SCENE 5
(enter ARIBERTO.)
ARIBERTO (To himself, on the threshold.) They are laughing—a good sign! (MARCELLO goes to meet him.) Well?
MARCELLO (Aside to ARIBERTO.) It's done!
ARIBERTO (Aside to MARCELLO.) You have reached an understanding?
MARCELLO Of course!
ARIBERTO Good lad! I'm proud of you! (To BEATRICE.) Well, then?
BEATRICE I must speak with you privately!
ARIBERTO (Believing to understand.) Ah! Quite right—after an interview with the son, it is only natural you should wish one with his father. (A small smile to MARCELLO.) Marcello, you may leave us for moment.
MARCELLO (Glad to go.) Very well.
ARIBERTO Wait! First—come here. (Affectionately.) You are a good son. I feel the need to embrace you! (Extends his arms.)
MARCELLO (Drawing back.) Later, Father! If we should begin straightaway, Beatrice may laugh!
ARIBERTO These blessed men of the sea! That is how they are—bears on the surgace, lambs underneath. (MARCELLO makes to go.) What? You would go, without even— (Motions meaningfully to BEATRICE.) Come now, I believe even she—
MARCELLO (Moves to embrace her.) With all my heart!
BEATRICE (Pulling away.) That is enough for today.
MARCELLO You see, she does not want to. As for me—
ARIBERTO Be off with you; if she says 'enough', then that is enough! Do not insist.
MARCELLO I am not insisting. But you have seen for yourself that she does not want to. (Aside to ARIBERTO.) I've done my part—now for you to do yours! (To himself as he exits.) If you can pull it off—bravo! (Exits.)
SCENE 6
ARIBERTO (Sits near BEATRICE and takes her hands affectionately.) So—we are alone, my dear child. I believe I can guess what it is you wish to tell me! Oh, if you only knew the weight which has been lifted from my heart!
BEATRICE (Placing herself directly face to face with him.) Clever Uncle—very clever, indeed! This is going too far!
ARIBERTO What do you mean? What is wrong?
BEATRICE (Reproachfully.) I shall not enter a suit against you—
ARIBERTO (Surprised.) A suit?
BEATRICE No, I shall not; for I should like to believe that if you wished to deceive me, it was for a good cause. But—
ARIBERTO But what? (Believes he has guessed.) Ah, I understand! Marcello has blurted out to you that he arrived last night, and that I—
BEATRICE Last night? This too? No, he did not tell me that. But he has told me ... other things.
ARIBERTO (Beginning to feel uneasy.) What is all this business? (As before.) Ah—now I have it! Before tying the knot, your betrothed naturally wished to make a general confession to you.
BEATRICE Precisely!
ARIBERTO (To himself.) He should have kept it to himself! (Aloud.) He has been an upright young man—it is to be commended. (Jokingly.) Puhh! It really is no great matter. I suppose he spoke of certain love letters he should burn—a lock of hair to toss out the window? Mere bygones; things of the past! Do not take them seriously. The gentleman on the verge of taking a wife may liken himself, more or less, to the painter who has finished a picture and is not content with it. He destroys the canvas, changes his palette—and where there once were clouds, flashes, and bolts of lightning, he now paints a beautiful sky studded with stars. And where there were once crashing waves and great, heaving billows, he now paints a sea calm and clear as a mirror, as sparkling as your own two heavenly eyes! The past—and what is still to come! He might have kept silence, yet he chose to speak—and you must appreciate his loyalty, smile upon the picture he paints of his future, which is also yours—and destroy the canvas of the past!
BEATRICE Ah, yes; but once one begins destroying canvases, there may be no end to it. You do not know what he has told me.
ARIBERTO (To himself.) Heaven help us! (Aloud, with growing interest.) Speak up, speak up. What has he told you?
BEATRICE That he loves another! That he has pledged his constancy to a woman who possesses the most beautiful eyes he has seen.
ARIBERTO (To himself, biting his lip.) Scoundrel! He has duped me!
BEATRICE Come; justify yourself now if you can!
ARIBERTO (Attempting to joke about it.) Ha, ha, ha! And you believed it? Did you not see it was all a plan?
BEATRICE (With conviction.) Uncle! What good is this? It is useless to seek excuses. You have gone quite red. One lie is quite enough. (Soberly.) This marriage cannot take place.
ARIBERTO (Shaken.) Do not say that, even in jest! After all, Marcello's past indiscretion was but a brief flame.
BEATRICE Save me from such a flame!
ARIBERTO He is truly a good man, deep down. Once you are his wife, he shall adore you! (Gravely.) Do you believe that I should be capable of inventing a falsehood without having your happiness, your best interests, at heart?
BEATRICE (A little maliciously.) My happiness? Mine alone?
ARIBERTO (Staring at her in astonishment.) You would doubt it?
BEATRICE (Dissembling.) No, no! Rather, I acknowledge it. Only I should have preferred you told me the whole truth. You might have spared me some distress!
