_Night. The garden, at Laura’s windows, which are nearly to the
ground. L. a wall with door in it leading from the park without. Enter
by door in travelling costume FREDERICK and TRISTRAM carrying a small
portmantle. F. stays behind to lock the door._
_TRISTRAM_ (_coming to front_).
Here’s a journey: twenty miles about and home again: and no lady.
Were it not for the letter I found on the path, I should hold to my
opinion that it is all a make-believe, and that there is no lady at
all: and that my master wrote that first letter to himself, making the
appointment to meet himself, ... he returns so pleased, with his head
in the air, like the best satisfied lover. I have a fool for my master.
He is but a fool, tho’he needs no humouring. (_To F. who approaches._)
Well, now we are at home again, sir; and as it were partly returned to
our senses....
_FREDERICK._
Silence, Tristram. Take off your boots.
_T._ Pray, sir....
_F._ Not a word. Obey me. 900
_T._ Heaven help us! what is this for?
_F._ Silence. Are they off?
_T._ They are coming.
_F._ Hark now what you have to do. Cross the grass
silently, unlock my door, creep upstairs like a thief,
and sit in my chamber without a movement till I
come.
_T._ The grass is like a sponge. I have begun to
catch cold already: I am just going to sneeze.
_F._ Sneeze, and I’ll strangle you. 910
_T._ Is this your treatment for all my services?
_F._ Your service is your duty to obey:
And once you served me well: of late you are grown
Questionous and prying; which I have so far borne,
Because I have been in doubt whether it were best
To thrash you or discharge you.
_T._ And no wonder neither. Thus the world will
repay devotion. Can I see you so blind to your good
fortune, and when heaven’s door stands open....
_F._ Heaven’s door! what is this? 920
_T._ You do not know.
_F._ Say what you mean.
_T._ This court, wherein you serve and get no thanks,
You might rule and be thanked.
_F._ Just as I thought;
Ere I dismiss you I shall tell the Countess
Your insolence. The whipping you will get
Will save me trouble.
_T._ I pray you on my knees.
_F._ Get up, fool, lest you sneeze. And would you escape
Your rich deservings, be off. 929
_T._ Betray me not, sir: I will obey you better.
_F._ Silence: go do as I bid you. Begone, and take
your boots. [_Exit T._
So my man knows her secret. ’Tis high time
That Laura and I were off. This salves my conscience
From any scruple. ’Tis a rule of art
To make obstructions serve: and my chief hindrance,
Diana’s passion, can but urge me on.
So the mischance, which drew me hence to-night,
Hath brought me hither a more secret way.
The night is still. I would there were a wind.
And there’s the clock. (_Clock strikes._) I’ll wait
Till it hath sounded.... No light.... I’ll tap. 941
(_Goes to window and taps. Laura comes to window and opens._)
_F._ All’s well. ’Tis I.
_LAURA._
Frederick, not gone to Milan?
_F._ I escaped but with a thousand torments—
May I come in?
_L._ We can talk here.
_F._ The night
Is very still, our voices will be heard:
They run along the wall.
_L._ Then I’ll come out.
_F._ We shall be seen.
_L._ The maids are all abed.
There’s none to see us; and the moon is clouded.
We’ll walk by the yew hedge. Give me your hand.
_F._ ’Tis but one step.
_L._ I know. (_Comes down._)
_F._ My kiss. (_Kisses her._)
_L._ O Frederick, 950
You have broken your own rule, and kissed me thrice.
_F._ One kiss a day, with two days in arrear,
Makes three.
_L._ Alas! I thought ’twas love’s excess,
And still I am kissed by rule.
_F._ And be content, love,
To keep the little rules we make ourselves,
Since thou must break such great ones; and canst dare
Deceive the Countess, disobey thy father,
And brave the world’s opinion: all which sins
I come to stablish in thee. There’s now no choice
But fly with me or take St. Nicholas. 960
_L._ That name is desperation. Have you no plan
To save me?
_F._ If you dare fly with me to Milan.
_L._ To-night?
_F._ Would ’twere to-night.
_L._ But when, love, when?
_F._ Trust me to find the time.
_L._ And why to Milan?
_F._ My friend the Duke, being now away from home,
Lends me his palace. All we else should lack,
Appointment and conveyance, he supplies.
We have his countenance now, his influence after,
To appease your father and sister.
_L._ Are you such friends?
_F._ There cannot be two hearts in all the world
Nearer-familiar than are his and mine. 971
_L._ You never told me.
_F._ I had not heard from him
Now for three years.
_L._ ’Tis strange.
_F._ Nay, ’tis not strange.
Ours was a boyhood friendship; such affection
Born in life’s spring is perfect with the flower.
The memory is a binding intimacy,
Which grows as we grow from it: in its strength
Is our lost tenderness; its truth is proved
By every lie the world has given our hopes:
Absence and age best feed it. We remember 980
First ecstasies, and the unreserved embrace
Of mutual spirits, and worship the remembrance.
The Duke and I are strangers in the world,
Courteous acquaintance in society,
But to ourselves, twin individual gods.
