University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A part of the Heath, described in Book III. Sc. I. p. 75.
A Precipice, at a short distance, overhanging the Sea.
A loud barking of foxes is heard, mixed with the screaming of eagles, and the howling of wolves.
Enter Fontano.
Enter Schidoni.
Schid.
By this rude heath, I shall return to Naples.
Who have we here? some poisoner, I suppose,
Looking for hemlock. Is it possible?
It cannot; and yet is. He gropes his way.
The boy has left him! He's a bold, young, urchin.
This is plain land; I'll lead him to a better.
I ought to do so; since I wooed his daughter.

Fon.
Ah, my sweet boy; I've wrong'd thee much: my boy!
Art thou still near me? Take this hand, dear child.
Heaven—what is this? Oh me—a hand of ice,
Large as a giant's, and all wither'd. Who?
Who, and what art thou? Strike me:—I am ready.
Strike the last stroke; but do not grasp me thus.
Let my hand go!

Schid.
(aside.)
Not three steps off, there is a precipice—

Flor.
(without.)
Willŏx—ŏ—whōo—hōo!

Fon.
Oh—the great Father of the world—I thank thee.
The hand has fallen! Imagination oft
Makes all men martyrs. Darkness palsies me.
I thought, I felt an icy hand touch mine,
Like to the paralyzing hand of Satan.

Flor.
(without.)
Signor! signor! signor!

Fon.
The boy:—the boy! All-gracious heaven—I thank thee.
Ne'er will I murmur at my fate again.

[Schidoni retires a little:—Floranthe rushes in, flies to Fontano, and falls at his feet.
Fon.
Whither, my guardian angel, hast thou been?
I've pass'd an anxious, miserable, time,
Since I awoke, and could not make thee hear me.

Flo.

I've ran so fast, signor, I can scarcely speak. Two men found me asleep on that bank. They took me up, and carried me away. When I awoke, I thought

I should have died. They took me to the ruins of an immense castle, not two leagues distant; and who should I see there?—Romano and all his officers.

Fon.
Impossible!

Flo.

I saw them all, signor, as certain as I see you now. He seem'd a kind-hearted signor; but I wanted to return; and what do you think I did? I put on the face of a fool; and passed myself off for a fool. And I did it so well, signor, that I truly believe, they were as glad to get rid of me, as I was to get rid of them.

Fon.
A masterpiece of wisdom!

Schid.
(coming down a little.)
Is it thus?

Flor.

Before I came away, however, I let them all know, I was not quite such a fool, as they took me to be.

Schid.
This boy's a wit;—I shall observe him closer.

Flo.
(recitative.)

There was one officer among them, named, I think, Fracas—Fracastro, or some such name; so good; so mild; so gentle; yet so manly. Hear you not military music?

Schid.
What may this mean?

[Exit.
Fon.
No limit to our dangers!
List how soft music swells upon the gale.
Now all is silence. Hark!—it swells again;
Rising and falling with the buoyant wind.

Flo.

Depend upon it, signor—Romano is coming in search of us. Let us hide ourselves in this nook. But do not be afraid, signor; I do not believe, he would touch a hair of our heads.

[They hide themselves.
Enter the King, Vercelli, and several officers.
King.
Remain ye there: we shall be with you soon.
Now I shall tell ye, wherefore we came hither.
Velutri whispers, that Fontano is
More wrong'd, more injur'd, than my tongue can speak.
This is the wilderness, in which he travels,
Led by a guide. We'll visit him;—and try
Our utmost skill and wisdom to discover,
Whether Fontano or Schidoni most
Deserves th'ignominy of a public scaffold.
Here comes a stranger; let us ask of him.
Enter Lepardo.
Sir, hast thou seen a blind man on his way,
Led by a youth; and leaning on a staff,
Like what is writ of Belisarius?

Lep.
The very man I seek myself. I have not.

