ACT I
SCENE I
A luxurious, newly decorated hall in an ancient feudal castle. The walls are adorned with frescoes and hung with paintings blackened with age. Here and there are weapons and statues. The whole room, though brilliant with gold and with bright-coloured mosaics, is delicately tinted by light falling through coloured glass. At the left and in the rear are three semi-Gothic windows half concealed by heavy, gold-embroidered curtains. The rear wall, turning back at a right angle at the centre of the stage, recedes to a row of paired columns which support the upper part of the building. Behind these columns is a spacious, brightly illuminated entrance-hall. Massive double entrance-doors are seen at the right. Directly in front of the spectator, at the point where the rear wall begins to recede, a broad marble staircase with a massive sculptured balustrade ascends to the height of the columns, then, turning to the right, leads to other apartments. The wall above the columns is pierced by several small windows of coloured glass through which comes a peculiar and brilliant light.
The final, hasty preparations are going on for a masquerade ball. The room is flooded with light from many chandeliers and from strikingly beautiful candelabra and sconces. Several servants in rich but uniform livery hurry from place to place, lighting fresh candles or moving back the heavy armchairs to give room for the dancers. Every now and then certain of them, as if recalling something left undone, rush up-stairs or to the entry doors, the firm, business-like voice of the overseer, Signor Petruccio, redoubling their haste and their emulation. Both the overseer and the servants are in high spirits, and the latter, as they come and go, exchange lively jests and quick, fleeting smiles. The gayest of all, however, is young Lorenzo, the reigning Duke of Spadaro. Well formed, refined of feature, a little languid in manner, but courteous and kindly toward every one, he lightly moves about the hall, all aglow with the joy of anticipation, giving orders, jesting, and urging on the servants, now with cheering words and now with gestures of feigned anger. As he goes he casts happy smiles upon his young wife, the beautiful Donna Francesca, who responds with tender and loving glances. Several ladies and gentlemen, forming the suite of the Duke and Duchess, are also busily engaged, some, like the young Duke, joyfully and eagerly preparing for the reception of the expected guests, others, under cover of the happy confusion, exchanging fond glances, slyly pressing one another’s hands, and whispering boldly and quickly into blushing ears. In an upper room somewhere musicians are making ready for the ball, and fragments of musical airs are heard. Suddenly some one begins to sing in a rich baritone, but the song quickly passes over into laughter. Apparently, it is jolly there, too.
On a rug before a blazing fire the Duke’s dog, a huge Saint Bernard, dozes in an attitude of luxurious abandon. Seated near the foot of the stairway, Ecco, the Duke’s jester, imitates the Duke’s voice and by his orders causes laughable confusion.
Petruccio. Keep up that speed a little longer, Mario, and you’ll be your own grandfather. Hurry, man, hurry!
Mario. Why, Signor Petruccio, the Duke’s best horse doesn’t get over the ground as fast as I do.
A Servant. When the flies sting.
Another Servant. Or the whip flicks.
Petruccio. Come! lively, there, lively!
Lorenzo. This way! More candles here! Don’t you see how dark this corner is? No darkness, Signor Petruccio, no darkness!
A Gentleman. [To a lady] There! They have driven us out of our last refuge. But I shall kiss you yet.
The Lady. In the dark it will be hard to find me.
The Gentleman. In the dark I shall spread my arms wide and embrace the whole night.
Another Gentleman. You will make a rich haul, Signor Silvio.
Ecco. [Calling out] Mario! Carlo! Pietro! Quick! Hold a candle under this gentleman’s nose. The darkness frightens him out of his wits.
Francesca. [To the Duke, affectionately] My dear! my love! my divinity! How charming your new costume is! You are like a shaft of sunlight flung through the lofty window of our cathedral. Your divine beauty fills me with adoration.
