Three Major Plays (26 page)

Of fame and reputation he
Enjoys, or if he's loved or plain
Despised, should never listen to

A fawning servant's flattery.

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A better ploy's to sally forth
At night, on foot or in his coach,
And, well-disguised, to ascertain
What shape his reputation's in.

Some famous emperors and kings *

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Resorted to such subtle cunning.

DUKE. A man who gives himself to listening,
Will only hear the most offensive things
About himself. These kings that seem

So wise to you, to me are fools.

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The common herd is not concerned
With truth, and any man who puts
His faith in them is bound to get
His fingers burned when everything

They say runs contrary to reason.

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Some discontented fellow wants
Revenge, and so invents a story which
The common herd then seeks to bend
To satisfy its need for novelty.

And since such people are by rank

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Forbidden entry to the palaces
Where great men live, they choose instead
To feed the envy that they feel
By means of slanderous attacks.

As for myself, it is a fact

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That I have lived indulgently,
^*
Preferring pleasure to the need
To marry anyone: in part
Because I've wanted to be free,

In part because I thought my son,

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Though illegitimate, should be
My only heir. But now that he
Is on his way to Mantua
To fetch my bride, the fair Casandra,

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I am resolved to put my past

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Behind me.

FEBO.
Marriage is undoubtedly
The remedy, my lord.

RICARDO.
And if
You listen at this door, you'll find
An answer to your melancholy too.

DUKE.
You must mean music.

RICARDO. Can you hear?

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DUKE.
Who is it lives there?

RICARDO.
An actor-manager.*

FEBO.
The very best in Italy.

DUKE.
They sing extremely well. Does he write
Good plays?

RICARDO.
All plays depend, my lord,

On playing to a friendly audience.*

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The audience claps, it guarantees
A play's success; the audience boos,
It means the play's a certain miss.

FEBO.
I think he means the theatre's

A hit-or-miss affair, my lord.

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DUKE.
For our wedding, Febo, you'll
Prepare the very finest rooms,
And look for plays where wit
And ingenuity exceed
Vulgarity.*

FEBO. I promise I

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Shall see to it, my lord. You'll have
Those plays refinement and good taste
Permit.

DUKE.
Are they rehearsing yet?

RICARDO.
A woman's speaking.

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DUKE.
It might be

Andrelina,* an actress of

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The highest reputation. Such strength,
Intelligence, such deep emotion!

VOICE
[off]. Such thoughts will never let me rest,
Such memories endure and persist,

And all that once was glory unsurpassed,

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Is now a constant agony.
If I could but forget such memories
As now remind me of a joy that's lost!
For though they think they sweeten misery,

They deepen longing for a pleasure past.

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DUKE.
How well she speaks her lines!

FEBO.
I've always found
There's nothing finer than a good actress,
Master!

DUKE.
I would hear more, but find
Her words depress me so, I'm going home
To bed.

RICARDO. It's only ten o'clock.

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It's far too early.

DUKE.
There's nothing here
That pleases me.

RICARDO.
Not even her?

DUKE.
I am afraid of what she still
Might say of me.

RICARDO.
Of you? What could
She say?

DUKE. A play, Ricardo, is

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A mirror to all men,* in which
The fool, the wise, the young, the old,
The weak, the strong, the mild, the bold,
The king, the prince, the governor,

The girl, the bride, the lover, wife,

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Can by example learn of honour
And of life. We see our customs there,
Both bold and frivolous. It mixes
Comedy with seriousness and tragedy

With jokes.* But I have heard enough

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To know her speech informs me of
Myself, and wish to know no more.
The truth is simply the majority of men
Would willingly ignore the truth

About themselves.

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They leave
. Enter FEDERICO,
a handsome
young man
.
He is dressed in travelling clothes
and accompanied by his servant
, BATÍN.

BATÍN.
It beats me what you're up to, Federico.
Why have we stopped amongst these willow-trees?*
Why are their roots a pillow for your head
When there's important business still ahead?

FEDERICO. My mood does not allow me, as I ought,

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To move with greater speed. I much prefer,
Oppressed by melancholy thoughts,* no other
Company but mine; to lie beneath this canopy
Of trees that listens to the water's sound

And in its silver mirror sees the cool

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Green image of reflected foliage.
If I could but escape or find
Some refuge from the hideous prospect of
My father's marriage! I am his son and heir,

And now on this account must bear

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The consequences of this deed.
I must pretend to those I know that I
Am pleased, when in reality my heart
Is heavy with disgust and bleeds

For everything I now consider lost.

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My father bids me go to Mantua,
Where I shall meet my future stepmother,
And every step I take is one more reason
Why I should regard her as a fatal poison.

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BATÍN. The truth is, master, what was once

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Your father's scandalous behaviour,
Condemned by strangers and by friends,
Has now surrendered at the feet of virtue.
For anyone who wants to settle down, you see,

By far the most effective bridle is

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To marry. A loyal subject once*
Presented to the King of France a horse
Whose two great qualities were liveliness
Of spirit and outstanding beauty.