[Floranthe looks out; and, after whispering to Fontano, goes up to Lepardo.
Flor.
I'm hungry, thirsty, cold, and poor;
Obliged to beg from door to door.
No cot have I to lay my head,
Or mother's care to give me bread:
'Mid hail and rain, in frost and snow,
The sport of all the winds, that blow!
Forlorn I rove from day to day,
Along this rough and rugged way.
Oh, Signor! do bestow upon
Affliction's poor, deserted, son,
One little gift to help him on.

Lep.

Thou art an eloquent beggar, whoever thou art; and I will give thee a ducat, if thou wilt tell me, whether or not thou hast seen a blind gentleman travelling this way.

Flor.

Stop here one moment. [Runs to Fontano.
Signor—a rich cavalier! Take hold of my hand, and let

me lead thee to him. Here is the Gentelezza, that you want.

King.
(aside.)
This is most fortunate.

Lep.
Most noble signor,
I pay thee all the homage of a friend.
A messenger, return'd from Naples, has
Inform'd Romano of thine injuries.

Fon.
Well, sir, what then? Romano is a man,
Whom once I loved; but whom I now disdain
As much, or more.

Lep.
Thou dost mistake him, sir.
He is a man, more sinn'd against, than ever
Breathed the pure incense of Italian skies.
He is an upright, honourable, man.
Give him the sanction of thine injuries then;
And thou shalt reap revenge, as well as he.

Fon.
Is his ambition, then, revenge? Destruction;
Whispering, like harlots, only to betray.
Bear this in mind:—Misfortune comes from heaven,
To cleanse the heart, and purify the soul.
A heartless traitor to the land, that bore me?
False to my king? Oh shame, oh shame; to wrong
These sightless eyes with such an imputation.
Country;—my country! while thy happy vales
Blush purple with rich vineyards; while dark clouds
Roll round the girdles of thy mountains; while
One cot remains for shelter 'mid the storm;
Nay—while one leaf shall vibrate on another;
Load me with taunts; oppress me thick with wrongs;
Make me a monument of public scorn;
Yes,—though I begg'd from strangers,—I'd call down
The choicest gifts of bounteous Heaven upon thee.

King.
(aside.)
Oh miracle of honour!

Lep.
Hear me, signor.

Fon.
No;—I'll not hear. I'll hear no more. The Power,
That rules the destinies of men and kingdoms,
Visits the crime of treason to our country,
Even more heavily than murder.

King
(to Lepardo).
Signor—
Stand thee aside:—I can refrain no longer.
Canst thou forgive? Most injur'd martyr, say,
Canst thou forgive?

Fon.
(kneels.)
My sovereign? 'Tis a dream.
My fancy wanders, and mine ears deceive me.

King.
No—no;—ah no! It is thy sovereign bends.
These tears respect; and, if thou canst,—forgive!

Lep.
(aside.)
I'm lost in wonder.

Fon.
Dearly valued master—
I know thy nature: thou hast been deceived.
Let us, then, drown all memory of the past
In this embrace.

King.
I clasp thee to my heart.

Ver.
(to Lepardo.)
Come, sir, with me. Receive the meed of treason.

Lep.
Treason? what treason? I'm from Venice.

Ver.
That
Is to yourself. These chains are light.

Lep.
Unlawful.
Against the law of nations. I'm from Venice.

Ver.
Venice or France: it matters not. Thou hast
Striven to seduce a subject of the king;
And thou must, therefore, pay the penalty.

[While the officer is binding Lepardo, and Fontano is introducing Floranthe to the King, Schidoni enters on the opposite side.
Schid.
Death and destruction—who are these? The king?
Fontano, too? undone; undone! The furies!

[Retreats.
Flo.
(recitative.)
The rain may fall in torrents down,
And every towering rock be rent;
The winds may blow, and fortune frown;
My master smiles, and I'm content.