Lorenzo. You are a delicate blossom, Francesca. You are a delicate blossom, and the sun, when it kisses you, is overbold. [He kisses her hand with profound respect and tenderness, but suddenly, in mock terror, calls to the overseer] But the tower, Petruccio, the tower! If you have forgotten to illuminate the tower I will have you impaled like an unbaptised Turk.
Petruccio. The tower is illuminated, sir.
Lorenzo. Illuminated? How dare you say so? It should blaze, it should sparkle, it should rise toward the dark heavens like a huge tongue of fire.
Ecco. Tut! Tut! Lorenzo. Don’t show your tongue to heaven or heaven will answer you with a fig.
Lorenzo. My dear little fellow, you mustn’t annoy me with your jokes. I am looking forward to a feast of light, and your barbed shafts wound me to the soul. No darkness, Ecco, no darkness!
Ecco. Then you must light up your wife’s tresses. They are too dark, Lorenzo, too dark. And put a torch in each of her eyes. They are too dark, Lorenzo, too dark.
Francesca. Wretch! Here are so many beautiful ladies—can’t one of you win the affections of this miserable jester?
First Lady. He’s a hunchback.
Second Lady. If he should try to kiss me, his nose would prick me like a sword.
Gentleman. Your heart, madam, would turn the edge of any sword.
Enter a gentleman, tall and thin as a pole, the image of Don Quixote. His moustaches droop and seem to be continually wet. He turns gloomily to the Duke.
Cristoforo. I have a shocking piece of news to impart to you, Signor.
Lorenzo. What is it? You alarm me, Signor Cristoforo.
Cristoforo. I have reason to believe, sir, that we shall run short of both Cyprian and Falernian. These gentlemen [pointing with his forefinger to the Duke’s attendants] drink wine as camels in the desert drink water.
One of the Suite. Signor Cristoforo, why are your moustaches always wet?
Cristoforo. [With dignity] It is my duty, sir, to test all the wines.
Lorenzo. [Cheerfully] My good friend, you exaggerate the danger. Our cellars are inexhaustible.
Cristoforo. [Insistently] They drink wine like camels. Your happy mood pleases me, Signor, but you take things too light-heartedly. When your sainted father and I set out to deliver the Holy Sepulchre——
Lorenzo. [Gently reproaching him] My dear old friend, you surely are not going to spoil, with your mumbling and grumbling, this delightful evening.
Cristoforo. [Good-naturedly] Well, well, my boy, don’t be angry. [Threateningly] Ho, there! Manucci! Filippo! After me!
[Exit.
Lorenzo. But the roadway, Signor Petruccio! Heaven punish you! The roadway! You have forgotten to illuminate the roadway, and our friends will not be able to find us.
Petruccio. The roadway is illuminated, Signor.
Lorenzo. Illuminated? Your tongue is like a jaded nag. When the spurs prick its flanks it can only switch its tail. The whole road must sparkle. It must blaze with lights like the road to paradise. Understand me, Sir Overseer. The shades of the cypresses should flee in terror to the mountains where sleep the dragons. Do you lack torches and helpers? Do you lack kegs of pitch?
Ecco. If pitch is lacking, Petruccio, you had better go borrow it in hell. Satan will lend it to you on your personal security.
One of the Servants. He would have fetched some thence before this but that he feared there would not be enough left to keep him warm.
Second Servant. Signor Petruccio is so chilly.
Petruccio. Lively, there, lively!
Francesca. [To the Duke] You forget me, Lorenzo. Though you light up everything, yet I, unless you smile upon me, am left in darkness. Do the masks interest you so much?
Lorenzo. So much, my dear, that I am dying with impatience. There will be flowers and serpents, Francesca. There will be flowers, and serpents among the flowers. There will be a dragon, Francesca. A dragon will come crawling to us, Francesca, and you will see real fire issuing from his jaws. It will be great fun. But don’t be afraid. It’s all in jest. It’s all just our friends, and we shall have a glorious laugh over it. Why don’t they come?
