cause ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Some cause, some cause, your grace ; we have some 
 
 cause. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It may be so, and yet the youth must die. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 So dies your innocence, your peace of mind, 
 
 Your hope of heaven, your eternal weal. 
 
 Your love with men, your favor and your grace, 
 
 Your reverence and home-bred happiness ; — 
 
 All, everything will die if Julio dies ; 
 
 Or if distinguishable sense survive, 
 
 'Twill only be of evil and of pain, 
 
 For hell will rise and fill your hollow heart, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF, 181 
 
 And in the room of each departed joy 
 
 Plant thorns and darkness and consuming fire. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Why, wouldst thou daunt me, mistress ? Look on me, 
 And see with what a tear-disdaining eye 
 And smiling lip I say again, he dies. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Most bloody, cruel, and remorseless tyrant ; 
 
 Where is thy mother's milk ? or, that being lost, 
 
 ^he heart that came with such a child as thine ? 
 
 Or, that extinct, hast thou forgotten too 
 
 The bond of friendship, last allegiance 
 
 Man owes his nature? Is all dead in thee? . 
 
 Has Heaven divorced itself wholly from thee, 
 
 That thou so playest the fiend? Frown death on me, 
 
 That I may teach thee impotence and fear. 
 
 This gross abuse of sceptred saving power 
 
 Exalts above it what it aims to crush. 
 
 And mocks thee, despot, with thy last best bane, 
 
 Futility, that has the adder's hiss 
 
 But not the adder's sting. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Call wisdom home 
 And let it charm thy tongue and lower thy crest, 
 And save me from a folly great as thine. 
 You but confirm me in my righteous sentence ; 
 He dies before the morrow's sun shall touch 
 His bright meridian. — Whither now, my daughter? 
 
 Madalena. 
 A voice has called me ; farewell, oh, farewell ! 
 
 \_Exit Madalena. 
 
 16 
 
182 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Alas ! my Madalena ; thou stern judge, 
 
 And father without name, knowest thou her fate ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 To die as you and I must ; she shall die. 
 
 And had I forty daughters all should die, 
 
 Ere treason went unpunished. Shall this Venice, 
 
 Virgin till now, be sullied — I her chief? 
 
 Base guardianship and feeble rule were that. 
 
 Tending to shame and swift destruction ; no ! 
 
 The state is all my daughters, all my sons ; — 
 
 Accursed be those sons who do forget her! 
 
 In the excelling interest of the whole. 
 
 This hand of mine shall sever from my heart 
 
 And from the hearts about me, all the strings. 
 
 Deep-fibred though they be, of tenderness. 
 
 Ere one small thread of justice shall be broken. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I tremble and detest ; no statist I, 
 
 Yet I discern that you do build upon 
 
 Most weak foundations. Botten is that state 
 
 That builds with blood, her children's blood, and makes 
 
 True nature monstrous. Hard of heart and vain 
 
 Is all your logic. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It is still the error 
 Of womanish weak wit to point fierce blame 
 At one only spot, which, rent away, destroys 
 The substance in which 'tis moulded. You would wrest 
 Things from their nature as the moment's need 
 Lent color to the act, and guilt and virtue 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 183 
 
 Are words which in your mouths mean only that 
 
 Which your affection makes them ; — well for you 
 
 That reason stands between you and your aims. — 
 
 No more of obtestation. I am not 
 
 All of this case. The fated consequence 
 
 Of ill when inadvertent is as fixed 
 
 As when it is premeditated. I 
 
 Would have you know I will not bear the blame 
 
 Of deeds and sufferings I did not cause. 
 
 Blame Julio, if you will ; but if not him, 
 
 I'll tell you whom to blame. As you have said, 
 
 The boy is noble and was innocent, 
 
 Eut he has found false friends ; you understand, — 
 
 False friends, I say ; fair foes, but fatal, — friends 
 
 Who knowing his heart have struck it to the core ; 
 
 Who clamor at his fate as you do now, 
 
 Yet have deceived him, brought him to the block 
 
 And laid his head upon it ; seek you them ; 
 
 Pour your reproaches on them, for they are 
 
 His murderers. [Exit Duke. 
 
 JJAURA. 
 
 His more than murderers ! 
 Oh, ye kind heavens ! that it should come to this. 
 
 Catarina. 
 What can we do ? What shall we do ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I know not ; 
 Question me not ; think you if yet you can ; 
 My mind is stagnate as the Dead Sea slime ; 
 I am quite overthrown, as if the axe 
 Had fallen on me. 
 
184 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catamna. 
 
 Alas! that our light jest, — 
 An ill, the child of ignorance of ill ; 
 A simple truant wandering wide of home 
 With gay unthoughted fancy, — should return 
 Bemonstered thus ; it is most horrible ! 
 Oh, who shall judge us, Laura? Who shall judge us? 
 We htive done grievous wrong. 
 
 Lauba. 
 
 If he should die, 
 
 Let mirth go hide its head, smiles turn to frowns, 
 
 Laughter to wailing, pleasure mope in tears 
 
 As fearing reprobation and the whip ; 
 
 All social gratulation be as ice, 
 
 And speech, when happy, dumb. Such things no more 
 
 Will gladden earth without oifending Heaven 
 
 And breeding direst crime. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh, Julio ! 
 Our school-girl friend, best brother of our youth ! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 My cousin, oh, my cousin ! think of her ; 
 That young sweet life whose only light was love. 
 Whose love was life itself; that gentlest flower 
 By fiercest lightning struck, blasted and rent 
 ISTever to bloom again ! And we must live 
 And look on her and say we did it, — we ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 Would I had never listened to your plot ! 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 185 
 
 Laura. 
 My plot, indeed ! That's very boldly said. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 'Twas all your own. and it was less than kind 
 To entice me to take part. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Entice you, — I ! 
 Most innocent Catarina ! I will swear 
 It entered not my thought till on a day 
 You came and brought it with you. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Shame on shame ! 
 
 I never knew before you spoke untruth. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I knew that you did ; else had Julio 
 Never returned to Venice. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Did I bring him ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I think 'twas you. Is there another Kate ? 
 I thought I knew you. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh, perverse and false ! 
 I bring him here ! So grace be mine, I scarce 
 Thought once upon his coming till he came. 
 
 16* 
 
186 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 And yet he came ; how was it that he came ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Who wrote that wicked letter ? • 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ay, who sent it ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Who abused Jacopo and Madalena ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Why, honest Kate, be sure. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I say 'tis false ; 
 I have done little and you have done much 
 In this vile business ; I had nothing done 
 Had I not seen you ; humbly I thank Heaven 
 My conscience is so clear. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Thy conscience, Kate, 
 Wanting in other goodly sedatives, 
 To-night will rob thee of thy last poor sleep 
 For so belying it. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I did no harm. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Nor I, nor any one ; but harm is done. 
 And who shall bear the punishment ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 187 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 l^otl. 
 
 Laura. 
 You speak as though you feared it. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I do not. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You are a craven creature after all. 
 
 I did not think you had so poor a spirit. 
 
 Catarina. 
 I ever feared a serpent and its sting. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 A worse than serpent she who will deny 
 
 Her faults and cast their burden on her friend. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 'Tis cast where it belongs. 'Twas you, you, you, 
 Who feigning jest, did all the while conceal 
 Its purpose and its peril that you might 
 Better betray me. — I begin to feel 
 That I can bear no more. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, as you please ! 
 'Tis like you so to threaten, but I fear 
 Your hands as little as your tongue, — far less. 
 For your hands, I know, are cleaner. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh, you heavens ! 
 This is too much ; thus will I punish you. — 
 
188 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Enter Eugenio. 
 
 EUGEXIO. 
 
 Thrice welcome, dearest sister, dearest friend ; 
 I come victorious from the battle-field ; 
 Our foes are routed, made to bend the knee, 
 And peace and happiness and fame and love 
 Beturn with me, all toil and danger o'er, 
 Eejoicing in my safety. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Do they so ? 
 1 would to Heaven your safety were your grave. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Why, Kate, what now ? Dear Laura 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ay, your grave. 
 May the earth swallow thee, thou base deceit ! 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Oh! Heaven have mercy, angel of the skies; 
 I see the fiend still hangs about thy wit; 
 But drop the humor now and be thyself. 
 Tell me, I pray you, of your comedy ; 
 How went it on ? It has succeeded well. 
 