_L._ Alas, poor me!
_F._ Can it displease you, love,
I have such a friend?
_L._ Ere it is too late, Frederick,
Think if you love me enough.
_F._ Why, ’tis a question
To make me think you think I think I do not.
_L._ Indeed, ere I consent to be your wife.... 990
_F._ You have consented, Laura.
_L._ Nay, but hear me.
Before we marry, you must know a thing,
Which, since it might lessen your love for me,
Shall not be kept till after.
_F._ Then tell it quickly.
_L._ What you have said, and what I have to tell,
So dwarfs my little humble plant of love.
_F._ Tell it.
_L._ Diana loves you.
_F._ You know it too!
_L._ You know it!
_F._ I!—Why, Laura, is this your secret?
_L._ I see you have guessed it; yet, perhaps, for thinking
Thou shouldst be loyal where thy faith is cherished,
Thou hast never weighed her claim with mine; and that 1001
I’d have thee do. Look to thine interest:
For loving women differ not so much
But all may make good wives; and whatsoe’er
Thou thinkest to see in me, Frederick, I am sure
I lack all excellence. There’s nothing in me
Why I should have preferment o’er another,
And least of all of her who can boast loveliness
To match her love; and add those other gifts,
Which are necessities to one like thee. 1010
Thou, with high friendships shouldst have power and station,
And fitted for the fairest use of wealth,
Thou art wronged in the want of it: and, Love, I love thee
So better than myself, that I would see thee
Happily another’s rather than my own
With the reproach of selfishness, the knowledge
That thou wert sacrificed for my poor love.
_F._ If women differ little, what of men?
St. Nicholas loves you, and would give you rank.
_L._ Thou knowst thou wrongst me, Frederick, turning thus 1020
My love of thee to banter of my love.
_F._ I only banter where you dare be grave.
_L._ Because thou knowest, Love, I desire not wealth.
My happiness would be to live with thee
And for thee: but to thee what can I bring?
Think not because I wish thee fortunate,
That I forget my hope, or slight the treasure
So much desirèd of my loving soul.
_F._ And for that loving soul you bid me take
Some fifty thousand ducats by the year, 1030
A major-domo, and a heap of things
That are a proverb for their emptiness!
_L._ Diana’s love, I said; that with the ducats.
_F._ Well, what doth all this come to when ’tis told?
First is Diana’s love. Diana’s love
Is nothing, for I do not love Diana.
Next are the ducats: fifty thousand ducats.
They are nothing either—by the year! Why, Laura,
Were’t fifty thousand ducats by the day
’Twere nothing to me. You can little guess 1040
My prodigal soul. I should expend it all
And sit at home and be as poor as ever.
_L._ How could you spend so much?
_F._ Nothing is much.
Man’s capabilities being infinite
And his state pitiful, the simplest scheme
For bettering any faculty he hath,
Would eat up all the money in the world.
_L._ But to use riches rightly—
_F._ I have no desire
That earth can satisfy, but one; and that
Shall I play false to?
_L._ Nay; I trust you well. 1050
_F._ Then waste no more the precious moments, Laura,
To question the great blessing we enjoy.
Our hours will all be as this hour to-night;
Either to step with in eternity
Towards our perfection with unwavering will,
Or with a questioning purpose let it slide,
And leave us far behind. A man’s desires
Are his companions and by them he is known;
But he himself is what he grows to be
Using his time.
_L._ How best to use it now? 1060
_F._ First to assure thee, dearest, that all the joys
I have had or hoped are nothing to thy love.
And next, that we may make it sure, I ask thee
To say thou’lt fly with me.
_L._ When, Frederick, when?
I fear ’twill never be; we have but two days.
_F._ Therefore be ready at any moment, Laura.
All’s fixed except the time: that must depend
Upon occasion. If I cannot see thee,
Ricardo, whom I have made my confidant,
Will bring thee word. He cannot be suspected, 1070
And thou mayst trust him.
_L._ Dare I tell my father?
_F._ That’s my chief scruple; and yet we dare not tell him.
If only Providence would give him back
His hearing for one day! After one day
Spent with St. Nicholas, I should not fear
To broach our matter.
_L._ He has the marriage contract
Ready to sign.
_F._ Not as he thinks. By luck
They entrusted it to me; and as I have drawn it
He cannot sign it. He must give it me back,
And that will make delay.
_L._ Of all these chances, 1080
If any one go wrong....
_F._ All will go well.
See, here’s my portrait, Laura, which I promised:
’Tis framed like yours; that is its only merit.
_L._ O, let me have it.
_F._ Take it. That you should care
To look upon it, makes me ashamed.
_L._ O, Frederick!
If you knew all my foolishness, I think
You would despise me. By this little light
I can see nothing. Is’t well done?
_F._ So, so.
It flatters me: but that’s the artist’s trick.
_L._ Flatters you! 1090
_F._ Well, it taints me with the fashion,
Which is the vulgar dress of imitations,
And a less blunder than mere naked skill.
The individual ideals are given
To genius only.
