University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A magnificent saloon, illuminated with festive splendor: crowds of cavaliers and ladies engaged in conversation, or dancing, or walking about. The family of Belvederé dispersed among the company. Orsini aloof, in observation.
Ors.
Pray Heaven, good come of it!—Poor thing!
This wrings her soul. I see it; and 't is strange!—
Is that a face of cunning?—Can a look
Of bosomed grief like that conceal a heart
So black?
(Gazing round.)
Tinsel! all tinsel to pure gold!
Never saw I the form of loveliness
So near angelic, beauty exquisite
As Guido's dreams. Well might he wail her loss;
If no foul play,—which I indeed suspect.

(A cavalier approaches Orsini, who turns away to avoid him.)
Cavalier.
(accosting him.)
Signor, a splendid company.

Ors.
Truly, my lord.

Cav.
Have you been long from Pisa?

Ors.
No, my lord.

Cav.
What lady is 't that sits alone—just there—
Beneath the brilliant?—pale,—with a handkerchief,—
Left of the Cardinal and friar,—dressed
In Padua green, bordered with silver? There—
D' ye see her, Sir?—a chaplet of white flowers?

Ors.
'T is the Count's youngest daughter.

Cav.
Ah! is it she?—the Dian Belvederé?
For so admiring Florence calls her. Faith!
The huntress Queen need shine her brightest.—Signor,
Methinks this revelry displeases her.

Ors.
Why so?

Cav.
Observe her but a little: I have marked her.—
While Cosmo and his bride knelt in the chapel,
A shudder seemed to pass across her; drops,
Great drops, not tears, stood on her face: she looked
Like sculptured agony. Remarked you not?

Ors.
I stood more distant,—watched less heedfully.

Cav.
Nay, 't was apparent.

Ors.
Parting with her sister,—
The touching ceremony,—these might move her.
Adieu, my lord. (Bows and disappears in the crowd.)


Cav.
Truly; but scarce to such a fixed woe.
De' Medici!

2d Cav.
(turning.)
Ha, Alighieri!

1st Cav.
Know you that lady?

2d Cav.
Which? in white?

1st Cav.
The next.

2d Cav.
O!—
That 's a divinity.

1st Cav.
But by what title may she be invoked?

2d Cav.
Her sect adores her under ten or twenty;
As Daphne, Dian, Lucrece, La Madonna,
White Rose of Loveliness.—Why, know you not
The darling of the name Amerigo?
Enchanting, sweet, and gentle as the maids
Vespucci tells of, Eves of his new world,
That, plumed and garlanded, sing all day long
Under the nodding palm-trees?

1st Cav.
Pray present me.

2d Cav.
Not know her?

1st Cav.
No, in faith.

2d Cav.
Come, then;—why, she 's the fairest star o' the night.

(They move to the side where Demetria sits. Cosmo passes slowly by.)
Cos.
Dearly she 's paid the price!—Now, God! let loose
The elements!—Storm! wrack! make all like this
Fell bosom!—Curse the tumult!—Twenty thousand
Torches seem stuck about my brain!—Ha! who 's that?—

(Seeing the two cavaliers address Demetria, advances towards them. Folding doors are flung open; discovering a suit of apartments brilliantly lighted for the banquet. A grand symphony strikes up, and the company pass through.)

SCENE II.

Demetria's chamber. A neglected lamp burning on the table: the room gloomy and silent, except at intervals the sound of music and merriment from the apartments below. Demetria enters, throws herself into a chair, and sits, for some time, as if gazing at the light.
Dem.
'T is past!—Mine eyes have seen it!—What is left
For me?—The power of Heaven cannot recall it!—
'T is registered in that Eternal Book
Where all irrevocable things are written!—
Those timbrels mock me.—Would, I could not hear them!—
(Looking round the room.)
Dark, dark!—like my destiny!—My spring-time
Passed swiftly,—sweet as transitory!—Already
The frosts of autumn gather hoar around!—
The sear leaf falls.—I had a mother,—she
Moulders beneath the sod:—a lover—Hark!—
How their bursts of merriment shake the roof! Now, now,
The bridegroom pledges! now the smile illumes
A thousand eyes, a thousand tongues repeat
The plaudit!—Poor Demetria! who thinks of thee?
Darkness may cover thee, storms beat on thee,
And none regards it:—sorrow finds no heart-room.
(After a short silence, convulsed by one or two deep sobs, she rises.)
Hail! then, thou lowly bed! where sighing is hushed,
Where love comes not, and grief forgets to feel!
Chambers of everlasting stillness! there
I'll lay me.—Mother! mother! we will sleep
Together!— (Goes hastily into her boudoir; whence, after a few moments, she returns, trembling, and mortally pale.)