 Catarina. 
 I think 'twas you first put it in our heads. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 1^0 trifling, Kate; where's Julio, our friend? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 189 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Where thou shouldst be ; — hanging 'twixt heaven and 
 earth. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 I'll, put you in the nursery, saucy jades, 
 
 To learn good manners; — shame upon you both! 
 
 Have you no speech but rude rebuffs for one 
 
 Long absent and in danger ? ]^o salute, 
 
 No smile, no cheerfulness, no mere courtesy, — 
 
 Cheap signs of welcome ? Shall I think the war 
 
 Is ended all too early ? I've no taste 
 
 For ceremony, but as little for 
 
 Sheer insult ; — I'll not bear it. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 ISTo, not thou ; 
 Thy villany is^load enough to bear. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 What have I done ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Well said, — what hast thou done ? 
 Believe me, brother, I do know right well 
 There is a trick of cunning in thy blood, 
 And though the devil gloss it o'er with smiles 
 And a smooth levity of speech and deed, 
 With seeming honest roughness thrown between, 
 It still will work its end. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 You do me wrong. 
 
190 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Thou hast done wrong ; such wrong as all thy life, 
 Though made immortal, never can atone. 
 
 What mean you ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh ! thou canst not mend it now; 
 The powers of good are naught within the hands 
 Where evil is so mighty. Thou may'st weep, 
 As we do, but thy tears will congeal hearts, 
 Not soften them to pity ; thou may'st pray 
 And, hermit-like, turn heavenward, — 'twill confound 
 The upward way which men will walk no more; 
 Thou mayest with anxious fingers pluck the flowers 
 Of charity; — the heavenly wreath, blood-stained. 
 Will wither on thy brow : not all the alms 
 Due from the first of time and tributary 
 To the vast ocean of earth's misery, 
 Were they in thy bestowal, will aid thee 
 In thy soul's famine, or supply the drop 
 Of comfort that will save thee; — mockery 
 Will wait upon thy good, upon thy peace, 
 Damnation on thy crime. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 In Grod's name, hold ! 
 Mistress, am I thy brother ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I know not ; 
 Abhorrence has no kinship ; thou art mine. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 191 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Laura, my love 
 
 Laura. 
 
 1^0 love of thine, false man. — 
 Send me thy menial, or thy menial's menial ; 
 I might avouch him, I might call him love ; — 
 Not thee, dishonored lord. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 By all the gods, 
 I'll know what 'tis you mean. What is the crime 
 That calls forth thunder louder than the battle's ? 
 Is Lucifer unchained ? the world on fire ? 
 Is it hurricane, or earthquake, or the plague. 
 Or topsy-turvy madness everywhere 
 In man and woman, and am I the cause ? 
 Hist ! Laura, Catarina, — I would know 
 This only, — then rail on, — does Julio live ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 No; dead, dead, dead; that word confesses thee 
 Thy friend's destroyer. — Ha ! the undying worm 
 Stirs in thy bosom ; I see it, I know, 'tis plain ; — 
 Julio was general, thy superior, 
 A name thy proud false heart could never brook; 
 Thou wouldst be general, and to supplant 
 The noble youth in his deserved esteem, 
 Made us thy witless instruments ; — I burn 
 Through all my soul with shame and indignation. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Horrible villain ! how didst thou escape 
 
 When battle waged around thee ? Were there swords, 
 
192 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Death-dealing implements and iron rain, 
 And thou come off unharmed ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Ay, swords enough. 
 Laura. 
 
 Base baubles and unwielded, else hadst thou 
 N'ot troubled sight again. Nay, fumble not 
 At thy poor weapon ; it disdains thy hand 
 jN"or will be drawn again, although thy foes 
 Were weaker even than we. Away ! Away ! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Die; cease to be; shrink into nothing; go; 
 
 Be anything that's vile and not thyself 
 
 And thou shalt have good welcome ; go, go, go. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCEJ^E 11. 
 
 The Duke's Cabinet, 
 
 The Duke and Franco. 
 
 Franco. 
 But sure, my lord, you mean all this in jest ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 J^o, honest Franco, I mean more than jest; 
 I trifle not with hearts and make men mad 
 For laughter's sake. Jesting is dead, my Franco. 
 
 Franco. 
 Indeed, 'tis so. These noble ladies, sir. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 193 
 
 Are utterly unhappy at the turn 
 Their sport has taken. 
 
 Dtjke. 
 
 Be it so ; I teach 
 In kind to them a lesson, that to play 
 With events and with affections goes beyond 
 Due scope of human forecast. 'Tis to put 
 Forces in motion that may not be stayed, 
 Whose end may not be seen. Ay, they shall learn. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Take heed, my benefactor, lest you learn 
 The lesson you teach others ; — pardon me. 
 Eugenio has returned ; he is not well ; 
 Eemains close housed ; will not see, or be seen. 
 I think this trouble also reaches him. 
 
 Duke. 
 It reaches all. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Your counsel's close, my lord. 
 I would that you had seen your daughter now. 
 As I did see her, gliding like the ghost 
 Of grief beyond the palace. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I have seen her. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 Oh ! devastation has begun its work 
 In that fair bosom ; she that is so frail. 
 So delicate of custom that kind hearts 
 Would guard her from all sorrow. 
 
 17 
 
194 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Is she frail ? 
 I think not so j of passion she is framed 
 Simple and pure that, when the moment comes, 
 O'ertops more noisy natures ; we shall see. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 G-reat is your wisdom as your power is great ; 
 But, oh, my lord! remember it has chanced 
 Such moments are the last. It is not given 
 To live the whole of life in one high hour 
 And still survive it ; try the tender heart 
 Too far it breaks. — I drag a heavy tongue 
 In this, my lord ; would that I knew the end. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Now, Franco, be thou one to understand me. 
 
 I have little subtlety, but much good reason 
 
 By which I shape my way. I have not been 
 
 A cruel father, for such him I deem 
 
 Who slips the rein of due severity 
 
 And strains where 'tis not needed. Therefore, I 
 
 Passed trifles by as though unseen ; frowned not 
 
 On seemly mirth ; brought not authority 
 
 To stint the flow of youthful spirit, or check 
 
 Youth's liberty in thought or act. Still more. 
 
 Love has been sacred to me. I have stood 
 
 An high-priest at my daughter's soul-lit flame 
 
 And fed it with word and smile, till she has learned 
 
 Her father, even in that, was her heart's friend. 
 
 But if the course of stern necessity 
 
 And sterner duty, currents that control 
 
 Our mortal state and its affections, 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 195 
 
 Brings with it ills, I know and feel them not 
 Save in their stroke, which, if I may, I bear ; 
 If they touch her, how sharp soe'er their sting, 
 She must endure them also ; human she. 
 Subject as all are to the law of pain 
 Where moral and material are as one. 
 Now leave me ; make it known, at noon to-morrow 
 We give the prisoner special audience. 
 And see that all be present. 
 
 Franco. 
 
 I obey. 
 [Exit Franco ; scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Cell in a Prison. 
 
 JiJLio discovered sleeping. 
 
 Enter Madalena and a Jailer. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Jailer, he sleeps ; do men sleep ere they die 
 
 Such deaths as these ? 
 
 Jailer. 
 
 Ay, ay ; some sleep and die, 
 Some wake and die ; they pass through all the moods 
 From sleep to frenzy, and the worst is when 
 They grumble at their food. We have a word, 
 We jailers, that to know a man right well 
 He must spend an hour here, for being his last 
 He is then just what he is, — no more, no less. 
 Now this young gentleman, — he's good, he's choice ; 
 
196 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 All grit, all gentleness ; he'll be a lamb 
 When he goes out to-morrow. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Ah! to-morrow! 
 Has he slept long ? 
 
 Jailer. 
 
 Not long ; just dropped away. 
 He walked the chamber up and down all night 
 Heaving deep sighs and groans ; ne'er did I see 
 So sad a prisoner; but it is not fear, 
 I will uphold him there. My old good wife 
 Will have it he's in love. — Ah, ha! My lady, 
 Has she guessed it? Well, I have a foolish tongue; 
 My dame oft says it; — how should I forget 
 That little business. Shall I awake him? 
 Lady, shall I awake him ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 What saidst thou ? 
 
 Jailer. 
 
