ARIADNE IN MANTUA
A ROMANCE IN FIVE ACTS
BY
VERNON LEE
Portland, Maine
THOMAS B. MOSHER
MDCCCCXII
TO
ETHEL SMYTH
THANKING, AND BEGGING, HER FOR MUSIC
PREFACE
Ariadne _in Mantua_, _A Romance in Five Acts, by Vernon Lee.
Oxford: B.H. Blackwell 50 and 51 Broad Street. London:
Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Company. A.D. MCMIII.
Octavo. Pp. x: 11-66_.
Like almost everything else written by Vernon Lee there is to
be found that insistent little touch which is her sign-manual
when dealing with Italy or its makers of forgotten melodies.
In other words, the music of her rhythmic prose is summed up
in one poignant vocable--_Forlorn_.
As for her vanished world of dear dead women and their lovers
who are dust, we may indeed for a brief hour enter that
enchanted atmosphere. Then a vapour arises as out of long lost
lagoons, and, be it Venice or Mantua, we come to feel "how
deep an abyss separates us--and how many faint and nameless
ghosts crowd round the few enduring things bequeathed to us by
the past."
T.B.M.
PREFACE
_"Alles Vergängliche ist nur ein Gleichniss"_
_It is in order to give others the pleasure of reading or
re-reading a small masterpiece, that I mention the likelihood
of the catastrophe of my_ Ariadne _having been suggested by
the late Mr. Shorthouse's_ Little Schoolmaster Mark; _but I
must ask forgiveness of my dear old friend, Madame Emile
Duclaux_ (Mary Robinson), _for unwarranted use of one of the
songs of her_ Italian Garden.
_Readers of my own little volume_ Genius Loci _may meanwhile
recognise that I have been guilty of plagiarism towards myself
also_.[1]
_For a couple of years after writing those pages, the image of
the Palace of Mantua and the lakes it steeps in, haunted my
fancy with that peculiar insistency, as of the half-lapsed
recollection of a name or date, which tells us that we know
(if we could only remember!)_ what happened in a place. _I let
the matter rest. But, looking into my mind one day, I found
that a certain song of the early seventeenth century_--(not
_Monteverde's_ Lamento d'Arianna _but an air_, Amarilli, _by
Caccini, printed alongside in Parisotti's collection_)--_had
entered that Palace of Mantua, and was, in some manner not
easy to define, the musical shape of what must have happened
there. And that, translated back into human personages, was
the story I have set forth in the following little Drama_.
_So much for the origin of_ Ariadne in Mantua, _supposing any
friend to be curious about it. What seems more interesting is
my feeling, which grew upon me as I worked over and over the
piece and its French translation, that these personages had an
importance greater than that of their life and adventures, a
meaning, if I may say so, a little_ sub specie aeternitatis.
_For, besides the real figures, there appeared to me vague
shadows cast by them, as it were, on the vast spaces of life,
and magnified far beyond those little puppets that I twitched.
And I seem to feel here the struggle, eternal, necessary,
between mere impulse, unreasoning and violent, but absolutely
true to its aim; and all the moderating, the weighing and
restraining influences of civilisation, with their idealism,
their vacillation, but their final triumph over the mere
forces of nature. These well-born people of Mantua,
privileged beings wanting little because they have much, and
able therefore to spend themselves in quite harmonious effort,
must necessarily get the better of the poor gutter-born
creature without whom, after all, one of them would have been
dead and the others would have had no opening in life. Poor_
Diego _acts magnanimously, being cornered; but he (or she) has
not the delicacy, the dignity to melt into thin air with a
mere lyric Metastasian "Piangendo partè", and leave them to
their untroubled conscience. He must needs assert himself,
violently wrench at their heart-strings, give them a final
stab, hand them over to endless remorse; briefly, commit that
public and theatrical deed of suicide, splashing the murderous
waters into the eyes of well-behaved wedding guests_.