I 've pledged thee, Cosmo!—Now the seal is set!—
And I am plighted to a grimmer bridegroom!
Soon, soon, I shall be wedded too!—Let none
Judge harshly of me!—O! I could have borne
The direst accidents of fortune;—seen
Every dear friend fall off;—been left alone
In this wide world, and waited patiently
The hour appointed. But to be despised,—
A cast-off by the heart thou lovest,—there,
There 's the insufferable pang! (Rings.)

Will this affect him? this becloud his triumph?
(Enters the inner room again, and returns with her hat and mantle.)
Father!—that I could say farewell to thee!—
May angels comfort thee when I am gone!
(Rings again and goes to the window.)
The moon withdraws her face, and scarce a star
Looks out to cheer me. (Still gazing.)
Beyond your shining spheres
Far, far, must I explore!—O! that I knew
The place, the Paradise where she inhabits,
And could attain it!—Who shall guide? or what
Assurance have I—

Enter Bianca, who starts back on seeing Demetria.
Bian.
Jesu defend us!—Whither art thou going?—
I thought thee at the banquet.—Where art going?—

Dem.
To walk.

Bian.
Walk! at this hour? alone?
What mean ye?—For Heaven's sake tell me.

Dem.
Hear me, Bianca,—

Bian.
Give me thy mantle, child. Thou 'rt pale: thine eyes
Roll wildly—

Dem.
Hear, Bianca.—When I'm gone,
Be sure you lay me near her side.

Bian.
(terrified.)
She raves!—
What means my darling child?—Gone where?

Dem.
Dost hear me?—
When I'm away,—you then may tell him.—
Say to my father—say—I prayed—I blessed him.

Bian.
(falling on her knees and clasping her.)
Stay! stay! my gracious lady—'t is dark night!
O, whither wouldst thou?—This is frantic madness.

Dem.
(with a desperate calmness.)
Unclasp your hold.—I am not mad.—Obey me.
In the pavilion you will find me.

(Exit.)
Bian.
She 's crazed!—
Go forth at such a time!—How strange she looked!
How hollow-toned! She waxes desperate,
And may be tempted to some dreadful act.

(Exit in terror.)

SCENE III.

An apartment communicating with the suit of rooms terminating in the saloon; where the company is again assembled. The noise of revelry heard, and the dancers seen at a distance passing quickly to and fro. Bianca and a Servant enter from an opposite direction.
Bian.
Call Signor Cosmo!—Fly!—Bid him be instant!
(Exit Servant towards the saloon.)
It has undone her.—It shall go no further,—
O, precious child!—The saints watch over thee!—
Mother of Jesu! guard her life, beseech ye!
(Enter Cosmo from the saloon.)
So then—you 've murdered her!—False! treacherous!—
You 've killed my sweetest lady!—Shame eternal!—

Cos.
What!—murdered!—who?

Bian.
You 've broke her heart—
Curse on such cruelty! Judgment, I hope,
Will overtake it.

Cos.
Hag, what mean'st thou?

Bian.
Ask
Your conscience!—or 's that seared?—My child,
My sweetest lady,—poor Demetria—

Cos.
What of her?

Bian.
She 's gone distracted.

Cos.
(starting.)
Distracted!—who?—where is she?

Bian.
Shame!
Shame! shame! you wooed her, won her gentle heart;
Forsook her basely;—married with her sister.

Cos.
I did; for she was false.

Bian.
(violently.)
False! who was false?

Cos.
Ay,—she betrayed me.

Bian.
Palsied be the tongue
That calls her false! She was as true as angels!
If you dare call her false—

Cos.
I know it—I can prove it—have the letter.

Bian.
What letter?

Cos.
Yes, to Barbadeca.

Bian.
Letter! Barbadeca!—Horrors!
Whence came it? Tell me truly, I conjure thee.