 I think she is as much distraught as he ; 
 Shall I arouse him ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 'No, not now, good jailer. 
 Of thy dear mercy leave me with him a little. 
 
 lUxit Jailer. 
 He sleeps not well, yet 'tis a happy thing 
 That he should sleep at all ; so near the end 
 It reasons well for him that he should sleep. 
 For in this calm of nature Heaven is seen. 
 'Tis a sweet slumber wherein he forgets 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 197 
 
 In seeming death grim death's reality 
 
 And these strange misadventures. I'll not break it ; 
 
 I'll sit and watch beside him till he wakes ; 
 
 I will not weep ; he will awaken soon 
 
 And call on me for comfort ; I am strong, — 
 
 Stronger than he. — I had a trick of old ; 
 
 I learned it in that sorrow which befell 
 
 When his dear father died, and all his talk 
 
 Was of oblivion and the dreary need 
 
 Of separation that he might achieve 
 
 Fame in far lands, the while, misgivings dim 
 
 Came crowding on his fancy, sad sweet growths 
 
 Of love for me ; — then would I softly touch 
 
 My lute-strings, and with low regardful voice 
 
 Felt but unnoted, blending with his theme, 
 
 Charm all its pain away. — But now, ah me ! 
 
 Were he to listen, my own sobs would make 
 
 My melody ; no song for me but woe ; 
 
 If I did dare I'd lay me at his feet 
 
 And break my heart with weeping. Ha ! he stirs, 
 
 And list ! a name, my name, is on his lips ! 
 
 Would it were not! Sweet word, sweet touch, sweet 
 
 face, 
 All that was once my life is death to me. 
 Dear God ! 'tis very cruel ; now I feel 
 The stinging of this thorn ; the height of bliss 
 Unspeakable that in his being lies 
 Points the fell barb of death till, sharp as fire 
 On naked fibres preying, I do faint 
 And sicken under thought. My name ! my name ! 
 Oh, constant heart! it is impossible 
 In nature thou shouldst die ; love cannot die, 
 Nor thou, love's paragon. Again, he moves; 
 I wound his slumbers. How uneasy is 
 
 17* 
 
198 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 This couch he leans on ; — soft, thy pillow's here, 
 Where couldst thou rest, sweet soul, in safety rest, 
 This breast should be thy shelter till the holds 
 Of tyranny had crumbled into dust 
 And all the weary seekers after blood 
 Shrunk trembling to account. How pale this cheek 
 Save when the fever dyes it, and these eyes. 
 Where many times I've seen sweet pity's dew, 
 Have shed no tear to-night ; dry shrivelled heat 
 Burns under parched eyeballs, and his breath 
 Comes moaning to mine ear, as he were wrought 
 By some strong passion darker even than fear. 
 My love, my life, what dost thou dream of now ? 
 What vision harrows thee? Is it of blood? 
 Think not of that ; the angels wait on thee; 
 All happy spirits are my rivals here ; 
 Heaven opens and o'erflows and lends an ear 
 Benignant to our sorrow and a voice, — 
 " Come, ye are mine." 
 
 \_IIe awakens. 
 Look up, my Julio ; 
 'Tis I, thy Madalena. Soul of mine, 
 Look up, be comforted ; oh! kill me not 
 With these dejected groans. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Why are you here ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Do you ask me ? You are here. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 And therefore thou 
 
 Hast come to mock me ; is it well done ? What's this ? 
 
 Tears, and from thee ! thou hast repented, then ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 199 
 
 Madalena. 
 Of what ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Thy sins ; hast thou not sinned ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Too oft. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I know that well, my lady ; get thee home 
 And learn repentance. Thou art young and fair, 
 Full of gay life, young blood, and warm desires ; 
 This dungeon damp, sweet sinner, suits thee not 
 When conning that dull lesson. Thou hast wealth, 
 Pomp, pleasure, pageantry, and palaces ; 
 Return to them ; there pride and flattery 
 Make shrewd confessors to the penitent; 
 They'll dry thy tears like magic. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Julio, 
 Do you not know me ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Think'st thou I am mad ? 
 Did the One not know his Judas? 1 do know thee. 
 And I have eyes will pierce thee through and through ;- 
 Wert thou not Madalena? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 And thy love ! 
 
 Julio. 
 How long since I was thine? 
 
200 MADALENA; OE, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 In all past time 
 As now. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I had forgotten ; it is strange. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Alas ! my Julio, you are strangely ill ; 
 These sorrows weigh full heavy and your mind 
 Turns sick ; nay, do not weep ; — I pray you do not ; 
 There's madness in your tears ; I cannot bear them. 
 
 Julio. 
 Yet you could cause them, Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 ISTo! 
 Speak not so erringly ; some little gleam 
 Of light — I know not what — I sought to bring 
 In this dark hour ; but now, seeing you thus. 
 All turns to deeper gloom. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Alas ! poor soul ; 
 That she should seem so like to what she was ; — 
 Oh, stubborn recollection ! Madalena 
 
 Madalena. 
 I am by thy side forever. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Julio. 
 I have no speech for it. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 201 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Will you sit down ? 
 You are not strong now as you once have been. 
 
 Julio. 
 IN'ot now, not now ; believe me, I am strong. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I know you are not ; do my bidding once. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh ! you do torture me. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 l!^o, I would rather 
 Eend my own sinews piecemeal. Julio, 
 Forgive me, dearest love, but there is that 
 In this most dread extremity which calls 
 For more than common courage ; face to face 
 Are we with mortal anguish, but therefrom 
 G-rows more than mortal exaltation 
 And scorn of vulgar fate. — Shall it be said 
 We know not how to die ? Rise, noble heart; 
 Thou hast ere this met death, and valiantly. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I have, and would that he had blasted me. 
 
 Oh, why, ye kind, ye justly ruling Powers ! 
 
 Was I not stricken on that glorious field 
 
 Where fame first knew me ? Death was busy there, 
 
 And all his darts were bado-es of renown, 
 
 The proud heart's proudest wish. To die ! it was 
 
 To play, to smile, to pluck a simple boon 
 
202 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 From exultation and fierce joy. My soul 
 Held revel with the thought in those high scenes 
 Where honor, dut}^, and undoubting love 
 Met and encircled immortality. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Hadst thou died then I should have suffered more, 
 Absent and far away from thee ; perchance, 
 Unknowing unparticipant; but now. 
 Thou wilt not die alone ; — sole comfort, vast 
 As ever heart could know. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 But to return 
 To moulder in a dungeon and be cast 
 Into a narrow, ignominious grave, 
 The headsman's offal and the blind law's spoil ! — 
 He who would dare a host would shrink at that. 
 Although not inly wounded. Oh, false girl ! 
 What taunting devil was there on thy tongue 
 When thou didst prate of braving death ? I can 
 Brave death and thee, thou worse than death, if thou 
 Wilt give me back the heart which thou hast seared, 
 The strength which thou hast blighted. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Julio, 
 Have I done this ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh, falsest of thy kind ! 
 Thou hast done all, thou art the cause of allj 
 Thy sins made enemies of my life and love. 
 And life, the less enduring, must decay. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 203 
 
 I know not if thou meant to murder me, — 
 
 I will not yet think that, — but thou hast done it. 
 
 Madalena. 
 What! murder thee? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, is it not thy crime ? 
 Hadst thou been true my span of joyous life 
 Had not been bounded by a few brief hours, 
 Fast fleeting to their close ; girl, but for thee 
 I should have had unnumbered happy days, 
 Long years of blessedness. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 If that you mean 
 I have not besought my noble father's grace, 
 You wrong me. Agony has wasted me. 
 And fervent supplication, fever-like. 
 Dried up my spring of life ; — yet I'll return 
 And combat with this horror ; I no more 
 Will leave my father's feet until one grave 
 Close o'er us ; — yes, I will return again ; 
 My brow shall beat the marble and my hands 
 Tug at his skirts with dying energy. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Hast thou turned hypocrite as well — as well — 
 As that vile thing man shames to utter ! Oh ! 
 Thou art doubly spotted. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Is this said to me ? 
 
204 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Julio. 
 Away ! the stain is on thee. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Oh ! what stain ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Away ! away ! I have but little light, 
 You darken it yet more. Begone, I say ; 
 A voice in Yenice whispered me how frail, 
 How frail and false thou art. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 All's over now. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ay, and thou stayest to note me and repeat; 
 Sorrow's thy triumph ; curious thou to know 
 What and how great my ruin ; — sense depraved 
 And following depravation ; but be sure 
 Of this, false girl, although I am not mad 
 Yet I am very merry ; I've no tears, 
 JSTo grief at all for thee and thy lost love, 
 ]^or for approaching fate ; but I can laugh 
 And thank kind death that he in happy time 
 Will sever me from thee. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I stand confused 
 And most forlorn. — You love me, then, no more ? 
 
