Standard Selections Part 77

Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich, I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.

PAGE. Well, then--I lie.

LARA. Ay, now you lie, indeed!

I see it in the cunning of your eyes; Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.

Only a little lingering fear of heaven Holds me from dirking you between the ribs!

PAGE. What would you have? I will say nothing, then.

LARA. Say everything, and end it! Here is gold.

You brought a billet to the Countess--well?

What said the billet?

PAGE. Take away your hand.

And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all.

There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir?

Stand six yards off, or I will not a word.

It seems the Countess promised Signor Juan A set of turquoise--

LARA. Turquoise? Ha! that's well.

PAGE. Just so--wherewith my master was to pay Some gaming debts; but yester-night the cards Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet; And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor Juan Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note, For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus, Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night; Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned; Then told his sudden fortune with the cards, And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

LARA. All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart!

A heart, I know, of little, little worth-- An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before, But now quite broken! I have no heart, then; Men should not have, when they are wronged like this.

Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news!

[_Exit_ LARA.

PAGE. I did not think 't would work on him like that.

How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some ill Will come of this. I'll to the Countess now, And warn her of his madness.

[_Exit_ PAGE.

ACT I, SCENE II

SCENE: Beatrice's chamber. Beatrice sits on a fauteuil in the att.i.tude of listening.

BEATRICE. Hist! that's his step. Miriam, place the lights Farther away; keep you behind the screen, Breathing no louder than a lily does; For if you stir or laugh 'twill ruin all.

MIRIAM. Laugh! I am faint with terror.

BEATRICE. Then be still.

Move not for worlds until I touch the bell, Then do the thing I told you. Hus.h.!.+ his step Sounds in the corridor, and I'm asleep!

LARA _enters. He approaches within a few yards of_ BEATRICE, _pauses, and looks at her._

LARA. Asleep!--and guilt can slumber! Guilt can lie Down-lidded and soft-breathed like innocence!

Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's--who can tell?

Were I an artist, and did wish to paint A devil to perfection, I'd not limn A horned monster, with a leprous skin, Red-hot from Pandemonium--not I.

But with my delicatest tints, I'd paint A woman in the glamour of her youth, All garmented with loveliness and mystery!

How fair she is! Her beauty glides between Me and my purpose, like a pleading angel.

[BEATRICE _sighs_.

Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.

She'll waken soon, and that--that must not be!

I could not kill her if she looked at me.

I loved her, loved her, by the saints, I did-- I trust she prayed before she fell asleep!

BEATRICE [_springing up_]. So, you are come--your dagger in your hand?

Your lips compressed and blanched, and your hair Tumbled wildly all about your eyes, Like a river-G.o.d's? O love, you frighten me!

And you are trembling. Tell me what this means.

LARA. Oh! nothing, nothing--I did think to write A note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend (Your cousin and my honorable friend); But finding neither ink nor paper here, I thought to scratch it with my dagger's point Upon your bosom, Madam! That is all.

BEATRICE. You've lost your senses!

LARA. Madam, no, I've found 'em!

BEATRICE. Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.

LARA. I was a fool, a dupe--a happy dupe.

You should have kept me in my ignorance; For wisdom makes us wretched, king and clown.

Countess of Lara, you are false to me!

BEATRICE. Now, by the saints--

LARA. Now, by the saints, you are!

BEATRICE. Upon my honor--

LARA. On your honor? fie!

Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for that Is not so light a substance.

BEATRICE. Hear me, love!

LARA. Lie to that marble Io! I am sick To the heart with lying.

BEATRICE. You've the ear-ache, sir, Got with too much believing.

LARA. Beatrice, I came to kill you.

BEATRICE. Kiss me, Count, you mean!

LARA. If killing you be kissing you, why yes.