_L._ I would have had you painted
Just as you are.
_F._ Nay.—Hark! I hear a step....
_L._ What can we do?
_F._ Some one is coming hither.
_L._ Where can we hide?
_F._ I cannot think; unless
You creep along the hedge. I’ll wait and see
Who ’tis. I think it must be Tristram. [_Exit Laura._
_Enter Ricardo._
_RICARDO._
Frederick!
_F._ Richard! what is the matter? 1100
_R._ Forgive my coming:
But if you wish it thought that you are at Milan,
Your room should not be lighted, and your servant
Should not be singing.
_F._ Singing!—is Tristram singing?
_R._ Hark! You may hear. [_T.'s lute heard faintly._
_F._ By heaven!—the wretch! Tell Laura
Why I am gone. All will be lost. [_Exit._
_R._ Indeed,
Unless Diana is sleeping very soundly,
The escapade’s betrayed.
_Re-enter Laura._
My service, lady.
_L._ I heard you speak with Frederick, sir, and thank you
For your kind offices.
_R._ I need no thanks.
I have a deeper interest in your welfare 1110
Than you can guess. I fear that fellow Tristram
May ruin us all.
_L._ Frederick hath told me, sir,
You know our secret, and will act between us;
For which I thank you. I bid you now good-night:
I should go in.
_R._ As soon as possible.
Pray you be not observed. But first I beg you
Thank me for Frederick’s visit.
_L._ You, sir! why?
_R._ Why, but for me he had been at Milan.
_L._ Ah!
I thank you very much.
_R._ He doth not scheme
Well for himself. He needs a wife.
_L._ Indeed 1120
I cannot scheme.
_R._ And ’tis the fairer wish
You neither may have ever need. Good-night.
_L._ Good-night, sir. [_Exit in at window._
_R._ She’s a good creature, quick and sensible;
She’ll fly with Frederick. It provokes my soul
That that conceited inconsiderate loon
Should put us all in peril. I have half a mind
To take him in my pay.
_Re-enter Frederick with a lute._
_F._ Is Laura gone?
_R._ And not too soon. If your fine musical man
Have waked the Countess she may have heard you too.
He is silenced now, I hope.
_F._ Here’s his curst lute: 1130
I took it from him.
_R._ Ha! then give it to me.
The very thing. I’ll step into the gap,
And take the blame of this untimely singing
Upon myself. Go in and leave me here:
And if to-morrow any ask who ’twas
That played and sang at midnight—why ’twas I.
Go in.
_F._ Well, bravo, Richard: you’re a genius.
_R._ Leave me.
_F._ I go. Good-night. [_Exit._
_R._ Now must I sing.
And when there’s none to hear I am sometimes able
To please myself: else I must ask indulgence. 1140
_Sings._
My eyes for beauty pine,
My soul for Goddës grace:
No other hope nor care is mine;
To heaven I turn my face.
One splendour thence is shed
From all the stars above:
’Tis namèd when God’s name is said,
’Tis love, ’tis heavenly love.
And every gentle heart,
That burns with true desire, 1150
Is lit from eyes that mirror part
Of that celestial fire.
_NICHOLAS_ (_heard entering unseen_).
Very sweet!
_R._ (_aside_). Ha! have I an audience after all?
_N._ Ricardo, I believe.
_R._ St Nicholas, is’t not?
_N._ Your lute, sir, as Amphion drew the trees
Up by the roots, hath drawn me from my bed.
_R._ Would I could make the lyrical apology
With which, I doubt not, he replanted them.
_N._ Nay, no apology. And, to say truth,
’Twas not so much your music as my wish 1160
To catch the singer brought me out. I thought
’Twas Frederick’s servant. He should not forget it
If I should catch him breaking rules.
_R._ I hope
I break no rules.
_N._ You see you are very near
The ladies’windows.
_R._ True: of course I must be.
_N._ And serenading is among the offences
Punished with diet.
_R._ Being a stranger, sir,
I cannot be suspected of the knowledge
That might incriminate me. You, no doubt,
Are more familiar.
_N._ Yes, there is one window 1170
Which I should know: and as you chance to stand
Just underneath it, I will not dissemble
That when I saw you first I felt the pangs
Of maddening jealousy. To find ’twas you
Relieved me entirely.
_R._ Nay then, truly, sir,
I owe you apology: for if your mistress
Should have mistook my falala for yours,
The poor performance may have hurt your credit.
_N._ Nay, sir, I sing so seldom, I only fear
I cannot be suspected. If I might 1180
I’d ask you sing again. There’s nought affects me
Like music in the moonlight.
_R._ I would oblige you
But for the rules you speak of. Were’t not better
We should go in? ’tis midnight.
_N._ Oh, I could sit
And sigh beneath that window all the night.
Is there not wondrous softness in the thought,
That she one loves is sleeping?
_R._ I will leave you
To your love thoughts.
_N._ Nay, nay, no reason, sir.
I have full leisure for sweet meditation.
I will go in with you. ’Tis a rich comfort 1190
To dream of the belovèd. [_Exeunt._