 Julio. 
 By Heaven, no ; I never loved thee, girl. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 205 
 
 Madalena. 
 Why, then I was deceived. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Ha ! thou deceived ! 
 Who suffers from deception, thou or I ? 
 Oh, treacherous slave! thy cunning would confound 
 Heaven with Hell ! Away ! Wilt thou not leave me ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I will ; good sir, good keeper. — ^ay, my lord, 
 
 Look not so angrilj- ; it is but I, 
 
 One whom thou long hast known ; I, only I, 
 
 Who have loved thee from my first of knowledge ; I 
 
 Who know myself beyond thy pity's scope, 
 
 Deep burdened as thou art, but not beyond 
 
 The trebled stroke of fate. Oh ! at the last 
 
 Grant me one look of the old days ; one word 
 
 To die by. Have I erred, I do repent; 
 
 'Tis meet I should wilt thou but point the way. 
 
 I and my faults, whatever they may be, 
 
 Humble themselves ; but what are the}^, what I, 
 
 In such an hour as this ? Repulsed again ! 
 
 Would I were framed of tlie ethereal air 
 
 That I might fade forever from his sight ! 
 
 Enter Jailer. 
 
 Jailer. 
 My lady, will you go ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Your arm, good keeper. 
 Whence is that light? From some deep dungeon vault 
 
 18 
 
206 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Where the living are entombed? or does it stream 
 From the sainted sepulchre of holy dead ? 
 
 Jailer. 
 
 It is the day, it is the dawn, my lady ; 
 
 Come, raise your glance, sweet lady ; you shall see. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Is it the dawn ? I do not hear the lark. 
 
 [Exeunt Madalena and Jailer. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Is it the dawn ? — it was her word ; no dawn 
 Even for this last of days. Thick night it is 
 Of fate, confusion, and uneasy hell 
 Darkening around their prey. Is it act of mine 
 That makes the morning ghastlier than the night, 
 And seems to call for punishment more huge 
 Than guilt has ever suffered ? Oh, that face ! 
 Would she were here again ! — to be again 
 Driven from me as before? Oh ! surely she 
 Must have repented and my solemn hour 
 Has wrought upon her. In this mingled frame 
 Of evil and good that is the universe 
 Shall she be the only victim, only she 
 Denied forgiveness, and by me, who love 
 Her shadowed glory and dimned excellence 
 More than the universe although it were 
 Impeccable and perfect ? Heart perverse ! 
 Worthy of death, since worthy now of shame! 
 Yain were thy chidings, false thy hollow tone, 
 When thou didst put rebellious pity down 
 And mad'st a virtue of thy selfishness. 
 Was it for me to trample on that head 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 207 
 
 Because 'twas once my worship and sustained 
 My crown of earthly blessing? Bather I, 
 Lifting the drooping lily, should have bound 
 It to my heart anew and smoothed a way 
 Easy for death to march on, that again 
 With added venom bred of fierce remorse, 
 Brings terror in his approach, and I become 
 Coward and slave even while I welcome him. 
 Oh, laureled love! is this thy victory? 
 Thy end is it this, dark, barren, bloody, base, 
 A grave below a grave ? Sink, sink, my soul. 
 Back to thy lethargy and be as dead \ 
 Time is not for thee, nor eternity ; 
 Thy function gone, thou diest, and this doom 
 Shall pass above thee as it were another's. 
 
 \_The scene closes. 
 
 SCENE lY. 
 
 A Boom in Eugenio's House. 
 
 EuGENio and Catarina. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 I bore no malice, Kate ; that one so young. 
 So little known though loved, should bear away 
 That splendid prize to which my heart grew fast. 
 Poisoned my wits, made my ambition mad ; — 
 I swear I dreamed not of the consequence. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I am glad to hear it for Eugenio's sake ; 
 
 But him who suffers 'twill advantage nothing. 
 
208 MAD A LENA; OR, 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 We may do something. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Nay, 'tis past all hope. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Past hope, indeed, if we desert our hope. 
 
 Catarina. 
 The duke's inexorable. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Well, let him be ; — 
 Tush ! 'tis not so ; all this was but a jest ; 
 Knows the duke that ? Why, I have seen him laugh 
 And be as merry as another man ; 
 Think you that, vampire-like, he will suck blood 
 From jest and jocund spirit! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 A faint trust. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 When does he sit in judgment on his life? 
 
 Catarina. 
 This very hour. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Then I will go to him. 
 Bearing in one hand news of victory. 
 And in the other Julio's noble deeds 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 209 
 
 That did achieve it; more, I will announce 
 Myself his cause of error. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 So will I, 
 And so will Laura ; but 'twill be as air. 
 This session he allows is but a veil 
 To cover his intent ; 'tis preordained, 
 'Tis fixed ; our prayers but roused his anger more, 
 And tears have been exhausted. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 I've no tears 
 But I have far more potent arguments. 
 If he disdain my pleading, then, by Heaven, 
 I'll — 'tis not safe to say what I will do, — 
 But Julio shall not die. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Cease, cease, my brother; 
 No augury of good I find in this ; 
 Truth goes not with it ; ineifeetual prayer 
 Is better than false daring ; let us kneel, — 
 True to our hearts' best warning, — let us bend 
 To him and Heaven once more, for so our act, 
 Deep-stained with close domestic treachery, 
 Will least offend, the least of evil bring. 
 Perchance least chastisement ; but, oh ! do not 
 With guilt's weak hands defy the thunderbolt. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 « 
 
 Pish! you are woman still. 
 
 18^ 
 
210 MA DA LEX A; OR, 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Servant. 
 
 The duke commands 
 My lord and lady to attend his presence. 
 He sits in judgment on a prisoner. 
 
 \_Exit Servant. 
 
 EUGEXIO. 
 
 Now let our tongues be zealous as our hearts, 
 And deeds, if need be, follow, and we work 
 Our friend's deliverance. Cheerily, my Kate ; 
 We shall see many a better day than this. 
 
 * \_Exeunt 
 
 SCEI^E y. 
 A Hall in the Ducal Palace. 
 
 The Duke seated; Julio bound; Franco, Laura, 
 
 Counsellors, Lords, Officers, G-uards, Attendants. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Condemned, unhappy prisoner as thou art, 
 
 By sentence duly weighed and judged deserved, 
 
 Yet out of bounteous mercy to thy youth, 
 
 It being seen thou art strangely overwhelmed, 
 
 We have vouchsafed thee final audience. 
 
 If, haply, there is aught to favor thee. 
 
 Friend, word, or circumstance, we'll gladly hear ; 
 
 Think ere thou answerest. Trusty Franco, hither ; 
 
 Gro thou and bring our daughter. 
 
 l^Jxit Franco. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 211 
 
 Enter Eugenio and Catarina. 
 
 My brave and honorable lord Eugenio, 
 
 Though foreign to the business of the hour, 
 
 Yet for the first time seeing you, 'tis fit 
 
 That we should greet you. "We have heard your fame, 
 
 The victories of your warfare are our own ; 
 
 Another time our gratitude shall speak. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 My noble lord, that victory is ours 
 
 Is true, most true ; that we have gloriously 
 
 Transcended all our former feats of arms 
 
 And vindicated our supremacy 
 
 On land as on the sea, is likewise true : 
 
 These are great services and worthy thanks 
 
 And gratitude and honor ; but, my lord. 
 
 They are not mine, and word of praise to me 
 
 "Would shame the ear that heard it ; all the praise 
 
 Belongs to him who made the victories ; 
 
 His is the glory, yours is the advantage ; 
 
 Deny him not your thanks. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 • And who is he ? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 My friend and general and the state's true servant ] 
 The good lord Julio, who stands falsely here 
 Accused of treachery, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Falsely, sayest thou ? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 Falsely, by all the guardians of true honor. 
 
212 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Enter Franco and Madalena. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Why have you brought me here ? Think you 'tis well, 
 These eyes should see him perish ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Let my arms 
 
 Sustain thee, Madalena; as a mother 
 
 I take thee to my bosom that would pour 
 
 Its all of life in thine ; would that it could ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Stand all in place. Now, prisoner, the charge 
 
 Lies plain against thee; hear it yet again. 
 
