The Lamp and the Bell | Page 8

like to see it, mother?
OCT. Nay, not now, child. Some other time.
BEA. Father, we'll end the game Tomorrow; and do you not be
scheming at it All night!
LOR. Nay, I will not unfold the chart.
BEA. But you remember well enough without; Promise me not to think
of it.
LOR. I' faith, You are a desperate woman. Ay, I promise.
[Exeunt Bianca and Beatrice. Octavia seats herself. Pause.]
OCT. I tell you, as I've told you often before, Lorenzo, 'tis not good for
two young girls To be so much together!
LOR. As you say, Octavia. For myself, I must confess It seems a
natural thing, enough, that youth Should seek out youth. And if they are
better pleased Talking together than listening to us, I find it not
unnatural. What have we To say to children?--They are as different
From older folk as fairies are from them.
OCT. "Talking together," Lorenzo! What have they To talk about, save
things they might much better Leave undiscussed?--you know what I
mean,--lovers, And marriage, and all that--if that is all! One never
knows--it is impossible To hear what they are saying; they either speak
In whispers, or burst out in fits of laughter At some incredible nonsense.
There is nothing So silly as young girls at just that age.-- At just
Bianca's age, that is to say. As for the other,--as for Beatrice, She's
older than Bianca, and I'll not have her Putting ideas into my daughter's
head!

LOR. Fear not, my love. Your daughter's head will doubtless, In its
good time, put up its pretty hair, Chatter, fall dumb, go moping in the
rain, Be turned by flattery, be bowed with weeping, Grow grey, and
shake with palsy over a staff,-- All this, my love, as empty of ideas As
even the fondest mother's heart could wish.
OCT. You mock me, sir?
LOR. I am but musing aloud, As is my fashion.--And indeed, my dear,
What is the harm in lovers-and-all-that That virtuous maidens may not
pass the time With pretty tales about them?--After all, Were it not for
the years of looking forward to it And looking back upon it, love would
be Only the commonest bird-song in the hedge,-- And men would have
more time to think,--and less To think about.
OCT. That may be. But young girls Should not be left alone too much
together. They grow too much attached. They grow to feel They cannot
breathe apart. It is unhealthy.
LOR. It may be true. But as for me, whom youth Abandoned long ago,
I look on youth As something fresh and sweet, like a young green tree,
Though the wind bend it double.--'Tis you, 'tis I, 'Tis middle age the
fungus settles on.
OCT. Your head is full of images. You have No answers. I shall do as I
spoke of doing, And separate them for a little while, Six months,
maybe a year. I shall send Bianca Away within a fortnight. That will
cure them. I know. I know. Such friendships do not last.
CURTAIN

ACT II
Scene 1--Four months later.
[Scene: A garden, near the palace at Fiori. The young Duke Guido is
discovered standing with one foot resting on a garden-bench, looking

off, lost in thought. Enter Giovanni.]
GIO. That is a merry face you wear, my Guido! Now that the young
King Mario visits the court And walks all morning in the woods with
the Princess, Or gives her fencing lessons,--upon my word, You are as
gay as a gallows!
GUI. She is never Alone with him. Laura--Carlotta--someone Is always
there.
GIO. Ah--ah--but even so, No matter who is there, I tell you, lovers Are
always alone!
GUI. Why do you say these things, Giovanni?
GIO. Because I love you, you lean wolf, And love to watch you snuff
the air. My friend, There was a time I thought it all ambition With you,
a secret itching to be king-- And not so secret, either--an open plot To
marry a girl who will be Queen some morning. But now at times I
wonder. You have a look As of a man that's nightly gnawed by rats,
The very visage of a man in love. Is it not so?
GUI. I do not know, Giovanni. I know I have a passion in my stomach
So bitter I can taste it on my tongue. She hates me. And her hatred
draws me to her As the moon draws the tide.
GIO. You are like a cat-- There never was a woman yet that feared you
And shunned you, but you leapt upon her shoulder! Well, I'll be off.
The prettiest girl in Fiori,-- Unless it be Her Highness, waits for me By
a fountain. All day long she sells blue plums, And