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| Character | Simone | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Male | |
| Age Range(s) | Adult (36-50), Senior (>50) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | Angry, Flips out, Neurotic, Mocking | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Period | 19th Century | |
| Genre | Romance, Tragedy, Drama | |
| Description | Simone challenges Guido to a duel | |
| Details | One Act Play | |
Summary
This play is a fragment of a never completed play. It tells the story of a successful merchant, Simone, who comes back home to find his wife Bianca in the arms of Prince Guido Bardi. His reaction is confusing as he teases him by engaging him in small talk about his trade and politics. The prince avoids the conversation and tells Simone the next day he will send one of his servants to settle matters by buying his products.
This monologue is delivered by the merchant towards the end of the play. The prince tells him he wants to leave and that he will meet his wife Bianca another time. Simone can't take it anymore and after mocking him, he grabs his sword and challenges him to a duel.
This monologue is delivered by the merchant towards the end of the play. The prince tells him he wants to leave and that he will meet his wife Bianca another time. Simone can't take it anymore and after mocking him, he grabs his sword and challenges him to a duel.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
|---|
| SIMONE . Well, well, so be it. I would have wished for fuller converse with you, My new friend, my honourable guest, But that it seems may not be. And besides I do not doubt your father waits for you, Wearying for voice or footstep. You, I think, Are his one child? He has no other child. You are the gracious pillar of his house, The flower of a garden full of weeds. Your father's nephews do not love him well So run folks' tongues in Florence. I meant but that. Men say they envy your inheritance And look upon your vineyards with fierce eyes As Ahab looked on Naboth's goodly field. But that is but the chatter of a town Where women talk too much. Good-night, my lord. Fetch a pine torch, Bianca. The old staircase Is full of pitfalls, and the churlish moon Grows, like a miser, niggard of her beams, And hides her face behind a muslin mask As harlots do when they go forth to snare Some wretched soul in sin. Now, I will get Your cloak and sword. Nay, pardon, my good Lord, It is but meet that I should wait on you Who have so honoured my poor burgher's house, Drunk of my wine, and broken bread, and made Yourself a sweet familiar. Oftentimes My wife and I will talk of this fair night And its great issues. Why, what a sword is this. Ferrara's temper, pliant as a snake, And deadlier, I doubt not. With such steel, One need fear nothing in the moil of life. I never touched so delicate a blade. I have a sword too, somewhat rusted now. We men of peace are taught humility, And to bear many burdens on our backs, And not to murmur at an unjust world, And to endure unjust indignities. We are taught that, and like the patient Jew Find profit in our pain. Yet I remember How once upon the road to Padua A robber sought to take my pack-horse from me, I slit his throat and left him. I can bear Dishonour, public insult, many shames, Shrill scorn, and open contumely, but he Who filches from me something that is mine, Ay! though it be the meanest trencher-plate From which I feed mine appetite--oh! he Perils his soul and body in the theft And dies for his small sin. From what strange clay We men are moulded! [GUIDO . Why do you speak like this?] SIMONE . I wonder, my Lord Guido, if my sword Is better tempered than this steel of yours? Shall we make trial? Or is my state too low For you to cross your rapier against mine, In jest, or earnest? |