 In these late wars thou wert our general, 
 
 Intrusted by our favor with command 
 
 Of the best wealth of Yenice, her brave sons ; 
 
 A mighty treasure and an honored trust, 
 
 Yet we did think thee worthy of them both. 
 
 And large as was our confidence and love 
 
 We made thy benefits. Thou didst depart, 
 
 Long time didst thy whole duty, but, oh shame ! 
 
 When at the door of conquest, in the hour 
 
 Of offered battle and its high behest. 
 
 Thou didst desert thy army and the field, 
 
 Fair fame as well and thy hurt country's cause, — 
 
 And in a base mysterious flight returned 
 
 B}^ night to Yenice. Hast thou aught to proffer 
 
 Whereby to exculpate thy great offence, 
 
 And to avoid its inference, which points 
 
 To treason only ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 213 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Treason there was none ; 
 For the rest, I have no answer. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Yet speak thou ; 
 For the Venetian honor I would have 
 The charge disproved or softened. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I have said. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Dost know where thou art standing? Wilt thou lose 
 Life for a word ? Say anything ] say that 
 The foe was here in Yenice ; that the moon 
 Foretold disaster if you did not come. 
 Oft, to prolong a judgment, is to gain it. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 The truth shall perish with me, and a lie, 
 Would it avail, shall smirch not that fair cause 
 Which bears such evil comment. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Will he speak ? 
 Or adds he contumacy to his crime? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Anon, anon, he'll answer ; foolish boy 
 
 Julio. 
 
 My noble lord, I've nothing to present ; 
 I do confess my fault, and it stands naked ; 
 
214 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 I seek no mitigation ; I have wronged, 
 In the admitted act, the state and you, 
 And I submit to your just punishment. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Now art thou lost forever ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Even so ; 
 Since thy own tongue confesses thy offence, 
 l^othing delays our sentence ; by all law 
 And usage here and elsewhere, it is death. 
 
 Julio. 
 Death let it be, and speedy. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Speedy ! — ]^o ! 
 Not for these threescore years. Lord Leonello, 
 Talk not of law ; you have all power here ; 
 Can do and undo, feel, think, will, and act ; 
 I do beseech you recollect this man ; 
 'Tis Julio, our friend ; true Hermio's son ; — 
 Do you not know him ? You have cause to know. 
 For, sir, without him you would not this day 
 With tightened grip be pluming your proud wings 
 On yet another triumph, for it was 
 Those dispositions which he only made 
 That gave us victory, and though, impelled 
 By some strong cause, he left us, it was when 
 The war could fight itself and a mere babe 
 Bring it to happy issue. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 215 
 
 Duke. 
 
 He was there 
 And not there you would say ; but tell what cause 
 Was that which so impelled him ? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 He would not 
 
 It should be spoken. 
 Or private ? 
 
 Duke. 
 Was it of the state, 
 
 Julio. 
 Private merely. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 'Tis to seal 
 Your condemnation ; but say on, — we listen ; 
 It may be we shall find some better reason 
 Than your own speech admits of. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I invoke 
 
 Not reason, but a sentence. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 See, my lord, 
 How sadly obstinate the poor wretch stands. 
 How pale, fordone, and weary. — This is he 
 Upon whose steps in war's most fierce alarms 
 Glory and grace attended ; this is he 
 Whom fear and love served equally ; who gained 
 From friend and foe alike such attribution 
 As would a god in arms. — Oh ! this is he 
 Who was the soul of all our strength, who tore 
 
216 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Success from the impossible and reaped 
 Bich fruits for us and them who follow after. 
 Matter for his deliverance we may find 
 In his recalcitrancy, will we seek. 
 Sure we may know a cause inscrutable 
 And deep as nature's essence must have lain 
 At the heart of his seeming error. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 This may deck 
 
 His memory in story; this may make 
 
 Soft hearts commiserate ; the unlearned blame ; 
 
 The idle mock and the contentious curse ; 
 
 But this nor lessens nor absolves his fault : 
 
 Color and substance are not one save when 
 
 Imagination calls the work her own. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Have, then, my claims no substance ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Ay, when urged 
 
 Within thy due and mine ; confess that now 
 
 You talk but idly, lord Eugenio. 
 
 A soldier you, and advocate a crime 
 
 For which some poor subaltern in a trice 
 
 Would hang upon a tree ? 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 Subalterns we. 
 Subject to your high will; — as such I say — 
 All difference of degree and place apart — 
 I would still lean to mercy where the offence 
 Was less than was the merit, or the loss 
 In the offender not remediable. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 217 
 
 Dttke. 
 
 Kew doctrine this, my lord ; has it been learned 
 From our good friends, the Genoese ? Is it true 
 That we have conquered ? With a chief that flies 
 And a lieutenant newly found as soft 
 As sucking infancy, I think 'twas Heaven 
 That saved us whole and topmost. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Have your word ; 
 These Genoese have edged our steels if not 
 Our logic and our tongues. Grant us this life 
 That is so like our own, and you have made 
 True homage here forever ; grant it not, 
 And festering discontent will taint the springs 
 Of voluntary service. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Strange again 
 That love should be so feeble that it dies 
 When justice is but named. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 But named, indeed ! 
 A hollow thing is she and best unnamed 
 When she applies the torch or saps the root, 
 Killing what she should nourish. — Love, sa}'^ you ? 
 Justice is but a slave on those great days 
 When love, embracing all, is paramount. 
 Give back my thought unmarred and it shall stand 
 A rock of shelter for your rule and safety 
 No less than for our Julio. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Shelter ! — good ! 
 
 19 
 
218 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 I like it ; 'tis a word for sovereignty, 
 Wherever placed, to muse on. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 I implore you — 
 Pretext and altercation cast aside, 
 For what are they when passion rules the cause ? — 
 Think well of what you do ; reflect on it, 
 Sleep on it, pass sentence on the morrow, — 
 The wakeful world will look upon this deed 
 With other eyes than yours ; believe me, sir, 
 I, though no duke, have senses quite as keen, 
 And I pronounce it dangerous, and so 
 Will any of these noble gentlemen. 
 
 Duke. 
 It matters little. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Eut it matters much ; 
 Men of mean station have sharp eyes and ears, 
 And when the sense of power has grown diseased. 
 Why, they have organs they will use instead. 
 
 Duke. 
 Have you friends here, my good Eugenic ? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 Ay, forty thousand at my finger-ends. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 So many and so near, 'twere their least office 
 
 To keep thy speech in bounds ; there's danger in it. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 219 
 
 EuGENIO. 
 Danger defying, their good swords have learned 
 The property of use, and better cause 
 Than this they have not found. 'Tis out, and now 
 I swear before you all while I've a hand 
 That wields true metal, twoscore thousand troops 
 Eager and flushed, hearted to him and me. 
 There's not a scaffold in all Italy 
 Shall hold this friend of mine. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Save that at Yenice. 
 
 Etjgenio. 
 
 At Yenice least of all ; — beyond this ditch 
 I- may espy our standards. Come, give way ; 
 Be merciful, be nothing, at your choice ; 
 This death is not for him though you and Hell 
 Opposed your evil stars against his life 
 And clamored for his doom. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 What ho ! my guards. 
 Attach yon traitor. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Will they dare ? Away ! 
 
 Duke. 
 Lay hands on him, I say. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 [Drawing. 
 Thej^ would as lief. 
 Poor home-bred curs, lay hands on the fierce mane 
 Of the roused lion. Hence, you saucy knaves. 
 
220 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 With our own hands and by the sacred right 
 Of our most princely function, we do here 
 Arrest thee as disloyal to thy charge 
 And thy allegiance. Give me thy sword. — 
 Shame on thee ! stand aside. 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Damnation ! Death 
 This comes from conscience; feeling has destroyed 
 Prudence and all her engineiy. The game 
 Was mine could I have been a devil still, 
 And planned destruction to the state and him. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Unhappy youth, how fares it "with thee now? 
 Art thou prepared, or wouldst thou still delay 
 On the dread verge to make thy peace with Heaven ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I do commend me to kind Heaven, that looks 
 With other eyes than ours on the deep source 
 Of mortal overthrow. But good, my lord, 
 My parting's only vexed by what I've seen 
 This moment ; sir. you know it is the warmth 
 Of zealous love Eugenio bears his friend 
 That makes him thus forgetful ; pardon him ; 
 I am the cause, and with the cause should cease 
 The evil consequence ; — say thus much, my lord. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 Alas ! my friend ; you should not ask my pardon. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 221 
 
 Knew you your wrongs, you would not wound me thus 
 By this too tender pleading. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Wrongs, say you ? 
 You never wronged me in your life, Eugenio. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 That you should think so is my punishment. 
 