A Servant. [Hurrying in] I was watching from the tower, and I saw something moving along the road, Signor. It looks like a black serpent crawling among the cypresses.
Lorenzo. [Joyfully] They’re coming. They’re coming.
Another Servant. [Running in] I was watching from the tower, and I saw a dragon crawling toward us. I saw red fire gleaming from its eyes, and I was frightened, Signor.
Lorenzo. [Joyfully] They’re coming. They’re coming. Do you hear, Petruccio?
Petruccio. Everything is ready, Signor.
Third Servant. [Running in] There is shouting and commotion at the drawbridge, Signor. They are demanding admittance. I heard the clash of weapons, sir.
Lorenzo. [Angrily] What! The drawbridge not down? Is that the way to receive my guests, Petruccio? To-morrow I discharge you, if you——
Petruccio. Pardon me, sir. I will run. [Runs out.
Lorenzo. They have come! Smile, Francesca! They have come!
Ecco. [Laughs very loudly] Yes, let’s laugh, Lorenzo. We must limber up our jaws. [Yawns.
Lorenzo. But the musicians! Good Heavens! Where are the musicians? Has that dunce forgotten all my directions?
Francesca. Don’t be angry, my dear. The musicians are in readiness.
Lorenzo. But why are they not here?
Francesca. See, now, my love, you compel me to let out the secret. They intended to surprise you. The musicians also are to appear in masks.
Lorenzo. And I shall not recognise them? Oh, that is charming! And who planned this surprise? Ah, it was you, it was you, Signora. I can read it in your sly, smiling eyes. But the music! Surely they have not forgotten to learn the piece I composed for them. Oh, this fat rascal of a Petruccio! I shall certainly have to impale him.
Ecco. How indiscreet of you, Lorenzo! Petruccio will steal the stake and run away with it.
Lorenzo. Oh! Now I think of it, Ecco, just a word with you before they come. My dear fellow, you may mock me as much as you please; I understand your humour and I like it. But don’t, I beg of you, offend my guests. You must not be malicious, Ecco, even in sport. You have a tender heart, my little hunchback, and you are not ill-natured. Why, then, do you sting people with your jests? Laugh. Entertain my guests. Make yourself agreeable to the ladies—and here you may go far—but do not irritate any one. To-day is my day, Ecco.
A Servant. [Flinging open the doors] They are at the door, Signor.
Lorenzo. I’m coming. I’m coming. Call the musicians!
Commotion in the hall. Several Maskers appear. The costumes are such as are common at masquerades—harlequins, pierrots, Saracens, Turkish men and women, and animals and flowers. But all the faces are concealed under heavy, closely fitting masks. The Maskers enter in profound silence and respond to the Duke’s courteous greetings with silent bows.
Lorenzo. [Bowing low and courteously] I thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I am happy to greet you in my castle. Pardon the carelessness of my overseer in failing to lower the drawbridge and thus causing you some delay. I am greatly mortified, ladies and gentlemen.
A Masker. [In a muffled voice] We arrived just the same. We got in, did we not, gentlemen?
Second Masker. We got in.
Third Masker. We got in.
Strange, muffled laughter from behind the heavy masks.
Lorenzo. I am delighted to find you in such good spirits, ladies and gentlemen. From this moment my castle is yours.
A Masker. Yes, it is ours. It is ours.
The same strange, muffled laughter.
Lorenzo. [Looking about gaily] But I do not recognise any one. It is amazing, gentlemen, but I do not recognise a single soul. Is this you, Signor Basilio? It seems to me that I recognise your voice.
A Voice. Signor Basilio is not here.
Another Voice. Signor Basilio is not here. Signor Basilio is dead.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] That’s a good joke. Signor Basilio dead? Why, he is as much alive as I am.
A Masker. Are you, then, alive?
Lorenzo. [Impatiently, but with great courtesy] Let us leave Death in peace, gentlemen.
A Voice. Ask Death to leave you in peace. What need of peace has he?