_Certainly neither the_ Duke, _nor the_ Duchess Dowager, _nor_
Hippolyta _would have done this. But, on the other hand, they
could calmly, coldly, kindly accept the self-sacrifice
culminating in that suicide: well-bred people, faithful to
their standards and forcing others, however unwilling, into
their own conformity. Of course without them the world would
be a den of thieves, a wilderness of wolves; for they are,--if
I may call them by their less personal names,--Tradition,
Discipline, Civilisation_.
_On the other hand, but for such as_ Diego _the world would
come to an end within twenty years: mere sense of duty and
fitness not being sufficient for the killing and cooking of
victuals, let alone the begetting and suckling of children.
The descendants of_ Ferdinand _and_ Hippolyta, _unless they
intermarried with some bastard of_ Diego's _family, would
dwindle, die out; who knows, perhaps supplement the impulses
they lacked by silly newfangled evil_.
_These are the contending forces of history and life: Impulse
and Discipline, creating and keeping; love such as_ Diego's,
_blind, selfish, magnanimous; and detachment, noble, a little
bloodless and cruel, like that of the_ Duke of Mantua.
_And it seems to me that the conflicts which I set forth on my
improbable little stage, are but the trifling realities
shadowing those great abstractions which we seek all through
the history of man, and everywhere in man's own heart_.
VERNON LEE.
Maiano, near Florence,
June, 1903.
[1] See Appendix where the article referred to is given entire.
ARIADNE IN MANTUA
VIOLA. _....I'll serve this Duke:
....for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music._
TWELFTH NIGHT, 1, 2.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
FERDINAND, Duke of Mantua.
THE CARDINAL, his Uncle.
THE DUCHESS DOWAGER.
HIPPOLYTA, Princess of Mirandola.
MAGDALEN, known as DIEGO.
THE MARCHIONESS OF GUASTALLA.
THE BISHOP OF CREMONA.
THE DOGE'S WIFE.
THE VENETIAN AMBASSADOR.
THE DUKE OF FERRARA'S POET.
THE VICEROY OF NAPLES' JESTER.
A TENOR as BACCHUS.
The CARDINAL'S CHAPLAIN.
THE DUCHESS'S GENTLEWOMAN.
THE PRINCESS'S TUTOR.
Singers as Maenads and Satyrs; Courtiers,
Pages, Wedding Guests and Musicians.
* * * * *
The action takes place in the Palace of Mantua through a
period of a year, during the reign of Prospero I, of Milan,
and shortly before the Venetian expedition to Cyprus under
Othello.
ARIADNE IN MANTUA
ACT I
_The_ CARDINAL'S _Study in the Palace at Mantua. The_ CARDINAL
_is seated at a table covered with Persian embroidery,
rose-colour picked out with blue, on which lies open a volume
of Machiavelli's works, and in it a manuscript of Catullus;
alongside thereof are a bell and a magnifying-glass. Under his
feet a red cushion with long tassels, and an oriental carpet
of pale lavender and crimson_. _The_ CARDINAL _is dressed in
scarlet, a crimson fur-lined cape upon his shoulders. He is
old, but beautiful and majestic, his face furrowed like the
marble bust of Seneca among the books opposite_.
_Through the open Renaissance window, with candelabra and
birds carved on the copings, one sees the lake, pale blue,
faintly rippled, with a rose-coloured brick bridge and
bridge-tower at its narrowest point_. DIEGO (_in reality_
MAGDALEN) _has just been admitted into the_ CARDINAL'S
_presence, and after kissing his ring, has remained standing,
awaiting his pleasure_.
DIEGO _is fantastically habited as a youth in russet and
violet tunic reaching below the knees in Moorish fashion, as
we see it in the frescoes of Pinturicchio; with silver buttons
down the seams, and plaited linen at the throat and in the
unbuttoned purfles of the sleeves. His hair, dark but red
where it catches the light, is cut over the forehead and
touches his shoulders. He is not very tall in his boy's
clothes, and very sparely built. He is pale, almost sallow;
the face, dogged, sullen, rather expressive than beautiful,
save for the perfection of the brows and of the flower-like
singer's mouth. He stands ceremoniously before the_ CARDINAL,
_one hand on his dagger, nervously, while the other holds a
large travelling hat, looped up, with a long drooping plume_.