 Hard task for me to unmask guiltiness ! 
 
 To tear the seeming virtue from my front 
 
 And show it in its native ugliness ! 
 
 Easier to dare rough battle's rude embrace, 
 
 Or drop by drop drain life ! Yet it must be ; 
 
 I will tear forth the secret thing that rots 
 
 At the root of all this trouble. — Julio, 
 
 Wouldst know how thou art injured and by whom? 
 
 Look on thy chains, 'twas I who placed them there ] 
 
 Look on that lady, I did sever you ; 
 
 All thy past sufferings and this present doom. 
 
 This treacherous, bloody, shameful, damned death, — 
 
 I am the cause of all. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Surely you speak 
 From passion only and devotion. 
 
 Duke. 
 Art ready, prisoner ? thy hour is come. 
 
 Eugenio. 
 
 My noble lord, this man is innocent ; 
 By Heaven's own true and never-changing law, 
 
 19* 
 
222 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Of which thy power is but the minister, 
 He stands acquitted. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Is there proof? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Such proof 
 As shall convict rebellious hearts of stone. 
 By my own guilt I'll prove his innocence, 
 Though shame pierce deeper than ten thousand swords. 
 'Twas treason, but to him, that brought him here; 
 Accursed longing for the place he held — 
 No more of that, — 'twill suit these women better; — 
 But mine the crime. If life indeed must be 
 The mighty forfeit for this small offence, 
 Here at your feet I offer up my own ; 
 Let not the guiltless for the guilty die ; 
 No ; let this base corrupted blood of mine 
 Be rather shed like water, that the sin 
 Which I have compassed may be purified 
 And innocence go free. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It may not be ; 
 Guilt cannot wash the stain of guilt away. 
 Lead forth the prisoner. 
 
 Oatarina. 
 
 One moment more ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Nay, I lose patience, girl ; what wouldst thou have ? 
 
 Oatarina. 
 The life of Julio. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 223 
 
 Duke. 
 Have you not heard ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 But I will not believe. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 ]^or I, my uncle. 
 Speak, Catarina, speak; all, all, speak all. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Ay, speak, and suddenly, and let there be 
 1^0 senseless iterance. — The graves do gape, 
 Death walks among us, murder tells his tale; 
 There is a sound of terror and despair; 
 Earth, Hell, and Heaven look with wistful eyes ; 
 The prisoner must go. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Most potent sir, 
 We have somewhat to plead in his behalf; 
 My brother told you something, but not all; 
 I would say all, but ah ! I gasp, I faint ! 
 When you have heard it you will not condemn him. 
 Oh, grant me of dear grace a private audience. 
 And I will so convince you that the thing 
 For which he suffers was no act of his 
 That, barring mercy, justice which reigns in you, 
 Sole sovereign, shall acquit him by your voice. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Stand all apart ; this suits our ear alone. 
 Now, favored fair one, speed your tale as fast 
 As Julio's moments. 
 
224 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Sir, we did contrive, 
 
 Laura and I, a hateful thing, a plot, 
 
 A mere conspiracy to bring him home. 
 
 We thought it excellent, and so it was 
 
 But for this mischief. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Is this all? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 My lord, 
 We made him — -jealous ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Ha ! Of whom ? My daughter ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 You touched not on her honor ? Never 
 
 By look, or word, or lying document. 
 
 Aspersed her reputation among women ? 
 
 I hope you did not. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Wherefore, oh, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Because it were mere death to both of you ; 
 
 For I have sworn my household and my court 
 
 Shall remain pure from wanton act and tongue. 
 
 I owe it to my people and the fame 
 
 Of every female of our princely line, 
 
 That whoso makes transgression here shall be 
 
 An outcast from our favor and endure 
 
TEE MAIDS^ MISCHIEF. 225 
 
 Other most shameful punishment. 'Tis offence 
 Most hateful in its kind, and shall receive 
 Swift visitation. You are still, — you spoke 
 Some evil of our dauo-hter? 
 
 Eugenic. 
 
 Who is this? 
 What thundering Jove is this, who all at once 
 Fills ether with his roar and cows the world 
 With his almighty fiat ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Will you speak ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 What shall I say? there was no evil, — none; 
 No, no, no harm ; we only meant — no harm ; 
 Nothing against her honor. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I am glad. 
 How was he jealous, then? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Say something, Laura ; 
 My wits are gone ; I beat my wings in vain ; 
 A poor bird I, caught in the fowler's snare. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 My noble lord, he was — that is, I think — 
 Or rather, sir, I know 
 
 Duke. 
 That he was jealous ? 
 
226 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Yes — no. not jealous ; but, my honored sir, 
 
 He was right mad with jealous care of her. 
 
 We wrote him, sir, and therein was our fault, 
 
 That she was ill, that she was dying, sir, 
 
 With grief at his long absence ; so she was, — 
 
 We all do know it, — and if he came not soon 
 
 He would see her no more. It touched his intellect ; 
 
 Eugenio knows it ; he will swear to it. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I do begin to feel some touch of pity ; 
 And was he mad indeed ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Ay, very mad ; 
 
 Would you had seen and heard him as we did 
 Eaving of ^adalena! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It were hard 
 To die for veritable fi-enzy; but 
 He pleads not this himself? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Because, because, 
 He treasures so her name that he will die 
 Eather than call it in question ; 'twould be thought 
 She had some blame, that she did call him home. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 That's fine ; but we will probe him. I commend 
 Your honesty ; it may preserve your friend. 
 
TEE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 227 
 
 Julio, we learn that you were lunatic 
 When you deserted. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 I know it ; 'twas so. 
 Good Kate ; true Laura. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It absolves the fault ; 
 I give you freedom ; justice is appeased, 
 Or rather wakes not when a madman errs. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Courage, my Julio ; strike up music there. 
 
 And let the wine and wassail Ho there ! slaves. 
 
 Off with those bonds ; anon I'll hug thee, Julio, 
 If I remain unhanged. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh, this is strange ! 
 
 Duke. 
 
 And now our pent-up love for thee can speak. 
 
 Because unjustly thou hast suffered much, 
 
 And by most sure intelligence we learn 
 
 That prepotential love in its excess 
 
 Wildered thy brain and caused that act of thine 
 
 Which bore such black construction, we devise 
 
 This recompense, which, as 'tis relative 
 
 To the motive of such act, is gracious 
 
 And something more than just. Behold my child, 
 
 Our heart's dear daughter ; soft inheritrix 
 
 Of worth ennobled ancestors who bend 
 
 Eyes from their Heaven upon her as the flower 
 
228 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Earest of all our race ; — take her ; she's thine ; 
 Your love I know, your happiness I make. 
 
 \_He leads forward Madalena, and attempts to 
 place her hand in Julio's. 
 
 My lord. 
 
 , I cannot. 
 
 Julio. 
 Duke. 
 
 
 
 Think of what thou 
 
 dost. 
 
 
 
 Julio. 
 
 
 You see 
 
 my thought. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 
 
 
 You will not take her ? 
 
 
 
 Julio. 
 
 
 You will not take her 
 
 Duke. 
 ? 
 
 
 
 
 Julio. 
 
 
 Sir 
 
 No, not for my life. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 'Tis truly said. I think that lives are cheap 
 And fools are sporting with them. — Once again, 
 Your life is lost if you refuse her hand ; 
 It fixes insult and confesses guilt. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Dear friend, for Grod's sake, do not die an ass. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I do refuse ; I will not wed dishonor. 
 A fair true fame is all I owe to life, 
 And I will keep it in the bond of death. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 229 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Fate speaks by your own tongue ; gives forth the word 
 
 Irrevocable. What ! contrive a way 
 
 For your escape from just desert ! Crown all 
 
 With earth's best bliss yielded from my own bosom ! 
 