Lorenzo. Who said that? Was it you, Signor Sandro? [Laughing] I recognise you, sir, by your melancholy. But cheer up, my gloomy friend. See how many lights there are, how many beautiful, living lights.
A Masker. Signor Sandro is not here. Signor Sandro is dead.
The same strange, muffled laughter. Other Maskers arrive.
Lorenzo. Yes, yes. Now I understand. [Laughing] All of us are dead. Signor Basilio is dead; Signor Sandro is dead; I am dead. Excellent! I congratulate you, gentlemen, on your extremely interesting jest. Still, I should like to know who you are— Ah, here come others! Greetings, my dear guests— What a strange costume! Why are you all in red, and what is the meaning of this hideous black snake that is twined about you? I trust it is not alive, Signora. If it were I should pity your poor heart into which it has so ruthlessly struck its fangs.
The Red Masker. [With a muffled laugh] Do you not recognise me, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. [Joyously] Is it you, Signora Emilia? But no, Signora Emilia is not so tall as you, and her voice is fuller and softer.
The Red Masker. I am your heart, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. Exquisite! I am sincerely delighted, my friends, that I invited you for this evening. You are so witty. However, you mistake, madam. This is not my heart. There is no serpent in my heart.
Another Masker. Is not this your heart, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. [Starting back, but controlling himself] You frighten me, sir, coming so unexpectedly from behind. What? This hairy black spider; this repulsive monster on thin, wavering legs; those dull, greedy, cruel eyes—this my heart? No, Signor, my heart is full of love and welcome. Within my heart all is as radiant as is this castle, which greets you so joyously, my strange guests.
The Spider. Lorenzo, Lorenzo, let us go and catch flies. In a spider-web in the tower yonder something has long been entangled and awaits you. Let us go, Lorenzo. Would you not like some fresh blood?
Lorenzo. [Laughing] In my castle there is no spider-web. In my tower there is none of that darkness which is necessary to such loathsome creatures as you, my strange guest. But who are you?
The Red Masker. Lorenzo, the serpent is restless. It is trying to sting me, Lorenzo. Oh, the pain, the terror of it! Stroke its head, Lorenzo. It has such a beautiful, smooth head, and you see it is not alive. Soothe it, Lorenzo.
Muffled laughter.
Lorenzo. [Falling in with the jest and cautiously stroking the serpent] When the devil tempts he takes the form of a serpent. But you, of course, are not the devil. You are only a mock serpent, only a mock serpent. [Hastily] But, gentlemen, is it not time to dance? The musicians, I presume, have long been waiting impatiently. Petruccio!
A Masker. [Approaching him] What does your Grace command?
Lorenzo. Pardon me, sir. I did not call to you. I was summoning my overseer. Petruccio!
The Masker. I am Petruccio.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] Oh, so it is you, you fat old rascal. You, too, have taken a notion to join the sport. And I didn’t recognise you. Well, that is very neat. Come, now, tell me— But where are you? Petruccio! Petruccio! Really, I shall have to impale this fat rascal. Hello, there, somebody! Manucci! Pietro!
First Masker. Did you call me, sir?
Second Masker. Did you call me, sir?
Lorenzo. [Perplexed] No, I did not call you. [Grasping the situation and laughing] Ah, yes, I see. My good fellows, how dare you mingle with the guests?
First Masker. They told us to.
Second Masker. They told us to.
Lorenzo. [Good-humouredly clapping one of the Maskers on the shoulder] Quite right. I was only fooling. Let us all be merry on this glorious night—But isn’t it odd that I do not recognise any one—positively not a soul—? Why, I’ve lost my servants again. Mario! Pietro—! Now, really, Signor, isn’t that strange? I have lost all my servants.
A Masker. [Turning to the others] Gentlemen, Lorenzo has mislaid his servants.
Loud laughter, the Maskers bowing with mock courtesy.
