MAR. Oh, Beatrice!

What can I say to you?

BEA. Nay, but indeed.

Say nothing. All is said. I need no words To tell me you have been troubled in your heart, Thinking of me.

MAR. What can I say to you!

BEA. I tell you, my dear friend, you must forget This thing that makes you sad. I have forgotten, In seeing her so happy, that ever I wished For happiness myself. Indeed, indeed, I am much happier in her happiness Than if it were my own; 'tis doubly dear, I feel it in myself, yet all the time I know it to be hers, and am twice glad.

MAR. I could be on my knees to you a lifetime, Nor pay you half the homage is your due.

BEA. Pay me no homage, Mario,--but if it be I have your friendship, I shall treasure it.

MAR. That you will have always.

BEA. Then you will promise me Never to let her know. I never told her How it was with us, or that I cherished you More than another. It was on my tongue to tell her The moment she returned, but she had seen you Already on the bridge as she went by, And had leaned out to look at you, it seems, And you were looking at her,--and the first words She said, after she kissed me, were, "Oh, sister, I have looked at last by daylight on the man I see in my dreams!"

MAR. [Tenderly.] Did she say that?

BEA. [Drily.] Ay, that Was what she said.--By which I knew, you see, My dream was over,--it could not but be you.

So that I said no word, but my quick blood Went suddenly quiet in my veins, and I felt Years older than Bianca. I drew her head Down to my shoulder, that she might not see my face, And she spoke on, and on. You must not tell her, Even when you both are old, and there is nothing To do but to remember. She would be withered With pity for me. She holds me very dear.

MAR. I promise it, Rose-Red. And oh, believe me, I said no word to you last year that is not As true today! I hold you still the n.o.blest Of women, and the bravest. I have not changed.

Only last year I did not know I could love As I love now. Her gentleness has crept so Into my heart, it never will be out.

That she should turn to me and cling to me And let me shelter her, is the great wonder Of the world. You stand alone. You need no shelter, Rose-Red.

BEA. It may be so.

MAR. Will you forgive me?

BEA. I had not thought of that. If it will please you, Ay, surely.--And now, the reason for my coming: I have a message for you, of such vast import She could not trust it to a liv'ried page, Or even a courier. She bids me tell you She loves you still, although you have been parted Since four o'clock.

MAR. [Happily.] Did she say that?

BEA. Ay, Mario.

I must return to her. It is not long now Till she will leave me.

MAR. She will never leave you, She tells me, in her heart.

BEA. [Happily.] Did she say that?

MAR. Ay, that she did, and I was jealous of you One moment, till I called myself a fool.

BEA. Nay, Mario, she does not take from you To give to me; and I am most content She told you that. I will go now. Farewell, Mario!

MAR. Nay, we shall meet again, Beatrice!

Scene 4

[The ball-room of the palace at Fiori, raised place in back, surmounted by two big chairs, for Lorenzo and Octavia to sit while the dance goes on. Dais on one side, well down stage, in full sight of the audience, for Mario and Bianca. As the curtain rises the stage is empty except for Fidelio, who sits forlornly on the bottom steps of the raised place in the back of the stage, his lute across his knees, his head bowed upon it. Sound of laughter and conversation, possibly rattling of dishes, off stage, evidently a feast going on.]

LAU. [Off stage.] Be still, or I will heave a plate at you!

LUIGI. [Off stage.] Nay, gentle Laura, heave not the wedding-crockery, At the wedding-guest! Behold me on my knees To tell the world I love you like a fool!

LAU. Get up, you oaf! Or here's a platter of gravy Will add the motley to your folly!

LUIGI. Hold her, Some piteous fop, that liketh not to see Fine linen smeared with goose! Oh, gracious Laura, I never have seen a child sucking an orange But I wished an orange, too. This wedding irks me Because 'tis not mine own. Shall we be married Tuesday or Wednesday?

LAU. Are you in earnest, Luigi?

LUIGI. Ay, that I am, if never I was before.

LAU. La, I am lost! I am a married woman!

Water!--Nay, wine will do! On Wednesday, then.

I'll have it as far off as possible.

[Enter from banquet-room Guido, Giovanni and Raffaele.]

GIO. Well met, Fidelio! Give us a song!

FID. Not I!

GUI. Why, is this? You, that are dripping with song Weekdays, are dry of music for a wedding?

FID. I have a headache. Go and sit in a tree, And make your own songs.

RAF. Nay, Fidelio.

String the sweet strings, man!

GIO. Strike the pretty strings!

GUI. Give us the silver strings!

FID. Nay then, I will that!

[He tears the strings off the lute and throws them in Guido's face.]

Here be the strings, my merry gentlemen!

Do you amuse yourselves with tying knots in them And hanging one another!--I have a headache.

[He runs off, sobbing.]

RAF. What ails him, think you?

GIO. Troth, I have no notion.

[Enter Nurse.]