Masters of the Theatre
Page 60
With these apricocks. That will give some colour
For her keeping close.
ANTONIO: Fie, fie, the physicians
Will then flock to her.
DELIO: For that you may pretend
She’ll use some prepar’d antidote of her own,
Lest the physicians should re-poison her.
ANTONIO: I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on’t.
They exit
ACT II, SCENE II
Enter BOSOLA
BOSOLA: So, so, there’s no question but her tetchiness
And most vulturous eating of the apricocks are
Apparent signs of breeding. Now?
Enter an OLD LADY
OLD LADY: I am in haste, sir.
BOSOLA: There was a young waiting-woman had a monstrous desire
To see the glass-house —
OLD LADY: Nay, pray let me go.
BOSOLA: And it was only to know what strange instrument it was
Should swell up a glass to the fashion of a woman’s belly.
OLD LADY: I will hear no more of the glass house.
You are still abusing women.
BOSOLA: Who I? No, only, by the way, now and then,
Mention your frailties. The orange-tree
Bears ripe and green fruit and blossoms,
Altogether: and some of you
Give entertainment for pure love, but more
For precious reward. The lusty
Spring smells well, but drooping autumn tastes well. If we
Have the same golden showers that rained in the time of Jupiter
The thunderer, you have the same Danaes still, to hold up
Their laps to receive them. Didst thou never study
The mathematics?
OLD LADY: What’s that, sir?
BOSOLA: Why, to know the trick how to make a many lines meet
In one center. Go, go, give your foster-daughters good counsel:
Tell them, that the devil takes delight to hang at a woman’s girdle,
Like a false rusty watch, that she cannot discern
How the time passes.
Exit OLD LADY
Enter ANTONIO, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN
ANTONIO: Shut up the court-gates.
RODERIGO: Why, sir? What’s the danger?
ANTONIO: Shut up the posterns presently and call
All the officers o’th’court.
GRISOLAN: I shall instantly.
He exits
ANTONIO: Who keeps the key o’th’ park gate?
RODERIGO: Forobosco.
ANTONIO: Let him bring’t presently.
Enter GRISOLAN and SERVANTS
SERVANT 1: O, gentlemen o’th’ court, the foulest treason!
BOSOLA: [aside] If that these apricocks should be poison’d now,
Without my knowledge!
SERVANT 1: There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess’ bed-chamber —
SERVANT 2: A Switzer!
SERVANT 1: With a pistol in his great cod-piece.
BOSOLA: Ha, ha, ha!
SERVANT 1: The cod-piece was the case for’t.
SERVANT 2: There was a cunning traitor; who would
have search’d his cod-piece?
SERVANT 1: True, if he had kept out of the ladies’ chambers
and all the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.
SERVANT 2: O, wicked cannibal! A firelock in’s codpiece!
SERVANT 1: ’Twas a French plot, upon my life.
SERVANT 2: To see what the devil can do!
ANTONIO: Are all the officers here?
SERVANTS: We are.
ANTONIO: Gentlemen,
We have lost much plate you know, and but this evening
Jewels to the value of four thousand ducats
Are missing in the duchess’ cabinet.
Are the gates shut?
SERVANT 1: Yes.
ANTONIO: ’Tis the duchess’ pleasure
Each officer be lock’d into his chamber
Till the sun-rising, and to send the keys
Of all their chests, and of their outward doors
Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.
RODERIGO: At her pleasure.
ANTONIO: She entreats you tak’t not ill. The innocent
Shall be the more approv’d by it.
BOSOLA: Gentlemen o’th’ wood-yard, where’s your Switzer now?
SERVANT 1: By this hand ’twas credibly reported by one o’th’ blackguard.
Exit Gentlemen
DELIO: How fares it with the duchess?
ANTONIO: She’s expos’d
Unto the worst of torture, pain and fear.
DELIO: Speak to her all happy comfort.
ANTONIO: How I do play the fool with mine own danger!
You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome.
My life lies in your service.
DELIO: Do not doubt me.
ANTONIO: O, ’tis far from me! And yet fear presents me
Somewhat that looks like danger.
DELIO: Believe it,
’Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more.
How superstitiously we mind our evils.
The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,
Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,
Or singing of a cricket, are of power
To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well.
I wish you all the joys of a blest father;
And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,
Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.
Enter CARIOLA
CARIOLA: Sir, you are the happy father of a son.
Your wife commends him to you.
ANTONIO: Blessed comfort!
For heaven’ sake tend her well. I’ll presently
Go set a figure for’s nativity.
They exit
ACT II, SCENE III
Later that night
Enter BOSOLA with a dark lantern
BOSOLA: Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha!
