GUBETTA. And I wish I were more rich than I am, in order to present my friends with just such other women.* OLOFERNO. * Nothing is so agreeable as to sing the praise of a good supper and a beautiful woman! GUBETTA. Except to kiss the one and eat the other. OLOFERNO. Yes, I wish I were a poet; I would raise myself to heaven-I wish I had two wings! GUBETTA. Of a pheasant in my plate. OLOFERNO. At all events, I'll tell you my sonnet. GUBETTA. As I dispense the dogs from biting me, the pope from blessing me, and the people in the street from pelting me. OLOFERNO. By God's head, I believe, little Spanish gentleman, that you mean to insult me! GUBETTA. I don't insult you, colossus of an Italian; I don't choose to listen to your sonnet-nothing more. My throat thirsts more after the Syracusan wine than my ears after poetry. OLOFERNO. Your ears, you Spanish rascal-I'll nail them to your heels! GUBETTA. You are a foolish beast! Fy! did one ever hear of such a lout, to get drunk with Syracusan wine, and have the air of being sottish with beer! OLOFERNO. I'll cut you into quarters, that will I! * Rather singular language in a princess's palace, and addressed to her and her friends. GUBETTA (still carving a pheasant). I won't say as much for you; I don't carve such big fowls. Ladies, let me offer you some pheasant. OLOFERNO (seizing a knife). Pardieu! I'll cut the rascal's belly open, were he more of a gentleman than the emperor himself! The Women (rising from the table.) Heavens! they are going to fight! The Men. Come, come, Oloferno! (They disarm Oloferno, who wishes to rush upon Gubetta. While they are doing this, the Women disappear.) OLOFERNO (struggling). By God's body GUBETTA. Your rhymes are so rich with God, my dear poet, that you have put these ladies to flight. You are a terrible bungler! JEPPO. It's very true where the devil are they gone to? MAFFIO. They were frightened: "steel drawn, woman gone." ASCANIO. Bah! they'll come back again. OLOFERNO (menacing Gubetta). I'll find you again to-morrow, my little devil Bellivedera! GUBETTA. To-morrow as much as you please. (Oloferno seats himself, tottering with rage. Gubetta bursts out laughing.) That idiot! to send away the prettiest women in Ferrara with a knife wrapped up in a sonnet! To quarrel about rhymes!—I believe indeed he has wings. It is not a man, it's a bird-it perches; it ought to sleep on one leg, that creature Oloferno. JEPPO. There, there, gentlemen, let's have peace-you'll cut one another's throats gallantly to-morrow: by Jupiter! you'll fight, at all events, like gentlemen-with swords, and not with knives! ASCANIO. Apropos! what have we done with our swords? DON APOSTOLO. You forget that they were taken from us in the antechamber. GUBETTA. And a good precaution too, or we should have been fighting before ladies, a vulgarity that would bring blushes into the cheek of a Fleming drunk with tobacco! GENNARO. A good precaution, in sooth! MAFFIO. Pardieu! brother Gennaro, those are the first words that have passed your lips since the beginning of the supper, and you don't drink! Are you thinking of Lucrèce Borgia, Gennaro? Decidedly you have some little love affair with her-don't say "No." GENNARO. Give me to drink, Maffio! I won't abandon my friends at the table any more than I would in the battle. A black Page, with two flagons in his hand. My lords, the wine of Cyprus or of Syracuse? MAFFIO. Syracusan wine, that's the best. (The black Page fills all the glasses.) JEPPO. The plague seize thee, Oloferno! are those ladies not coming back again? (He goes successively to the two doors.) The doors are fastened on the other side, gentlemen. MAFFIO. Now, Jeppo, don't you in your turn be frightened: they don't wish we should follow them, nothing can be more simple than that. GENNARO. Let us drink, gentlemen! (They bring their glasses together.) MAFFIO. To thy health, Gennaro! and mayst thou soon recover thy mother! May God hear thee! GENNARO. (All drink, except Gubetta, who throws his wine over his shoulder.) MAFFIO (in a whisper to Jeppo). This time, at all events, Jeppo, I saw it clearly. Come, a song, gentlemen! I am going to sing you a song worth all the sonnets of the Marquis Oloferno. I swear, by the good old scull of my father, that I did not make the song, and that I have not wit enough to make two rhymes jingle at the end of an idea. Here's my song-it's addressed to St. Peter, the celebrated porter of Paradise, and it has for its subject that delicate thought that God's heaven belongs to the drinkers. JEPPO (to Maffio, whispering). He is more than drunk; the fellow's a drunkard. All (except Gennaro). The song! the song! GUBETTA (singing). St. Peter, St. Peter, ho! To the drinker, who'll bring Domino! Domino! All in chorus (except Gennaro.) (They clash their glasses together, and laugh loudly. Voice without. Sanctum et terribile nomen ejus, initium sapientiæ timor Domini ! JEPPO (laughing still louder). Listen, gentlemen; by the body of Bacchus, while we are singing" to drink," Echo is singing "to pray!" Listen! All. Voice without (a little nearer). Nisi Dominus custodierit civitatem, frustra vigilat qui custodit eam. (They all burst out laughing.) MAFFIO. It's some procession passing. GENNARO. At midnight!-that's a little late. JEPPO. Bah! Go on, Monsieur de Belverana. Voice without, and which comes nearer and nearer. Oculos habent et non videbunt, nares habent et non odorabunt, aures habent et non audient. (All laughing louder and louder.) JEPPO. Trust the monks for bawling! |