University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A Farmstead on the Lands of Malespina, in the Neighbourhood of the Castle.
Enter Silisco and Ruggiero.
Ruggiero.

We chased them that night and the next
day, gaining on them by little and little; but as evening
fell, there came into the horizon a cloud no bigger than
your hand, and in an instant the storm swooped upon
them like a bird of prey and they went to destruction
before our eyes, thief and booty together.

Silisco.

Best friend and boldest, how fared you I pray?

Ruggiero.

The storm spared us, but we were sorely
tormented by hunger and thirst that night; and when
we landed next morning at Vetri in Calabria, my strength

was clean spent and a fever was upon me that laid me
low for many a day. When that left me, I found my
way back with all speed, and learning from Monna the
direction of your flight, I sped hither. Such is my
history.

Silisco.
Of mine remains
But little to recount. Spadone, or,
If he was dead, Spadone's corpse, I left
In old Gerbetto's cottage on the beach;
Nor waiting his return (for he was forth),
Back to the Catacombs I sped, and search'd
Each cranny, but could nowhere find my friend,
The luckless Aretina. In the caves
I dwelt by day; the night I chiefly spent
In my own gardens.

Ruggiero.
In your gardens?

Silisco.
Yes;
Behind the statue of Proserpina
There is a cavern fringed with pensile plants,
By which, well-known to me in boyhood, opes
A passage to the Catacombs; through this,
When first it reached me that the writs were out
I, like a land-crab, into earth had dropp'd,
And afterwards through this I issued thence
When darkness and the owls possess'd the world.
Ere long, impatient of my dreary life,
I meditated flight; and strange you'll deem
The choice I made of whither to betake me;
But having not since childhood seen my lands
A humour seized me to revisit them;
And seeing I was here as little known
As elsewhere I could be, and peradventure
Should be less look'd for, hither did I come.
I found Count Ugo's people in possession,
The sometime mortgagee, the owner now.

Ruggiero.
Why hither? it can bring you little joy
To look upon the lands that you have lost.

Silisco.
To look upon the days that I have lost,
Ruggiero, brings me less; and here I thought
To get behind them; for my childhood here
Lies round me. But it may not be. By Heavens!
That very childhood bitterly upbraids
The manhood vain that did but travesty,
With empty and unseasonable mirth,
Its joys and lightness. From each brake and bower
Where thoughtless sports had lawful time and place
The manly child rebukes the childish man;
And more reproof and bitterer do I read
In many a peasant's face whose leaden looks
My host the farmer construes to my shame.
Injustice, rural tyranny, more dark
Than that of courts, have laid their brutal hands
On those that claim'd my tendance; want and vice
And injury and outrage fill'd my lands,
Whilst I, who saw it not, my substance threw
To feed the fraudulent and tempt the weak.
Ruggiero, with what glittering words soe'er
We smear the selfishness of waste, and count
Our careless tossings bounties, this is sure,
Man sinks not by a more unmanly vice
Than is that vice of prodigality—
Man finds not more dishonour than in debt.

Ruggiero.
Farewell my function! I perceive that now
You need no more a monitor. To me,
Who, when the past was present, sigh'd to see it,
The present brings its joy; one work is wrought;
Adversity hath borne its best of fruits;
And, issuing from this gorge, the tract you tread,
Though it be ne'er so beggarly and bare,
Shall lie, I augur, in the sunshine.

Silisco.
No;
Not in the sunshine; that may never be;
Upon my path the sun shall shine no more.
It is not poverty will darken it—
In many another point I err'd, but not
In deeming wealth to me was little worth;
Nor self-reproach—for this, though sharp, will work
Its own purgation; nor the world's contempt,
Which with a light and friendly disregard
I soon could conquer. But one hope there was
That in the darkness and the frosty air
Burnt brighter still and brighter, which is now
Set, not to rise again. In this I own
Needful severity; for this apart
My joyfulness of nature had escaped
The hands of justice and all worldly ills
Had left me unchastised.

Ruggiero.
Rosalba false!

Silisco.
No, say not so—she means not to be false;
No—falseness could no more have place in her
Than could the cankerworm in Paradise.
She promised, it is true, till All-Saints' Eve
To hold herself in freedom unbetroth'd;
'Tis likewise true, or publicly proclaim'd,
Count Ugo is to marry her to-morrow.
But doubtless she has deem'd herself released
By my desertion. Since that fatal night
She knows of me no more than that I vanish'd;
For how could I, a beggar, plead to her,
An heiress, her past promise? With what aim?
Since should she wait the term, the issue still
Must be obedience to her sire's behest;
And what can now move him?

Ruggiero.
I know not what;
But what we know not of may haply be:
And this I know,—what rules the true of heart
Is plighted faith, not circumstance. To-morrow?
I think it may be done—Ronzino's legs
Will carry me if legs of mortal steed
Can span the distance in the time—and so
My presence and my protest shall precede
This woeful wedding: yes, ere noon to-morrow
Before Rosalba face to face I'll stand,
And, be it at the altar's foot, oppose
Her prior promise to her marriage vow.
Leandro, ho! my horse.

Silisco.
At least there's truth
In friendship. But be gentle to Rosalba.