And the sound came, if I receiv’d it right,
From the duchess’ lodgings. There’s some stratagem
In the confining all our courtiers
To their several wards. I must have part of it;
My intelligence will freeze else. List, again!
It may be ’twas the melancholy bird,
Best friend of silence and of solitariness,
The owl, that scream’d so. Ha! Antonio!
Enter ANTONIO
ANTONIO: I heard some noise. Who’s there? What art thou? Speak.
BOSOLA: Antonio? Put not your face nor body
To such a forc’d expression of fear.
I am Bosola, your friend.
ANTONIO: Bosola!
[aside] This mole does undermine me — Heard you not
A noise even now?
BOSOLA: From whence?
ANTONIO: From the duchess’ lodging.
BOSOLA: Not I. Did you?
ANTONIO: I did, or else I dream’d.
BOSOLA: Let’s walk towards it.
ANTONIO: No, it may be ’twas
But the rising of the wind.
BOSOLA: Very likely.
Methinks ’tis very cold, and yet you sweat.
You look wildly.
ANTONIO: I have been setting a figure
For the duchess’ jewels.
BOSOLA: Ah, and how falls your question?
Do you find it radical?
ANTONIO: What’s that to you?
’Tis rather to be question’d what design,
When all men were commanded to their lodgings,
Makes you a night-walker.
BOSOLA: In sooth I’ll tell you.
Now all the court’s asleep, I thought the devil
Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers,
And if it do offend you I do so,
You are a fine courtier.
ANTONIO: [aside] This fellow will undo me —
You gave the duchess apricocks today;
Pray heaven they were not poison’d.
BOSOLA: Poison’d! A Spanish fig
For the imputation.
ANTONIO: Traitors are ever confident
Till they are discover’d. There were jewels stol’n too.
In my conceit, none are to be suspected
More than yourself.
BOSOLA: You are a false steward.
ANTONIO: Saucy slave, I’ll pull thee up by the roots.
BOSOLA: Maybe the ruin will crush you to pieces.
ANTONIO: You are an impudent snake indeed, sir.
Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?
You libel well, sir.
BOSOLA: No, sir. Copy it out,
And I will set my hand to’t.
ANTONIO: [aside] My nose bleeds.
One that were superstitious would count
This ominous, when it merely comes by chance.
Two letters, that are wrote here for my name,
Are drown’d in blood!
Mere accident. — For you, sir, I’ll take order
I’th’ morn you shall be safe— ’tis that must colour
Her lying in — Sir, this door you pass not.
I do not hold it fit that you come near
The duchess’ lodgings, till you have quit yourself. —
The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,
When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.
Exits
BOSOLA: Antonio hereabout did drop a paper.
Some of your help, false friend. O, here it is.
What’s here? A child’s nativity calculated!
The Duchess was delivered of a son, ‘tween the hours
twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504, (that’s this
year) decimo nono Decembris (that’s this night) taken
according to the Meridian of Malfi (that’s our Duchess —
happy discovery!) The lord of the first house being combust
in the ascendant, signifies short life; and Mars being in a
human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the eighth
house, doth threaten a violent death. Caetera non scrutantur.
Why, now ’tis most apparent: this precise fellow
Is the duchess’ bawd. I have it to my wish!
This is a parcel of intelligency
Our courtiers were cas’d up for. It needs must follow
That I must be committed, on pretence
Of poisoning her, which I’ll endure and laugh at.
If one could find the father now! But that
Time will discover. Old Castruchio
I’th’ morning posts to Rome. By him I’ll send
A letter, that shall make her brothers’ galls
O’erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way.
Though lust do mask in ne’er so strange disguise,
She’s oft found witty but is never wise.
Exits
Act II, scene iv
The Cardinal’s apartments in Rome
Enter CARDINAL and JULIA
CARDINAL: Sit; thou art my best of wishes. Prithee tell me,
What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome
Without thy husband?
JULIA: Why, my lord, I told him
I came to visit an old anchorite
Here, for devotion.
CARDINAL: Thou art a witty false one;
I mean, to him.
JULIA: You have prevail’d with me
Beyond my strongest thoughts. I would not now
Find you inconstant.
CARDINAL: Do not put thyself
To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds
Out of your own guilt.
JULIA: How, my lord?
CARDINAL: You fear
My constancy, because you have approv’d
Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.
JULIA: Did you e’er find them?
CARDINAL: Sooth, generally for women;
A man might strive to make glass malleable
Ere he should make them fixed.
JULIA: So, my lord.
CARDINAL: We had need go borrow that fantastic glass,
Invented by Galileo the Florentine,
To view another spacious world i’th’ moon,
And look to find a constant woman there.