A Voice. But where is your suite, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. [Looking about and smiling] I see nothing but masks. Here’s an interesting situation, gentlemen. Mine being the only real face, I am the only person about whom there can be no mistake.
Renewed laughter.
A Voice. We are now your suite, Lorenzo.
Second Voice. We are now your suite, Duke. What are your instructions?
Laughter.
Lorenzo. [Very affably, but with dignity] It is delightful, gentlemen, to find you in such merry vein. I am overjoyed at your charming jest. But I should be deeply offended if you really took my servants’ place— Mario!
Other Maskers come up. On most of them the tight-fitting masks are replaced by painted faces. The women, however, as before, wear masks of coloured silk. The painted faces of the newcomers are hideous and revolting. Among them are corpses, cripples, and deformed persons. A grey, helpless creature with long legs moves about, frequently coughing and groaning. Seven humpbacked, wrinkled old women run in, in Indian file, capering joyfully and beating castanets.
Lorenzo. [Bowing courteously] I have pleasure, my dear guests, in welcoming you to my castle. From this moment it is entirely at your service. Ah, what a charming procession! Tell me, my beauties, where is your bridegroom, the devil?
First Old Woman. [Running up to Lorenzo] He is at our heels.
Second Old Woman. [Running up to Lorenzo] He is at our heels.
The Tall Grey Creature. [Bending down to the Duke and coughing] Why did you call me from my bed, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. [Lightly] And where is your bed, Signor?
The Tall Grey Creature. In your heart, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [Cheerfully] How they do slander my poor heart! I am pleased to— [Staggering back] What an amazing disguise, Signor! I actually took you for a corpse. Pray tell me the name of the talented artist who so skilfully altered your features.
The Masker. Death.
Lorenzo. Capital! But if you will permit me to say so, my dear guest, I am sure I recognise in your make-up the beloved features of my friend, Signor Sandro di Grada. Heavens, but you frightened me, my dear fellow! These masks, these curious masks! Do you know, I can’t make out at all who they are. Perhaps you can help me, Signor.
The Masker. It is dark, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. But I ordered an abundance of lights. We will have more of them. Petruccio! Petruccio!
The Masker. It is cold, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. Cold? Why, to me it seems as hot here as hell itself. However, if you are cold, my dear Sandro, pray come to the fire. Have a goblet of wine. Ho, there, Petruccio! Lazybones!
Several Maskers, alike in appearance, run up at the same time and answer almost in one voice.
The Maskers. At your service, Signor.
Lorenzo. [Not understanding] Petruccio!
The Maskers. [Together] At your service, Signor. At your service.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] Ah, I see! A moment ago I lost my servants, and now I have lost my overseer. [In comic terror] But here is Signor Sandro come shivering from his grave. Who will give him wine? Pardon me, Signor— Why, he is already gone! Poor fellow! He wants to warm himself. How tired I am! I should like a drop of wine myself. Signor Cristoforo! Has no one seen Signor Cristoforo?
A tall, thin Masker approaches.
The Masker. Your orders, sir?
Lorenzo. Is that you, my honest friend? I recognise you by your stature. Bring me some wine. This receiving of my guests has wearied me.
The Masker. Something is wrong with our wine, Lorenzo. It has turned as red as Satan’s blood, and it crazes the brain like the poison of a serpent. Do not drink it, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] What could happen to our fine old wine? You have tasted too much of it and your head is muddled.
The Masker. [Insistently] I have already seen several drunken guests, Lorenzo. If it is honest wine, why should they be drunk?
Lorenzo. Wine, you babbler, wine! [Drinks the wine, but at the first draught throws away the goblet] What is this you have given me? It seems as if the fires of hell were licking my throat and burning their way to my very heart. Cristoforo—! Where is he? Pardon me, gentlemen, but really something incomprehensible has happened to our wine— Ah, more maskers! I am glad to greet you in my castle, my dear guests.