King.
One of Romano's officers has been with me,
Told me his haunts: he has, in truth, betray'd him.
But from some words, I heard Velutri drop,
I have some reason to suspect, Romano
May have been wrong'd, as much as you. Shall we
Dare to adventure? Shall we leave our army,
At some short distance from Romano's haunts,
Provoke his version, and so probe the truth?
You can appear to sanction his designs,
And introduce Vercelli and myself,
As pilgrims, guiding thee the road to Venice.

Fon.
Your highness wills;—my duty is obedience.

King.
Take off those chains. (To Lepardo).
We will to see Romano.
Lead thou the journey. But observe this caution:
Let him not know, that Ferdinand, the king,
Has left his state, at hazard of his life,
In hopes to find him innocent. Our army—
Should he discover us, and presume to treat
Our Royal person as a foe, a signal,
Giv'n merely thus, relieves us in a moment.

Lep.
I shall be proud, most Royal sir, to act,
As you may please to charge me.

King.
Now, Vercelli,
Command our army to begin the march.

Flo.
(aside.)
Then I shall see Fracastro once again!

[Vercelli gives the word, and the whole army passes over the stage. Military music.
King.
(To Fontano).
Lean on this arm.

Flo.

Fon.
Excellent boy—The world has not thy peer!

[Exeunt.
[Re-enter Schidoni, in a paroxysm of passion; beating his forehead, and sometimes holding a dagger to his breast.
Schid.
What have I seen? and whither shall I fly?
Curst be the hour, I first beheld the sun;
And curst the day, that gave my mother birth.
And yet I loved the tottering, good, old woman!
Nay, I could weep, to think on what she suffer'd.
Would I had been as dutiful, as she
Was kind and good! yet wherefore? Since reward
Comes not to virtuous actions;—since I see,
That good men perish,—bad ones do no more,—
Like horses, dogs, hyenas, and constrictors,
Where is the use of virtue? since to starve
On hungry hope is all th'inheritance,
The good and wise seem doom'd to. I have seen it!
Where virtue is,—there we see sorrow, want,
A martyrdom to treachery or revenge,
Hatred or envy, jealousy or despair,
A silent anguish, or a public wrong.
Who then but fools shall court the ugly cheat?
Live while ye can; and perish, when ye must.
That is my creed; and shall be, too, my practice.
And yet I could not, I confess, have been
Worse used by fortune, had I lived, and toiled,
For days, weeks, months, nay weary years, or ages,
For others' benefit, rather than mine own.
Stay: stay;—I'm hasty:—there is solace yet.
Romano's haunts, I think the urchin said,
Lie in the depth of yon sequester'd glen.
I loved his wife with passion. But for him,
Perhaps, Francesca had been mine. May all
The curse of Cain, if such a man there was,
May all the curses, that can light on man,
Plague, famine, thirst, insanity, and hate
Of all he loved, bewilder him! But for him— [Stamping the earth with great violence.

Perhaps, I say, Francesca had been mine.
He loved her, woo'd her,—married her! One day,
I met her coming from St. Agnes' cloisters,
Veil'd, and her beads beside her. She had been,
—It matters not—I touch'd her hand. She frown'd,
As if 'twere treason I'd been guilty of.
I was revenged upon them both! This portrait— [Taking a miniature from his garment.

Thou wert a lovely angel, I confess.
Hark!—'Tis the echo of the sounds, which show
The road, returning. Never more shall I—
Yet stay;—I have it.—I'm in paradise!
I will return unto the fisherman.
Ere this, no doubt, he is return'd from Naples.
I'll send him to Theresa for my harp;
(A few hours' journey); and some counterfeits
Of coins and keys; desire him to ascend
Yon valley to Salvator's porch; where I
Shall meet him on the morrow. It is done! [Puts up the portrait.

I'll act such service to king Ferdinand,
That all the past shall be as clean wiped off
The tablet of his memory, as if
Th'infernal characters never had been written.
Service to him were service to myself;
Pardon and riches, dignity and power.
To him, who robb'd me of Francesca, chains,
Wheels, racks, and saws;—the pillory and the gibbet!

[Exit.