ARIBERTO It is that—you see—I also believed— (Angrily.) That scoundrel Marcello! If you knew how it grieves me to see you unhappy!
BEATRICE (Sadly.) I thank you, but it is nothing! I, too, had built many castles in the air. I took much pleasure in the thought that we might be a family. But now—I understand too well that it is not possible. (Under her breath.) For you—you could not sacrifice your own life to be the guardian of a spinster niece. Your own aspirations, hopes—
ARIBERTO (Puzzled.) What hopes?
BEATRICE (Continuing.) Do not worry on my account! You know how I love the country. I live eight months of the year there; I shall add another four, to make up the whole year. (Emotionally.) It means that—if I cannot stay here as a daughter, nor as your ward—when you are no longer alone—when, as is natural, you have also chosen a wife—
ARIBERTO I? What the devil are you saying?
BEATRICE (Continuing in the same tone.) Well—if my—aunt should have no objection, I shall come back to stay with you both. And, as I have done today, I shall adorn your parlor with flowers. (Wipes away a tear, then smiles.) I told you that I should never call you Papa—it seems my heart had a presentiment!
ARIBERTO Beatrice! Do you know, you have become quite serious. Speaking in such a way—I've never heard you speak like this! Your laughter makes me want to weep in spite of myself .... (Stomps his foot.) I could give myself to the devil, when I think that that scoundrel had a treasure in his hand—and he tosses it away!
BEATRICE (Pacifying him.) Do not trouble yourself! It is much better this way. Marcello, to begin with, is two years younger than I. We women are already old at thirty. You men, at forty, are still in your prime.
ARIBERTO (Smiling.) Not quite ....
BEATRICE It is so! And, supposing Marcello should, by and by, discover all those lovely things which you have attributed to me—do you really believe they would be enough for him? Unfortunately, those qualities do not last forever! And when my hair has become quite white—while his remains dark, like yours—do you think the silver of my locks would be compensated by the hidden gold of my virtue? Let us not delude ourselves! (With conviction.) Oh, if only Marcello were ten years older, then I could not say—! But, being two years younger—with those almond-shaped eyes locked in his heart—come now!
ARIBERTO Oh, that will, that cursed pride in the family name!
BEATRICE Guidobaldi? Well, it is a beautiful name. There is nothing more to say of that.
ARIBERTO Yes—the name of honest people, if you will! But if there are only two men in the world of that name—my son and myself .... (He seems suddenly struck by a vague idea; he looks at BEATRICE; he stands, then sits again; settles his cravat and smooths his hair. He is disturbed.)
BEATRICE (Pointedly, preoccupied.) Yes ... there are only two. Your son, and ....
ARIBERTO (Promptly.) Me. (Pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his brow.)
BEATRICE (Almost mechanically.) ... and you! (They stare at each other.) Uncle—why do you stare at me so?
ARIBERTO (Embarrassed.) I? Nay, my dear; it is you who are staring at me! (Rouses himself, gets up, passes in front of the mirror and glances furtively at his reflection, saying to himself.) Ugh! This heat! (Sits down again and fans himself with his handkerchief. BEATRICE does the same. He does not know how to resume the conversation.) Tell me: you spoke before—of age. You said that, generally speaking, the happiest marriages are those in which the husband is—somewhat older?
BEATRICE I have said so, and I believe it to be true.
ARIBERTO (Elated.) And ... (Draws nearer to her.) I beg your pardon; I cannot recall. How many years older did you say?
BEATRICE I don't know—ten—fifteen—
ARIBERTO (Hinting.) Eighteen?
BEATRICE (Flushing.) Oh, yes—even eighteen!
ARIBERTO (Even more elated.) And then, if the man were well-preserved—if he had all his teeth—and his hair—?
BEATRICE (A bit tongue-tied.) Well, certainly ... (Abruptly.) Uncle, what is your age?
ARIBERTO (Wiping his brow.) My age? Calculate for yourself! I married at twenty, fathered a child at one-and-twenty, was widowed at five-and-twenty; my son is now twenty—so then—
BEATRICE (Counting to herself.) Nineteen!
ARIBERTO How came you to that number?
BEATRICE I mean to say—you are nineteen years older than I.
ARIBERTO Beatrice—do you know, your way of arithmetic makes my head spin!
BEATRICE Uncle—do you know what Marcello suggested to me earlier?
ARIBERTO (Ill-humoredly.) Something beastly, to be sure!
BEATRICE (Coquettishly.) No—he suggested I marry his father!
ARIBERTO (Stunned.) Did he? (To himself.) The idea! Poor boy! (Aloud, with increasing emotion.) Ah, did he, now? And you—?
BEATRICE I? I laughed at first.
ARIBERTO (Hanging on her every word.) And—now?
BEATRICE (Emotionally, her eyes shining.) And now—I am no longer laughing. (Having said this, she quickly runs out, leaving ARIBERTO bewildered.)
BEATRICE (Dissembling.) No, no! Rather, I acknowledge it. Only I should have preferred you told me the whole truth. You might have spared me some distress!