While Lorenzo, weariedly bowing ever lower, greets the strange Maskers that are coming in, a subdued hum of conversation fills the hall.
First Masker. Whence do you come, Signor?
Second Masker. From the night. And you, Signor, if you please?
First Masker. I also am from the night.
They laugh. Two other Maskers converse.
First Masker. He has drunk all my blood. There is not one healthy, living spot left on my body. It is covered with blood and wounds.
Second Masker. He kills those whom he loves.
First Masker. You know, of course, what is to happen to-day.
They move away. Other Maskers converse.
Various Maskers:
—It was idle for Lorenzo to light up his castle so brilliantly. Did you notice as we rode along that something was moving in the shadows of the cypresses?
—I saw nothing but darkness.
—But are you not afraid of darkness?
—Why, I do not think there is anything in it for us to be afraid of. What can the darkness do to us? But are you not sorry for this insane Lorenzo?
—I don’t know. Something, I assure you, was moving there.
—See how happy Lorenzo is. Isn’t it delightful to have such a cheerful and nimble servant?
They laugh. The masked musicians take their places in the balcony. Ecco moves about among the legs of the dancers, trying to peer under their masks and arousing laughter by his unsuccessful attempts.
Ecco. Are you not from the swamps, Signor? It seems to me you are very like the ague which for two months shook me as a dog shakes a rabbit.
The Tall Grey Creature strikes a careless blow and Ecco falls.
Ecco. That’s a strange sort of joke! Here am I, the jester, on the verge of tears, while you, at whom I should laugh, are smiling. Oh! who pinched me? Was it you, Signora?
A Beautiful Masker. Yes, it was I, Ecco.
Ecco. I observe, Signora, that a hump on the breast deforms a character no less than a hump on the back.
The Beautiful Masker swiftly and silently strikes the jester a blow with her dagger. The glittering edge glides across his neck and the jester runs whimpering up the staircase and thence clambers out onto one of the marble projections. Laughter.
The musicians begin a wild melody in which are heard malicious laughter, cries of agony and despair, and some one’s low, sad plaining. The dance of the Maskers is also strange and wild.
Lorenzo. I am glad that you are merry, my friends. Though for my part I am a little weary— But what sort of music is this? Heavens! how wild it is and how it pierces one’s ears. Luigi, are you drunk or crazy? What are you playing there with your band of disguised brigands. Pardon me, my dear guests, this donkey Petruccio has spoiled everything.
A Masker in the Orchestra. We are playing what you gave us, sir.
Lorenzo. [Nettled] You lie, Luigi. Lorenzo could not compose such a hellish discord. I hear in it the wails of martyrs under merciless torture. I hear in it the laughter of Satan.
The Old Women. [Running up with castanets] The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom is coming.
Lorenzo. Pardon me, my charming jesters, but I must first admonish this bold-faced rascal, Luigi.
A Masker in the Orchestra. Luigi is not here, Signor.
Lorenzo. Then who is speaking? Is that you, Stampa?
The Masker. No, it is another. We are playing only what you gave us, Signor.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] Ah, I see. The tones are masked. Capital! Do you hear, ladies and gentlemen? To-day the very tones are masked. Really, I was not aware that tones could put on such repulsive masks. Isn’t it droll?
A Voice. And you had never learned that, Lorenzo? How little you know.
Another Voice. It’s certainly your own music, Duke.
A Third Voice. But where are you yourself, Lorenzo?
Laughter. The music continues. The old women with the castanets run forward.
The Old Women. The bridegroom is coming. The bridegroom. The bridegroom is coming.
Lorenzo. [Bowing low] I crave your pardon, my dear sir, for not greeting you as I should, but there are so many persons here and I recognise no one of them—positively not one. Just conceive of it—I do not even recognise my own music. It’s extremely amusing, isn’t it?
A Masker. But do you recognise yourself, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. Myself? [Laughing] To be sure. You see that I wear no mask— But what is this?
