Act III: Scene IV

ANNICCA.Has he come often?

RIBERA.Nay, I caught the trickOf his fair face in some half-dozen sittings.His is a bold and shapely head--it pleased me.I like the lad; the work upon his portraitWas pastime--'t is already nigh complete.

ANNICCA.And has Maria sat here while you worked?

RIBERA (sharply).Why not? What would'st thou say? Speak, fret me notWith ticklish fears. Is she not by my side,For work or rest?

ANNICCA.Surely, I meant no harm.Father, how quick you are! I had but askedIf she, being here, had seen the work progress,And found it his true counterpart.

RIBERA.Annicca,There is something in your thought you hold from me.Have the lewd, prying eyes, the slanderous mindOf public envy, spied herein some mischief?What hast thou heard? By heaven, if one foul wordHave darkened the fair fame of my white dove,Naples shall rue it. Let them not forgetThe chapel of Saint Januarius!

ANNICCA (aside).Tommaso judged aright. I dare not tell him.Dear father, listen. Pray, be calm. Sit down;Your own hot rage engenders in my mindThoughts, fears, suspicions.

RIBERA (seating himself).I am foolish, hasty; but it makes me mad.Listen to me. Here sits the Prince before me;We talk, we laugh. We have discussed all themes,From the great Angelo's divinity,Down to the pest of flies that fret us hereAt the day's hottest. Sometimes he will paceThe studio--such young blood is seldom still.He brought me once his mandoline, and drewEloquent music thence. I study thusThe changeful play of soul. I catch the spiritBehind the veil, and burn it on the plate.Maria comes and goes--will sit awhileOver her broidery, then will haste awayAnd serve us with a dish of golden fruit.That is for me; she knows the sweet, cool juice,After long hours of work, refreshes meMore than strong wine. She meets his Royal HighnessAs the Ribera's child should meet a Prince--Nor over bold, nor timid; one would thinkTheir rank was equal, and that neither sprangFrom less than royal lineage.

ANNICCA.Why, I know it.Here is no need to excuse or justify.Speak rather of your work--is the plate finished?

RIBERA.So nigh, that were Don John to leave to-morrow,It might go with him.

ANNICCA.What! he leaves Naples?

RIBERA.Yea, but I know not when; he seems to waitMomently, orders from his MajestyTo travel onward.

ANNICCA (aside).Would he were well away!

RIBERA.What do you mutter? I grow deaf this side.

ANNICCA.I spake not, father. I regret with youThe Prince should leave us; you have more enjoyedHis young companionship than any strangersThese many years.

RIBERA.Well, well, enough of him.He hath a winning air--so far, so good.I know not that I place more trust in himThan in another. 'T is a lying world;I am too old now to be duped or dazzledBy fair externals.

MARIA.Father, see! my rosesHave blossomed over night; I bring you someTo prank your study. Sister, Don TommasoSeeks you below.

ANNICCA (rising).I will go to meet him. Father,Until to-morrow.

RIBERA.Truly, a gorgeous show!Pink, yellow, crimson, white--which is the fairest?Those with the deepest blush should best become you--Nay, they accord not with your hair's red gold;The white ones suit you best--pale, innocent,So flowers too can lie! Is not that strange?brushes aside all the flowers upon the floors, than picks one upI think not highly of your flowers, girl;I have plucked this leaf; it has no heart.See there!

MARIA.What have I done? Alas! what mean you?Have you then lost your reason?

RIBERA.Nay, but found it.I, who was dull of wit, am keen at last."Don John is comely," and "Don John is kind;""A wonderful musician is Don John,""A princely artist"--and then, meek of mien,You enter in his presence, modest, simple.And who beneath that kitten grace had spiedThe claws of mischief? Who! Why, all the world,Save the fond, wrinkled, hoary fool, thy father.Out, girl, for shame! He will be here anon;Hence to your room--he shall not find you here.Thank God, thank God! no evil hath been wroughtThat may not be repaired. I have sat byAt all your meetings. You shall have no more;Myself will look to that. Away, away!

RIBERA (looks after her).As one who has received a deadly hurt,She walks. What if my doubts be false? The terrorOf an unlooked-for blow, a treacherous thrustWhen least expected--that is all she showed.On a false charge, myself had acted thus.She had been moved far otherwise if guilty;She had wept, protested, begged--she had not leftWith such a proud and speechless show of grief.I was too harsh, too quick on slight suspicion.What did Annicca say? Why, she said naught.'T was her grave air, her sudden reticence,Her ill-assumed indifference. They play on me;They know me not. They dread my violent passions,Not guessing what a firm and constant bridleI hold them with. On just cause to be angered,Is merely human. Yet they sound my temper;They try to lead me like some half-tamed beast,That must be coaxed. Well, I may laugh thereat.But I am not myself to-day; strange painsShoot through my head and limbs and vex my spirit.Oh, I have wronged my child! Return, Maria!