Dramatic Technique Part 48

One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to't.

They say 'tis very soveraigne; 'twas my wedding-ring, And I did vow never to part with it, But to my second husband.

_Ant._ You have parted with it now.

_Duch._ Yes, to helpe your eye-sight.

_Ant._ You have made me starke blind.

_Duch._ How?

_Ant._ There is a sawcy and ambitious divell Is dauncing in this circle.

_Duch._ Remoove him.

_Ant._ How?

_Duch._ There needs small conjuration, when your finger May doe it: thus, is it fit?

_Ant._ What sayd you? (_He kneeles._)

_Duch._ Sir, This goodly roofe of yours is too low built; I cannot stand upright in't, nor discourse, Without I raise it higher: raise yourselfe, Or if you please, my hand to help you: so.

_Ant._ Ambition, madam, is a great man's madnes, That is not kept in chaines and close-pentoomes, But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt With the wild noyce of pratling visitants, Which makes it lunatique, beyond all cure.

Conceive not I am so stupid but I ayme Whereto your favours tend: but he's a foole That (being a cold) would thrust his hands i' th' fire To warme them.

_Duch._ So, now the ground's broake, You may discover what a wealthy mine I make you lord of.

_Ant._ Oh my unworthiness!

_Duch._ You were ill to sell your selfe: This darkning of your worth is not like that Which trades-men use i' th' city; their false lightes Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you, If you will know where breathes a compleat man (I speake it without flattery), turne your eyes, And progresse through your selfe.

_Ant._ Were there nor heaven, nor h.e.l.l, I should be honest: I have long serv'd vertue, And nev'r tane wages of her.

_Duch._ Now she paies it.

The misery of us that are borne great, We are forc'd to woe, because none dare woe us: And as a tyrant doubles with his words, And fearefully equivocates, so we Are forc'd to expresse our violent pa.s.sions In ridles and in dreames, and leave the path Of simple vertue, which was never made To seeme the thing it is not. Goe, go brag You have left me heartlesse; mine is in your bosom: I hope 'twill multiply love there. You doe tremble: Make not your heart so dead a peece of flesh, To feare, more then to love me. Sir, be confident, What is't distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir; 'Tis not the figure cut in allablaster Kneeles at my husbands tombe. Awake, awake, man, I do here put off all vaine ceremony, And onely doe appeare to you a yong widow That claimes you for her husband, and like a widow, I use but halfe a blush in't.

_Ant._ Truth speake for me, I will remaine the constant sanctuary Of your good name.[55]

This is Browning's version:

_d.u.c.h.ess._ Say what you did through her, and she through you-- The praises of her beauty afterward!

Will you?

_Valence._ I dare not.

_Duch._ Dare not?

_Val._ She I love Suspects not such a love in me.

_Duch._ You jest.

_Val._ The lady is above me and away.

Not only the brave form, and the bright mind, And the great heart combine to press me low-- But all the world calls rank divides us.

_Duch._ Rank!

Now grant me patience! Here's a man declares Oracularly in another's case-- Sees the true value and the false, for them-- Nay, bids them see it, and they straight do see.

You called my court's love worthless--so it turned: I threw away as dross my heap of wealth, And here you stickle for a piece or two!

First--has she seen you?

_Val._ Yes.

_Duch._ She loves you, then.

_Val._ One flash of hope burst; then succeeded night: And all's at darkest now. Impossible!

_Duch._ We'll try: you are--so to speak--my subject yet?

_Val._ As ever--to the death.

_Duch._ Obey me, then!

_Val._ I must.

_Duch._ Approach her, and ... no! first of all Get more a.s.surance. "My instructress," say, "Was great, descended from a line of kings, "And even fair"--(wait why I say this folly)-- "She said, of all men, none for eloquence, "Courage, and (what cast even these to shade) "The heart they sprung from,--none deserved like him "Who saved her at her need: if she said this, "Why should not one I love, say?"

_Val._ Heaven--this hope-- Oh, lady, you are filling me with fire!

_Duch._ Say this!--nor think I bid you cast aside One touch of all the awe and reverence; Nay, make her proud for once to heart's content That all this wealth of heart and soul's her own!

Think you are all of this,--and, thinking it, ... (Obey!)

_Val._ I cannot choose.

_Duch._ Then, kneel to her!

(_Valence sinks on his knee._) I dream!

_Val._ Have mercy! yours, unto the death,-- I have obeyed. Despise, and let me die!

_Duch._ Alas, sir, is it to be ever thus?

Even with you as with the world? I know This morning's service was no vulgar deed Whose motive, once it dares avow itself, Explains all done and infinitely more, So, takes the shelter of a n.o.bler cause.

Your service names its true source,--loyalty!

The rest's unsaid again. The d.u.c.h.ess bids you, Rise, sir! The Prince's words were in debate.

_Val._ (_Rising._) Rise? Truth, as ever, lady, comes from you!

I should rise--I who spoke for Cleves, can speak For Man--yet tremble now, who stood firm then.

I laughed--for 'twas past tears--that Cleves should starve With all hearts beating loud the infamy, And no tongue daring trust as much to air: Yet here, where all hearts speak, shall I be mute?

Oh, lady, for your sake look on me!

On all I am, and have, and do--heart, brain, Body and soul,--this Valence and his gifts!

I was proud once: I saw you, and then sank, So that each, magnified a thousand times, Were nothing to you--but such nothingness, Would a crown gild it, or a sceptre prop, A treasure speed, a laurel-wreath enhance?

What is my own desert? But should your love Have ... there's no language helps here ... singled me,-- Then--oh, that wild word "then!"--be just to love, In generosity its attribute!