A strange procession moves slowly past the Duke. A young, proud, and beautiful queen is led in by a half-drunken groom, who embraces her. Before them walks a peasant nurse carrying in her arms a misshapen infant, half animal, half man.
Lorenzo. [In great agitation] What is the meaning of this, Signors? Even under the disguise of masks such a union seems to me unseemly and repulsive. And what is this that is borne before them? What a disgusting mask!
A Masker. The groom had intercourse with the queen and this is their charming son. Make way for the queen’s son!
The Groom. [Drunkenly] Hey there! Knights! Crusaders! Out of the way! Drive them off, my queen, or they will harm our precious son.
Laughter.
Voices. Way for the queen’s son!
Lorenzo. [Turning away much agitated] I am not at all pleased with this jest, Signors— Hello, Ecco, you rascally jester, why have you climbed up there? Why are you not entertaining the company with your pleasantries?
Ecco. [Weeping] I am afraid of your guests, Lorenzo. They have hurt me. Send them away, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [With rising anger] Who has dared to affront you? It cannot be. My honoured guests are too kind and courteous to injure any one. It is more likely that you, you rascal, having given offence by your malicious wit, are now shielding yourself from punishment.
Ecco. [Weeping] Your guests are fine people, Lorenzo. My hump is swimming in blood. It is like a hilly island in the sea. Haven’t you a little costume for me, Lorenzo? I, too, wish to put on a mask.
Lorenzo. Come here.
The jester, glancing about timorously, comes down to Lorenzo.
Ecco. What do you wish? Speak quickly or I will run away. I am all in a tremble.
Lorenzo. I also am somewhat fearful, my dear Ecco. I don’t quite understand what is going on. Who are these persons? I don’t recognise one of them, and I think there are more than I invited. It’s strange. Can’t you recognise anybody, Ecco? Their faces, to be sure, are covered, but you are so good at recalling their bearing, voice, and figure. You, perhaps, have recognised some one.
Ecco. Not a soul. Let me go, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [Sadly] Do you, then, desert me, my dear Ecco?
Ecco. I am going to put on a mask.
Lorenzo. Very well, my little hunchback. Go, if you are frightened. But send Donna Francesca to me. Do you know where she is?
Ecco. She is up-stairs. Send them away, Lorenzo. I will run to summon her. [He goes up-stairs.
Lorenzo. [Addressing a newly arrived and very beautiful Masker] Greetings, Signora. You are as entrancing as a vision. You are as delicate as a silvery moonbeam, and I reverently bend my knee before you. [He sinks on one knee and respectfully kisses her hand, then rises] I see only the graceful outline of your figure and your little foot, but permit me, my divinity, to be so bold as to look into your eyes. How they shine! Even through the meshes of this black and hateful mask I see how beautiful they are. Who are you, Signora? I do not know you.
The Masker. I am your falsehoods, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [Laughing] Can a lie, then, be as beautiful as you are, Signora? But you mistake. There are no lies in me. I hate a lie, my lady. If you knew Lorenzo’s thoughts, his clear, pure thoughts—if you knew his soul, which sings in the heavens as the lark sings in spring above the flooding Arno— [Frightened] Ah, what’s this?
Something formless and shapeless, with many arms and legs, creeps up. It speaks with many voices.
The Thing. We are your thoughts, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. A bold jest! Still, you are my guests. I invited you——
The Thing. We are your overlords, Lorenzo. This castle is ours.
Lorenzo. [Clasping his head] Oh, this horrible music! It is enough to drive one mad. Luigi, or somebody there—I do not recognise any one—I beg of you, I command you—play what I gave you. Unmask the tones. Don’t you remember how beautiful the melody was that I composed? A little sad it was, gentlemen, I confess. In truth, I often yield myself to a tender and languorous melancholy. But it was so full of harmony, so pure, so pellucid. If, perchance, you have forgotten it, Luigi, listen—I will recall it to you. [He begins singing a lovely melody. After the first two measures, however, he takes up the air that the musicians are playing and breaks off in alarm] How absurd! You put me out, gentlemen. My head is somewhat dizzy. Really, something was wrong with the wine. How absurd, gentlemen! My brain seems to have turned to melted lead.
