The Dramatic Works of G. E. Lessing Part 70

ORSINA.

Lunatic? That, then, was the secret which he told you of me. Well, well. It is perhaps not one of his greatest falsehoods. I feel that I am something like one; and believe me, sir, they who, under certain circ.u.mstances, do not lose their intellect, have none to lose.

ODOARDO.

What must I think?

ORSINA.

Treat me not with contempt, old man. You possess strong sense. I know it by your resolute and reverend mien. You also possess sound judgment, yet I need but speak one word, and both these qualities are fled for ever.

ODOARDO.

Oh, Madam, they will have fled before you speak that word, unless you p.r.o.nounce it soon. Speak, I conjure you; or it is not true that you are one of that good cla.s.s of lunatics who claim our pity and respect; you are naught else than a common fool. You cannot have what you never possessed.

ORSINA.

Mark my words, then. What do you know, who fancy that you know enough?

That Appiani is wounded? Wounded only? He is dead.

ODOARDO.

Dead? Dead? Woman, you abide not by your promise. You said you would rob me of my reason, but you break my heart.

ORSINA.

Thus much by the way. Now, let me proceed. The bridegroom is dead, and the bride, your daughter, worse than dead.

ODOARDO.

Worse? Worse than dead? Say that she too is dead--for I know but one thing worse.

ORSINA.

She is not dead; no, good father, she is alive, and will now just begin to live indeed; the finest, merriest fool's paradise of a life--as long as it lasts.

ODOARDO.

Say the word, Madam! The single word, which is to deprive me of my reason! Out with it! Distil not thus your poison drop by drop. That single word at once!

ORSINA.

You yourself shall put the letters of it together. This morning the Prince spoke to your daughter at church; this afternoon he has her at his----his summer-palace.

ODOARDO.

Spoke to her at church? The Prince to my daughter?

ORSINA.

With such familiarity and such fervour. Their agreement was about no trifling matter; and if they did agree, all the better: all the better if your daughter made this her voluntary asylum. You understand--and in that case this is no forcible seduction, but only a trifling--trifling a.s.sa.s.sination.

ODOARDO.

Calumny! Infamous calumny! I know my daughter. If there be murder here, there is seduction also, (_Looks wildly round, stamping and foaming_.) Now, Claudia! Now, fond mother! Have we not lived to see a day of joy?

Oh, the gracious Prince! Oh, the mighty honour!

ORSINA (_aside_).

Have I roused thee, old man?

ODOARDO.

Here I stand before the robber's cave. (_Throws his coat back on both sides, and perceives he has no weapon_.) 'Tis a marvel that, in my haste, I have not forgotten my hands too. (_Feeling in all his pockets_.) Nothing, nothing.

ORSINA.

Ha! I understand, and can a.s.sist you. I have brought one. (_Produces a dagger_.) There! Take it, take it quickly, ere any one observes us. I have something else, too--poison--but that is for women, not for men.

Take this (_forcing the dagger upon him_), take it.

ODOARDO.

I thank thee. Dear child, whosoever again a.s.serts thou art a lunatic, he shall answer it to me.

ORSINA.

Conceal it, instantly. (Odoardo _hides the dagger_.) The opportunity for using it is denied to me. You will not fail to find one, and you will seize the first that comes, if you are a man. I am but a woman, yet I came hither resolute. We, old man, can trust each other, for we are both injured, and by the same seducer. Oh, if you knew how preposterously, how inexpressibly, how incomprehensibly, I have been injured by him, you would almost forget his conduct towards yourself.

Do you know me? I am Orsina, the deluded, forsaken Orsina--perhaps forsaken only for your daughter. But how is she to blame? Soon she also will be forsaken; then another, another, and another. Ha! (_As if in rapture_) What a celestial thought! When all who have been victims of his arts shall form a band, and we shall be converted into Maenads, into furies; what transport will it be to tear him piecemeal, limb from limb, to wallow through his entrails, and wrench from its seat the traitor's heart--that heart which he promised to bestow on each, and gave to none. Ha! that indeed will be a glorious revelry!

Scene VIII.

Claudia, Odoardo, Orsina.

_Enter_ Claudia.

CLAUDIA (_looks round, and as soon as she espies her husband, runs towards him_.)

I was right. Our protector, our deliverer! Are you really here? Do I indeed behold you, Odoardo? From their whisper and their manner I knew it was the case. What shall I say to you, if you are still ignorant?

What shall I say to you if you already know everything? But we are innocent. I am innocent. Your daughter is innocent. Innocent; wholly innocent.

ODOARDO (_who, on seeing his wife, has endeavoured to compose himself_).

'Tis well. Be calm, and answer me.--(_To_ Orsina)--Not that I doubt your information, Madam. Is the Count dead?

CLAUDIA.

He is.