_The_ CARDINAL _raises his eyes, slightly bows his head,
closes the manuscript and the volume, and puts both aside
deliberately. He is, meanwhile, examining the appearance of_
DIEGO.
CARDINAL
We are glad to see you at Mantua, Signor Diego. And from what
our worthy Venetian friend informs us in the letter which he
gave you for our hands, we shall without a doubt be wholly
satisfied with your singing, which is said to be both sweet
and learned. Prythee, Brother Matthias (_turning to his_
Chaplain), bid them bring hither my virginal,--that with the
Judgment of Paris painted on the lid by Giulio Romano; its
tone is admirably suited to the human voice. And, Brother
Matthias, hasten to the Duke's own theorb player, and bid him
come straightways. Nay, go thyself, good Brother Matthias, and
seek till thou hast found him. We are impatient to judge of
this good youth's skill.
_The_ Chaplain _bows and retires_. DIEGO (_in reality_
MAGDALEN) _remains alone in the_ CARDINAL'S _presence. The_
CARDINAL _remains for a second turning over a letter, and then
reads through the magnifying-glass out loud_.
CARDINAL
Ah, here is the sentence: "Diego, a Spaniard of Moorish
descent, and a most expert singer and player on the virginal,
whom I commend to your Eminence's favour as entirely fitted
for such services as your revered letter makes mention of----"
Good, good.
_The_ CARDINAL _folds the letter and beckons_ Diego _to
approach, then speaks in a manner suddenly altered to
abruptness, but with no enquiry in his tone_.
Signor Diego, you are a woman----
DIEGO _starts, flushes and exclaims huskily_, "My Lord----."
_But the_ CARDINAL _makes a deprecatory movement and continues
his sentence_.
and, as my honoured Venetian correspondent assures me, a
courtesan of some experience and of more than usual tact. I
trust this favourable judgment may be justified. The situation
is delicate; and the work for which you have been selected is
dangerous as well as difficult. Have you been given any
knowledge of this case?
DIEGO _has by this time recovered his composure, and answers
with respectful reserve_.
DIEGO
I asked no questions, your Eminence. But the Senator Gratiano
vouchsafed to tell me that my work at Mantua would be to
soothe and cheer with music your noble nephew Duke Ferdinand,
who, as is rumoured, has been a prey to a certain languor and
moodiness ever since his return from many years' captivity
among the Infidels. Moreover (such were the Senator Gratiano's
words), that if the Fates proved favourable to my music, I
might gain access to His Highness's confidence, and thus
enable your Eminence to understand and compass his strange
malady.
CARDINAL
Even so. You speak discreetly, Diego; and your manner gives
hope of more good sense than is usual in your sex and in your
trade. But this matter is of more difficulty than such as you
can realise. Your being a woman will be of use should our
scheme prove practicable. In the outset it may wreck us beyond
recovery. For all his gloomy apathy, my nephew is quick to
suspicion, and extremely subtle. He will delight in flouting
us, should the thought cross his brain that we are practising
some coarse and foolish stratagem. And it so happens, that his
strange moodiness is marked by abhorrence of all womankind.
For months he has refused the visits of his virtuous mother.
And the mere name of his young cousin and affianced bride,
Princess Hippolyta, has thrown him into paroxysms of anger.
Yet Duke Ferdinand possesses all his faculties. He is aware of
being the last of our house, and must know full well that,
should he die without an heir, this noble dukedom will become
the battlefield of rapacious alien claimants. He denies none
of this, but nevertheless looks on marriage with unseemly
horror.