Loud laughter.
A Voice. Why did you break off, Lorenzo?
Second Voice. Lorenzo is drunk. Lorenzo, Duke of Spadaro, is drunk.
Laughter.
Second Voice. We were ready to hear you, Lorenzo; we know what a great artist you are.
Third Voice. Sing, Lorenzo; we insist.
Lorenzo. [With dignity] My friends— [Frightened] Ah, who are you? Who touches me on the shoulder? Madam, the guests are all assembled, and you are an intruder. I do not know you.
A Beautiful Masker. It is I, my love.
Lorenzo. Pardon me, madam, but only my wife, Donna Francesca, may address me thus.
The Masker. [Laughing softly] Do you not know me, Lorenzo?
Lorenzo. Something about you, my charming masker, reminds me of my wife. But this black mask— Permit me to look into your eyes. Out of a million women I should know my beloved by her eyes. [He gazes into her eyes, then laughs joyfully] Francesca, my love, how you frightened me! Why are you masked? You know— [He leads her to one side and, pressing her tightly to him, speaks almost in a whisper] My dear, I am so weary, and my heart pains me as if a serpent were stinging it. My thoughts are in confusion. You have seen that frightful monster—look! Over yonder! It’s in the corner now. It says it is my thoughts. But, Francesca, my dear, my beloved, that is not true, is it?
The Masker. It is only a mask, Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. [Doubtfully] Do you really think so, Signora? And will they go, and shall we be left alone?
The Masker. Yes, we shall be left alone. [Passionately] And I shall hold you so tightly, Lorenzo, that you will think I have never embraced you before.
Lorenzo. [Absently] Yes? I am very happy, my lady— But these masks—this horrible Signor Sandro is painted so like a corpse as to deceive any grave-digger. It seemed to me that I saw worms. I would not put on so frightful, so revolting a mask even in jest.
The Masker. [Frightened] Signor Sandro? Why, Signor Sandro is really dead. My dear, you have made a mistake.
Lorenzo. [Slowly] Why do you mock at me, Francesca? If he were dead I should have had notice of his death.
The Masker. And so you did, Lorenzo. You have forgotten, and you are weary. Your hands are cold. I must kiss your hand, my love, even though they are watching us.
She kisses his hand. Another beautiful Masker approaches from behind and speaks in a loud voice.
The Second Masker. Lorenzo, did you send for me?
Lorenzo. [Horrified] Francesca’s voice!
The Second Masker. Ecco said that you wished to see me.
Lorenzo. Ecco? [Slowly pushing away the Masker whom he had embraced and looking at her in horror] But who are you, Signora? And how dared you deceive me? I have done you honour—I have embraced you. [He pushes her away gently] Leave me.
The First Masker. [Wringing her hands] Lorenzo! Lorenzo! Would you drive me away? What ails you, Lorenzo?
The Second Masker. [Impatiently] Did you send for me, Lorenzo? Who is this lady who presumes to speak to you so affectionately?
Lorenzo. Francesca! Francesca! [In perplexity he looks now at one and now at the other. Approaching the Second Masker and knitting his brows in an expression of horrified inquiry, he gazes into her eyes] Your eyes, your eyes—show me your eyes. Yes, it is you, Francesca. It is your soft and tender gaze. It is your beautiful soul. Give me your hand. [To the First Masker, with contempt] And you, madam, leave me.
The Second Masker. [Pressing close to the Duke] Lorenzo, your maskers frighten me. Our castle is overrun with monsters. I saw Signor Sandro. He is horrible.
Lorenzo. [Clasping his head] Signor Sandro? Why, he is dead. You told me so yourself.