 Sweet mercy and rich bounty both despised, 
 
 Trampled and soiled by you, a criminal 
 
 Whose head is forfeit ! You refuse her love 
 
 When it would shield your life ! — rank imputation ! 
 
 It seems to say she is a fouler thing 
 
 Than rotten death, since men would rather die 
 
 Than live through her; it points against her name 
 
 And the proud honors of our princely house, 
 
 Disgrace, detraction, all the world of shame. — 
 
 A scullion's tongue had dared not so revile ! 
 
 We veil his crime no more, no more excuse ; — 
 
 Away with him. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Lead on in God's name ; hence. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 My lord, my sire, he must not die for this ; 
 If here your pardon stops j'ou-make my fame, 
 My unrequited truth, those things of air. 
 The fatal cause for which he perishes. 
 Though impotent to save, I will not be 
 That fountain whence revengeful pride derives 
 Its poisonous current and takes on the name 
 Of abused justice. Oh, my father! pause, — 
 Pause in the light of Heaven and thou wilt see 
 Huge increase to thy act, a horror grown 
 Beyond the world's dimensions, making me 
 Its author. 
 
 20 
 
I 
 
 ] 
 
 230 M AD ALE N A; OR, \ 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Thou, our daughter, shouldst resent 
 A traitor's insult. Is the treason less 
 Because our shame confirms it ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I know not. 
 But it is monstrous ! I this instant seem, 
 In the mere thought, transformed to something vile, 
 Loathly, deformed, accursed, the abject scorn 
 Of universal nature and myself. 
 
 Duke. 
 He has rejected thee ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Is it not enough 
 Without accumulation of more woe 
 On this bowed head of mine? Oh, what am I 
 That I should bring him death or deadly bane? 
 He loves me not ; — he has said it ; it is well 
 To wed not where one loves not though one die ; 
 Well, to profane not sanctity and stain 
 Bemembered visions and immaculate. 
 'Tis nobleness in him, and you do wrong 
 To make the curse of a detested bride 
 His price of safety. Wherefore should he die? 
 He loves me not, and I, — I love not him ; 
 Why should we wed ? What cause ? What happiness ? 
 Believe me when I say I do not love him. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I do believe thee, child ; therefore his fate 
 Concerns thee not. 
 
THE MAWS' MISCHIEF. 231 
 
 Madalena. 
 Alas ! thou knowest I love. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Your speech has no coherence; it bemocks 
 
 The reasonable ear. Gro now, within 
 
 You shall compose your fluttered spirits ; go, — 
 
 Will you obey me? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Will you pardon him ? 
 You will, I see you will ; your face is calm ; 
 There is no sanguine passion in your eye 
 As on your mocking tongue ; you are not grim 
 Like pictured tyrants who delight in blood, 
 Lap the red rain insensate and grow sleek, — 
 Yet your look freezes, — albeit I am thrilled 
 Not awed by aught that's earthly in this cause. 
 He shall not die ; I'll pour forth at your feet 
 My life in tears of blood that when I am dead 
 Eemorse may teach you mercy ; I will voice 
 A prayer, of strength to pierce the heaven of heavens, 
 And draw from thence a power divine to melt 
 And absolute to conquer cruelty. — 
 And, father, list! kind guardian of my days. 
 Be not so strangely barbarous, for so 
 We all will think you mad, and at your step 
 Will haste to hide lest you should slay us too. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Away, away, fond girl ! thinkest thou I am made 
 To be thus moved ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 Have mercy ! 
 
232 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Death ! 
 Madalena. 
 
 No, never ! 
 Thy wrath is as the thunder, but, great duke, 
 The thunder strikes the crested pinnacles 
 And heaves the rock foundations of the globe ; 
 The iron hills, the earth-bound rugged oaks. 
 The vast and flinty barriers of the seas, 
 "With throbbings and with tumult of dire sound, 
 Fear, tremble, and succumb, but in the vale 
 The floweret nestles and is spared and lifts an eye 
 Upward beyond the tempest ; — such am I. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Law shall withstand all tempests and must strike 
 All heads alike. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Let it strike mine, mine only ; 
 See how I grovel and implore the blow. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Lead forth the captive ; whoso disobeys 
 Shall sufl'er with him. 
 
 Madalena. 
 I command you, stay. 
 
 Duke. 
 Why, chit, how now ? "What other folly's this ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 You see this dagger which some impulse, blind 
 And yet forecasting, bade me bring along 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 233 
 
 Brooding of destiny ; — you see it : it is 
 Most apt solution of all misery j 
 A most kind Providence that also I 
 May grapple with these fates. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Weak girl, forbear ; 
 As yet I am not angry. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Be not so ; 
 Be cruel, but be calm ; it is an hour 
 Of death, indeed, to all ; all should be calm. 
 
 Duke. 
 My Madalena ! daughter ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I was she ; — 
 Was and am such no more. I am a name, 
 A memory, — no, not so much ; a past 
 And quite forgotten thing ; lost, lost in all. 
 
 Laura. 
 Heart sorely tried ! 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Triumphant, oh, my Laura ! 
 Wouldst thou know bliss, know it is so to die. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 No more ! no more ! I who didst erst command 
 Entreat thee be amenable and put 
 This frenzy from thee ; it is I, thy father. 
 
 20* 
 
234 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I know no father ; if you do approach 
 I strike me dead, I swear it. By this steel 
 Which sways the life I suffer ; by the faith 
 My mother taught me with most holy tears ; 
 By all that's sacred in a human heart ; 
 By all that's potent in a human will 
 High purposed and immutable ; by that 
 Poor theme of our contention, the still grave 
 Whose steadfast horrors laugh at tyranny ; 
 By yon unchanging Heaven and the God 
 Omnipotent to strengthen as to smite. 
 Who rules and is unknown till his dread hour, 
 I swear that on the altar which his death 
 Bears to the skies, this hand shall immolate 
 Myself, your second victim. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Strike the bonds 
 From off the prisoner, and let him pass 
 Free and unquestioned ; — I'll make good the act 
 In council with the senators. G-o all. — 
 A word with thee, Eugenio ; follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Eugenio, Franco, Councillors, 
 Lords, Officers, Guards, and Attendants. 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Have you no thanks for your deliverer ? 
 She would be spoken to; — why, Julio ! 
 
 Julio. 
 I pray you, is she woman, fiend, or angel ? 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 235 
 
 Catarina. 
 What ! Madalena ? Surely you should know. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Is she not false ? though Heaven shines in her, 
 Shall I forget that she is false to me? 
 
 Catarina. 
 Oh, error, error ! 
 
 Julio. 
 
 I think there is error ; 
 But I am low and brutish ; my rude voice 
 Jarring and earthly would make dissonance. 
 Following a seraph's song. Speak you, oh, speak! 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 I will ] come go with me ; nay, come with me. 
 
 [Julio and Catarina withdraw. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Julio ! oh, Julio ! [As he goes. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 He hears you not. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 My voice is charmless now ; I'll not complain ; 
 Mayhap he's grateful and would seek the duke 
 To thank him for his life. Why do you weep ? 
 
 Laura. 
 Alas ! alas ! my cousin. 
 
236 MADALEXA; OR, 
 
 ^f A DATF.VA. 
 
 Do Dot weep ; 
 'Tis said our tears are offspring to our folly. 
 
 That's true of me, but oh ! how false of you ! 
 
 He told me ouce — how well do I remember — 
 That I — I was his murderess ; nevermore 
 Can he say that again. 
 
 Lauila. 
 
 Alas ! poor child. 
 Sow hadst thou strength to make that deadly stand ? 
 
 Madalexa. 
 My love was strong ; all other strength was weak. 
 
 Laura. 
 You said you loved him not. [^Smiling. 
 
 Madalzxa. 
 
 Did I say that ? 
 It was a fault. He said that I have sinned. 
 And now I know 'tis true. I must repent, 
 And that in time ; the hour will soon be past 
 For my repentance ; farewell, Laura dear. 
 
 Laitba. 
 
 Sweet cousin, do not sro. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 237 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I cannot stay. 
 My fate is like a sea, and I a bark 
 Tossed idly on its breast to rise or sink 
 In billowy motion ; 'tis uncertain, dark, 
 Wavering, and waste ; no storm, no star, and I 
 Borne ever onward. Pray you, let me go. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You shall not. Here comes one who will bring health 
 To all these pining fancies ; let your eyes 
 Brighten, my darling, like the blue of skies 
 Eevisited by Zephyr. 
 