Its name was Swan, such was the snow-

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White colour of its coat and mane
That, when it raised its lovely head,
Fell to its feet. It was as if,
Enjoying beauty and disdain,

It had been blessed by Nature's hand

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With attributes that are by men
Considered feminine, and so,
If it were mounted by a man,
At once proclaimed itself unwilling.

The King, observing that the horse

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Was beautiful but obstinate,
Commanded it be led into a cave
Where that great primate of the animals,
A proud and fierce lion, had his den.

Confronted by the lion's rage,

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That mighty horse began to feel
Its courage quickly fade, and all its mane
And coat grow stiff as fear made
Each hair into a bright, sharp spear,

And what had been a sprightly nag,

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Was suddenly a frightened hedgehog.
From each and every hair it sweated fear,
And soon became so calm and humble,
The smallest dwarf was master in the saddle.

That horse that hated to be ridden did

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From that day forth what it was bidden.

FEDERICO.
BatÍn, I know that marriage may well be

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The remedy to change my father's ways,
But am I not allowed regret

For having wasted all my hours, all my days

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In foolish dreams? I know a woman can
Control the proudest and the fiercest man;
She is a lioness before whose gaze he seems
A lamb, his wildness at the very sight

Of his first-born transformed to such extremes

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Of tenderness as will allow that man
To hold his babbling, gurgling child
And let it pull and tug his beard.
No humble peasant loves his grain

More dearly than a father loves

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His family. For them he willingly
Abandons evil ways. But should I care
That my own father, having strayed
So far, should now regret the error of

His ways and by his change of heart ensure

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That only sons who are legitimate
Can, as from now, lay claim to his estate?
I am a mere messenger,
My task to bring to him a lion bent

On my destruction.

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BATÍN.
My lord, the man who's wise and sensible,
And sees himself the object of
Intolerable ills, is best advised
To demonstrate his patience.

He needs to smile, put on a show

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Of happiness, lest others think
He's envious, or has a mind to vengeance.

FEDERICO.
Must I endure a stepmother?

BATÍN. Perhaps you'll learn to love her, sir.

It's true you've had a family

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Of stepmothers the Duke has introduced
You to. So what's so terrible about
Another one, not least when she's
A lady too?

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FEDERICO.
What's that?

BATÍN.
I think

It's voices on the river-bank.

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FEDERICO.
A woman's cry for help. I'll go and see.

BATÍN.
Much safer if you stay with me, my lord.

FEDERICO.
Don't be so cowardly, BatÍn.

It sounds as if our help is needed.

[Exit FEDERICO

BATÍN. A woman's voice, he's gone, as short

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On common sense as great on speed.
I suppose I'd better go. If she
Needs him, he might need me. If only he
Had gone as eagerly as this

To meet his future stepmother.

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[Exit BATÍN]

Enter FEDERICO with CASANDRA in his arms.*

FEDERICO.
To carry you to this safe place,
These arms are more than honoured, madam.

CASANDRA.
I am indebted to you, sir,
For such true courtesy and grace.

FEDERICO. And I to such good fortune as

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Has brought me to this wood and led
Me from the tedious path I followed.

CASANDRA.
Who are these people, sir?

FEDERICO.
The servants who
Go with me. They understand

Your every wish is their command.

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Enter BATÍN with LUCRECIA, a servant, in his arms.*

BATÍN. If women have the common fault
Of insubstantiality,
How can it be, my girl, that you

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Are so ridiculously weighty?

LUCRECIA. Good sir, where are you taking me?

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BATÍN.
Why, to a place that's free from all
This river mud, where there's no danger
Of you sinking. I think it's all
A devilish conspiracy.

The river, noting your sylph-

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Like figure, thought you was a water-
Nymph he fancied for himself, and so
He turned your coach right over. Good
Thing I was near, otherwise

You'd be a gonner now, for sure.

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FEDERICO.
Madam, how can I offer such
Respect as is appropriate
To your person, unless I know
Who I am speaking to?

CASANDRA.
There is

No reason, sir, why you should not.

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I am Casandra, daughter of
The Duke of Mantua, and soon
To be the Duchess of Ferrara.

FEDERICO.
My lady! Why are you alone?

CASANDRA. But I am not. To travel on my own

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Would be too dangerous. Back there
You'll find the Marquis of Gonzaga.
I simply wished to spend the afternoon
Alone and took the path which brought

Me to the river-bank. The trees

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Seemed thicker there, the air so cool,
But Fortune chose to play a trick
On me; the coach sank deep in mud,
And, unlike Fortune's wheel,* refused

To move. But tell me who you are, sir.

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I fancy your appearance
Is proof of true nobility,
As well as witness to your bravery.

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