DIEGO
Is it so?----And----is there any reason His Highness's
melancholy should take this shape? I crave your Eminence's
pardon if there is any indiscretion in this question; but I
feel it may be well that I should know some more upon this
point. Has Duke Ferdinand suffered some wrong at the hands of
women? Or is it the case of some passion, hopeless, unfitting
to his rank, perhaps?
CARDINAL
Your imagination, good Madam Magdalen, runs too easily along
the tracks familiar to your sex; and such inquisitiveness
smacks too much of the courtesan. And beware, my lad, of
touching on such subjects with the Duke: women and love, and
so forth. For I fear, that while endeavouring to elicit the
Duke's secret, thy eyes, thy altered voice, might betray thy
own.
DIEGO
Betray me? My secret? What do you mean, my Lord? I fail to
grasp your meaning.
CARDINAL
Have you so soon forgotten that the Duke must not suspect your
being a woman? For if a woman may gradually melt his torpor,
and bring him under the control of reason and duty, this can
only come about by her growing familiar and necessary to him
without alarming his moody virtue.
DIEGO
I crave your Eminence's indulgence for that one question,
which I repeat because, as a musician, it may affect my
treatment of His Highness. Has the Duke ever loved?
CARDINAL
Too little or too much,--which of the two it will be for you
to find out. My nephew was ever, since his boyhood, a pious
and joyless youth; and such are apt to love once, and, as the
poets say, to die for love. Be this as it may, keep to your
part of singer; and even if you suspect that he suspects you,
let him not see your suspicion, and still less justify his
own. Be merely a singer: a sexless creature, having seen
passion but never felt it; yet capable, by the miracle of art,
of rousing and soothing it in others. Go warily, and mark my
words: there is, I notice, even in your speaking voice, a
certain quality such as folk say melts hearts; a trifle
hoarseness, a something of a break, which mars it as mere
sound, but gives it more power than that of sound. Employ that
quality when the fit moment comes; but most times restrain it.
You have understood?
DIEGO
I think I have, my Lord.
CARDINAL
Then only one word more. Women, and women such as you, are
often ill advised and foolishly ambitious. Let not success,
should you have any in this enterprise, endanger it and you.
Your safety lies in being my tool. My spies are everywhere;
but I require none; I seem to know the folly which poor
mortals think and feel. And see! this palace is surrounded on
three sides by lakes; a rare and beautiful circumstance, which
has done good service on occasion. Even close to this pavilion
these blue waters are less shallow than they seem.
DIEGO
I had noted it. Such an enterprise as mine requires courage,
my Lord; and your palace, built into the lake, as
life,--saving all thought of heresy,--is built out into death,
your palace may give courage as well as prudence.
CARDINAL
Your words, Diego, are irrelevant, but do not displease me.
DIEGO _bows. The_ Chaplain _enters with_ Pages _carrying a
harpsichord, which they place upon the table; also two_
Musicians _with theorb and viol_.
Brother Matthias, thou hast been a skilful organist, and hast
often delighted me with thy fugues and canons.--Sit to the
instrument, and play a prelude, while this good youth collects
his memory and his voice preparatory to displaying his skill.
_The_ chaplain, _not unlike the monk in Titian's "Concert"
begins to play_, DIEGO _standing by him at the harpsichord.
While the cunningly interlaced themes, with wide, unclosed
cadences, tinkle metallically from the instrument, the_
CARDINAL _watches, very deliberately, the face of_ DIEGO,
_seeking to penetrate through its sullen sedateness. But_
DIEGO _remains with his eyes fixed on the view framed by the
window: the pale blue lake, of the colour of periwinkle, under
a sky barely bluer than itself, and the lines on the
horizon--piled up clouds or perhaps Alps. Only, as the_
Chaplain _is about to finish his prelude, the face of_ DIEGO
_undergoes a change: a sudden fervour and tenderness
transfigure the features; while the eyes, from very dark turn
to the colour of carnelian. This illumination dies out as
quickly as it came, and_ DIEGO _becomes very self-contained
and very listless as before_.
DIEGO
Will it please your Eminence that I should sing the Lament of
Ariadne on Naxos?