 Re-enter Julio and Catarina. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Catarina, 
 Lend me your steps ; I stumble in my own, 
 Oppressed with heavy shame. Think you I may touch 
 Her hands, her feet, in blessing ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Marbled she stands 
 As you do. Speak ; spare not our guilty heads ; — 
 What! do you fear? We fear not, nor should you, 
 Although she loved you not. 'Tis.hers to have, 
 Even in pain, the reasonable thought 
 That's sister to sweet mercy. Speak, or you 
 Inflict another wound. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Leave me, kind Kate. 
 
238 ' MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Laura. 
 Kate, have you told him all ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 All, everything. 
 He blames us not, thinks not of us ; his own 
 Eemorse has swallowed up all other passion. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Julio ! 
 
 Julio. 
 Ay, 'tis he ; you know him still. 
 
 Madalena. 
 What wouldst thou, Julio ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 A sufferance to kneel, 
 Sweet shrine of sainted virtue, and adore. 
 I ask not my forgiveness ; well I know 
 I am unworthy that; yet, if thou canst, 
 Forgive ; I'll bear it humbly like a man 
 Who feels the life which thou hast saved too poor 
 Wherewith to recompense thee ; but thou wilt 
 Deny me this, and justly; I'm content, — 
 Content as now I was in death's embrace 
 Thinking thy love was lost ; so am I left 
 In my own baseness and am spared a bliss 
 That, knowing my desert, would overpower 
 And kill with sharper pangs. I have a sword, — 
 All that is left me, — and will seek new climes 
 Where beauty dwells not ; in the frozen North, 
 Where all may be as wintry as my heart. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 239 
 
 I'll date another life, whose birth shall be, 
 In nature's most abhorrent process, drawn 
 From dissolution of all happiness, — 
 Yea, death and birth in one. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Oh, Julio ! 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Sweet Hope, was that thy echo ? Madalena, 
 Thou rudely crushed yet incense-breathing rose, 
 So shedding thy sweet effluence that wrong 
 When touching thee partakes it, and like thee, 
 Seems to exhale divinity, what name, 
 Toned with celestial pity in faint sound, 
 Fell trembling from that sigh ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Am I to think 
 The word you spoke was meant not ? 
 
 False in all. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Madalena. 
 Ah ! but there was a word - 
 
 Julio. 
 
 What word, my soul ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 That you did love me not. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Be witness, Heaven ! 
 How that fierce rack wrung from my tortured lips. 
 Dumb even in their speech, unwitting words 
 
240 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Of things that were not, proof of the thing that was, 
 One passion infinite absorbing all 
 And seen in all; seen in this agony 
 That waits on my contrition. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Be not moved ; 
 Pain shall not visit thee ; — thou lovest me still ? 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Thy voice has caught rejoicing and my soul 
 Wakes to its music ! Dost thou ask of me 
 If I love thee? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 I am as one to whom 
 Being dead comes resurrection ; — there breathes 
 A spirit in my ashes. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Might I find 
 Speech overflowing measure of sweet sound 
 And yet instinct with the unutterable, 
 I would with eloquence resistless sweep 
 The damned past away ; — those words accursed, 
 Delirium's coinage, double-edged and keen 
 To slay our mutual bosom ; but it is 
 Evil that has a voice and loveliest things 
 That are expressionless. Fairest and best, 
 Object transcending worship, ever in 
 The secret of thy thought, in thy deep heart 
 Shadowed from human insight, where lie stored 
 The unsunned gems of Heaven, by Heaven's light 
 Only irradiated, seek that word 
 Compensating all others and denied 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 241 
 
 To tongue of mortal that may fitly tell 
 The love I bear thee and its quality. 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 Still were it good to die, for so my heart 
 
 Would know no throb but this, my ear ne'er thrill 
 
 With ecstasy less exalted. 
 
 Laura and Catarina come forward. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Gentle friends, 
 It were to mar felicity to tell o'er 
 This nearly sad strange story ; she, my flower, 
 Needs not to hear it ; even now the breath 
 Of evil surmise comes not near her soul, 
 Such her angelic nature ; — let it pass, 
 And we who know a sober lesson learn. 
 
 JRe-enter the Duke, Eugenio, and Franco. 
 
 Duke. 
 Why, my young soldier, when didst thou return ? 
 
 Julio. 
 Your grace is merry. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Faith, and so I am ! 
 We'll have illuminations, feasts, and shows 
 In honor of your victories ; — but, how now ! 
 You are pale, — have you been wounded ? 
 
 Madalena. 
 
 All too deeply 
 For any touch insensitive. 
 
 21 
 
242 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Who's this? 
 Mj daughter! Nay, my jn-etty one, run home; 
 This man will never have you. 
 
 Julio. 
 
 Oh. my lord ! 
 Duke. 
 
 He would rather lose his head. Come hither, sir;- 
 
 Ifay. grow not to her side, 'tis perilous. 
 
 Too fond, too true, shame to malignant fate ! 
 
 Have written against them characters as black 
 
 Of grief and danger as those sins that war 
 
 'Gainst nature's fealty ; cold-hearted scorn, 
 
 Inconstancy, and baser perfidy. — 
 
 There is a seigniory in Lombardy, 
 
 Eight royally disposed, itself a dukedom, 
 
 Fitted with lavish art, taste exquisite ; 
 
 'Tis thine ; take thither whomsoe'er thou wilt. 
 
 Madalena. 
 "Why, that's the gift of the good duke of Florence. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Myself am that good duke of Florence, child, 
 These are your meed ; your father's son deserved 
 
 Lone: since such even iustice at mv hands. 
 
 Julio. 
 I thank your grace. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 And so will I your grace 
 When hitherward youi' eve of bountv tui'ns. 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 243 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Ha! brave Eugenio; what is it thou wouldst have ? 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 You have a niece ; fair lady, can you tell 
 
 How I shall name her ? Laura, only Laura, 
 
 Or mischievous dear Laura, bright and brave, 
 
 A most choice soldier's bride. Meseems I have heard 
 
 Even before her birth the stars decreed 
 
 That she should wed a soldier; — I am he. 
 
 Duke. 
 What say you, niece ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh ! nothing ; there's no answer 
 To nothing. See, despite of all that's past, 
 In what full course his vanity careers ; 
 Surely 'twill run away with him and break 
 A neck predestinate, if I lay not 
 My hand upon the rein ; only a wife 
 Can tame him. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 It is well, l^ow, Catarina, 
 A word with thee. This man has pined in secret ; 
 
 [Points to Franco. 
 Yea, he hath grown pallid, wan, and lean, 
 And all for love of thee. I would not lose 
 So good a servant ; he has all my trust 
 And something of my heart ; for he is one 
 Who knows what reverence is, and therefore dares 
 Scorn flattery and be honest. I intend 
 To make his station equal his desert, 
 
244 MADALENA; OR, 
 
 The more if spouse of thine. Wilt join with me 
 To make him happy ? 
 
 Catarina. 
 
 Oh ! be sure, my lord, 
 I nothing knew of this ; how should I know 
 Those glances were for me the many times 
 I have seen and told them o'er ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Franco, you may 
 Press your suit forward with good heart and hope. 
 Events there have been of late which were I grave, 
 As now I should be, I'd descant upon. 
 Sharp have they been and of swift passage, like 
 Those lightnings which our bosoms' clouds call forth 
 To strike them home again. Subtle and apt 
 Are they to write remembrance in a life ; 
 To stamp the present in the time to come ; 
 To set a seal on being ; raise and cap 
 Existence with a climax ; — but I am 
 No preacher ; you shall learn some other day 
 All that there is of good in this, as well 
 As all there is of fear. 
 
 EUGENIO. 
 
 Some other day 
 Shall bear the fruit of the engrafted present ; 
 Deep gratitude to you ; dear love to all. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 And now to solemn service, where we may 
 Bender to Heaven its due in these our triumphs ; 
 Purge our affections of un worthiness ; 
 Bring low our hearts ; renew our loyalty 
 
THE MAIDS' MISCHIEF. 245 
 
 To all things good and true. This following, 
 We hold high festival, and, to crown all, — 
 Your hearts consenting, as I see they do, — 
 We'll grace the sacred marriage rites and shed 
 A prince and father's blessing on your heads. 
 
 \_Exeunt omnes. 
 
 THE END.