ARIBERTO It is that—you see—I also believed— (Angrily.) That scoundrel Marcello! If you knew how it grieves me to see you unhappy!
BEATRICE (Sadly.) I thank you, but it is nothing! I, too, had built many castles in the air. I took much pleasure in the thought that we might be a family. But now—I understand too well that it is not possible. (Under her breath.) For you—you could not sacrifice your own life to be the guardian of a spinster niece. Your own aspirations, hopes—
ARIBERTO (Puzzled.) What hopes?
BEATRICE (Continuing.) Do not worry on my account! You know how I love the country. I live eight months of the year there; I shall add another four, to make up the whole year. (Emotionally.) It means that—if I cannot stay here as a daughter, nor as your ward—when you are no longer alone—when, as is natural, you have also chosen a wife—
ARIBERTO I? What the devil are you saying?
BEATRICE (Continuing in the same tone.) Well—if my—aunt should have no objection, I shall come back to stay with you both. And, as I have done today, I shall adorn your parlor with flowers. (Wipes away a tear, then smiles.) I told you that I should never call you Papa—it seems my heart had a presentiment!
ARIBERTO Beatrice! Do you know, you have become quite serious. Speaking in such a way—I've never heard you speak like this! Your laughter makes me want to weep in spite of myself .... (Stomps his foot.) I could give myself to the devil, when I think that that scoundrel had a treasure in his hand—and he tosses it away!
BEATRICE (Pacifying him.) Do not trouble yourself! It is much better this way. Marcello, to begin with, is two years younger than I. We women are already old at thirty. You men, at forty, are still in your prime.
ARIBERTO (Smiling.) Not quite ....
BEATRICE It is so! And, supposing Marcello should, by and by, discover all those lovely things which you have attributed to me—do you really believe they would be enough for him? Unfortunately, those qualities do not last forever! And when my hair has become quite white—while his remains dark, like yours—do you think the silver of my locks would be compensated by the hidden gold of my virtue? Let us not delude ourselves! (With conviction.) Oh, if only Marcello were ten years older, then I could not say—! But, being two years younger—with those almond-shaped eyes locked in his heart—come now!
ARIBERTO Oh, that will, that cursed pride in the family name!
BEATRICE Guidobaldi? Well, it is a beautiful name. There is nothing more to say of that.
ARIBERTO Yes—the name of honest people, if you will! But if there are only two men in the world of that name—my son and myself .... (He seems suddenly struck by a vague idea; he looks at BEATRICE; he stands, then sits again; settles his cravat and smooths his hair. He is disturbed.)
BEATRICE (Pointedly, preoccupied.) Yes ... there are only two. Your son, and ....
ARIBERTO (Promptly.) Me. (Pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his brow.)
BEATRICE (Almost mechanically.) ... and you! (They stare at each other.) Uncle—why do you stare at me so?
ARIBERTO (Embarrassed.) I? Nay, my dear; it is you who are staring at me! (Rouses himself, gets up, passes in front of the mirror and glances furtively at his reflection, saying to himself.) Ugh! This heat! (Sits down again and fans himself with his handkerchief. BEATRICE does the same. He does not know how to resume the conversation.) Tell me: you spoke before—of age. You said that, generally speaking, the happiest marriages are those in which the husband is—somewhat older?
BEATRICE I have said so, and I believe it to be true.
ARIBERTO (Elated.) And ... (Draws nearer to her.) I beg your pardon; I cannot recall. How many years older did you say?
BEATRICE I don't know—ten—fifteen—
ARIBERTO (Hinting.) Eighteen?
BEATRICE (Flushing.) Oh, yes—even eighteen!
ARIBERTO (Even more elated.) And then, if the man were well-preserved—if he had all his teeth—and his hair—?
BEATRICE (A bit tongue-tied.) Well, certainly ... (Abruptly.) Uncle, what is your age?
ARIBERTO (Wiping his brow.) My age? Calculate for yourself! I married at twenty, fathered a child at one-and-twenty, was widowed at five-and-twenty; my son is now twenty—so then—
BEATRICE (Counting to herself.) Nineteen!
ARIBERTO How came you to that number?
BEATRICE I mean to say—you are nineteen years older than I.
ARIBERTO Beatrice—do you know, your way of arithmetic makes my head spin!
BEATRICE Uncle—do you know what Marcello suggested to me earlier?
ARIBERTO (Ill-humoredly.) Something beastly, to be sure!
BEATRICE (Coquettishly.) No—he suggested I marry his father!
ARIBERTO (Stunned.) Did he? (To himself.) The idea! Poor boy! (Aloud, with increasing emotion.) Ah, did he, now? And you—?
BEATRICE I? I laughed at first.
ARIBERTO (Hanging on her every word.) And—now?
BEATRICE (Emotionally, her eyes shining.) And now—I am no longer laughing. (Having said this, she quickly runs out, leaving ARIBERTO bewildered.)
END SCENE
To be continued.
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