JULIA: This is very well, my lord.
CARDINAL: Why do you weep?
Are tears your justification? The self-same tears
Will fall into your husband’s bosom, lady,
With a loud protestation that you love him
Above the world. Come, I’ll love you wisely,
That’s jealously, since I am very certain
You cannot make me cuckold.
JULIA: I’ll go home to my husband.
CARDINAL: You may thank me, lady.
I have taken you off your melancholy perch,
Bore you upon my fist, and show’d you game,
And let you fly at it. I pray thee kiss me.
When thou was’t with thy husband, thou wast watch’d
Like a tame elephant; still you are to thank me.
Thou hadst only kisses from him, and high feeding,
But what delight was that? ’Twas just like one
That hath a little fing’ring on the lute,
Yet cannot tune it; still you are to thank me.
JULIA: You told me of a piteous wound i’th’ heart,
And a sick liver, when you woo’d me first,
And spake like one in physic.
CARDINAL: Who’s that?
Enter SERVANT
Rest firm, for my affection to thee,
Lightning moves slow to’t.
SERVANT: Madam, a gentleman,
That’s come post from Malfi, desires to see you.
CARDINAL: Let him enter, I’ll withdraw.
He exits
SERVANT: He says,
Your husband, old Castruchio, is come to Rome,
Most pitifully tired with riding post.
He exits
Enter DELIO
JULIA: Signior Delio! [aside] ’Tis one of my old suitors.
DELIO: I was bold to come and see you.
JULIA: Sir, you are welcome.
DELIO: Do you lie here?
JULIA: Sure, your own experience
Will satisfy you, no. Our Roman prelates
Do not keep lodging for ladies.
DELIO: Very well.
I have brought you no commendations from your husband,
For I know none by him.
JULIA: I hear he’s come to Rome.
DELIO: I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,
So weary of each other/ If he had had a good back,
He would have undertook to have borne his horse,
His breech was so pitifully sore.
JULIA: Your laughter is my pity.
DELIO: Lady, I know not whether
You want money, but I have bought you some.
JULIA: From my husband?
DELIO: No, from mine own allowance.
JULIA: I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.
DELIO: Look on’t, ’tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?
JULIA: I have a bird more beautiful.
DELIO: Try the sound on’t.
JULIA: A lute-string far exceeds it:
It hath no smell, like cassia, or civet,
Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors
Persuade us seeth’t in cullises. I’ll tell you,
This is a creature bred by —
Enter SERVANT
SERVANT: Your husband’s come,
Hath deliver’d a letter to the Duke of Calabria,
That to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.
He exits
JULIA: Sir, you he
ar:
Pray let me know your business, and your suit,
As briefly as can be.
DELIO: With good speed, I would wish you,
At such time as you are non-resident
With your husband, my mistress.
JULIA: Sir, I’ll go ask my husband if I shall,
And straight return your answer.
She exits
DELIO: Very fine.
Is this her wit or honesty that speaks thus?
I heard one say the Duke was highly mov’d
With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear
Antonio is betray’d. How fearfully
Shows his ambition now; unfortunate fortune!
They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh ere the action’s done.
He exits
ACT II, SCENE V
Rome
Enter CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter
FERDINAND: I have this night digg’d up a mandrake.
CARDINAL: Say you?
FERDINAND: And I am grown mad with’t.
CARDINAL: What’s the prodigy?
FERDINAND: Read there, a sister damn’d; she’s loose i’th’ hilts,
Grown a notorious strumpet.
CARDINAL: Speak lower.
FERDINAND: Lower!
Rogues do not whisper’t now, but seek to publish’t,
As servants do the bounty of their lords,
Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,
To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her!
She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,
And more secure conveyances for lust,
Than towns of garrison for service.
CARDINAL: Is’t possible?
Can this be certain?
FERDINAND: Rhubarb, O for rhubarb
To purge this choler! here’s the cursed day
To prompt my memory, and here’t shall stick
Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge
To wipe it out.
CARDINAL: Why do you make yourself
So wild a tempest?
FERDINAND: Would I could be one,
That I might toss her palace ‘bout her ears,
Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,
And lay her general territory as waste
As she hath done her honor’s.
CARDINAL: Shall our blood,
The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,
Be thus attainted?
FERDINAND: Apply desperate physic:
We must not now use balsamum, but fire,
The smarting cupping-glass, for that’s the mean
To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.
There is a kind of pity in mine eye,
I’ll give it to my handkerchief; and now ’tis here
I’ll bequeath this to her bastard.
CARDINAL: What to do?
FERDINAND: Why, to make soft lint for his mother’s wounds,