Cos.
From Jacquelina:—she detected them:
She knows—has seen their meetings.

Bian.
(staggering backwards.)
Quick and dead!
'T is so!—now, now, the dreadful light breaks in!
O, fool, fool, fool!—and you, for this, forsook her?

Cos.
Yes; was it not a reason?

Bian.
A reason! O, sweet heavens, a reason!—
I say she loves you,—ever has adored you;—
O! that I 'd spoken!—all the while I thought,
I thought some hellish fraud was at the bottom.

Cos.
For God's sake speak:—torture me not:—
Why think ye that she loves me? on what proof?

Bian.
Hear briefly, Signor.—If I warp the truth,
Forked lightnings end me. You have been tricked, deceived,
Most vilely tricked. That letter—what it is,
I know not; but if in ought it implicate
Or charge Demetria, 't is as false as hell,
In whose abyss 't was forged. For I can swear—
Anon I'll give you proof—how true she was.
Two nights, I 've heard that serpent who deceived thee,
Muttering in sleep. She named this Barbadeca,
As if, with her, in some deep villany
Compacted; groaned, and tossed, like one in torments.
Last night, she cursed him; oft invoked Demetria;
Talked of a trunk down somewhere, and a letter;
And cried: “O! spare me! O! he set me on!”

Cos.
Merciful Heaven!

Bian.
Your name she uttered, twice
Or thrice; and mumbled of the coming marriage.
There 's foulest treachery somewhere:—she is deep in 't.—
But, as I hope for masses for my soul,
So sure, my lord, she loved you to her heart's core.
Last night, I came upon her all alone,
Talking, and weeping, to her mother's picture:—
Most bitterly she took your altered vows,
And her abandonment.

Cos.
Earth, swallow me!

Bian.
I forced her to commune, and did implore
Leave to inquire if any slanderous tale
Had thus estranged you; but with adjurations,
And, as I loved her honor, she forbade me.

Cos.
Undone!—Where is she?

Bian.
Now, this very moment,
I found her in her chamber, nigh distraught.
She bade me with a strange solemnity
To lay her near her mother. Other charges
She sadly left with me. Follow her, Signor:
Some desperate purpose—

Cos.
Follow! where is she?

Bian.
Gone wandering forth alone, toward the pavilion.
I begged her on my knees—
(Cosmo rushes out.)
Well may ye falter!—O, that I had spoken!—
O, that I had disregarded!—Twice I rose
To seek him, but her solemn charge withheld me.—
It would have saved a noble house from ruin!—
Where be my lord the Count?—Alack! alack!

(Exit into the saloon.)

SCENE IV.

The wood: the villa seen across the grounds, blazing with lights: Demetria enters, her hair loose and flying.
Dem.
She pities me,—she sheds a watery gleam,—
And the wind moans—Once more, once more—
(Stops, and fixes her eyes, with a long and steadfast gaze, on the mansion.)
Happy!—too happy, once!—Now I must leave ye,—
Dear natal bowers!—Remembered joys!—ye rise,—
Ye swell my heart!—I scarce can look my last—
How proud the symphony!—How the light turns
Everything to enchantment!—There 's her chamber!—
The torches glitter there—Why linger? wherefore?—Why—
(Turning away.)
My hour is come! Dark bridegroom, take me now!

(Exit.)

SCENE V.

The pavilion. Demetria appears from the wood; totters into it, and sinks upon a seat.
Dem.
I feel it—shooting through my heart:—the hand
Of death is on me. Now, the parting comes.—
'T is dismal!—Would I had some friend to cheer me;—
Some kindly breast to lay my head upon!—
To die—alone—
(Suddenly clasping her hands.)
—That 's not the worst!
O! mother, intercede!—go prostrate!—plead!
Wrestle, ah! wrestle for me, mother!—Clasp Her feet,
And say I could have borne aught, aught but this!—
Thou mayst prevail—thou mayst embrace me yet!—
O, hear'st thou?—Give some sign—Dear mother,
Whisper me! breathe upon me!—O! some sign!—
Alas! alas! all things are silent!—Ha!
Who 's here?
(Cosmo throws himself at her feet, unable to speak.)
Whom do you seek for here, my lord?

Cos.
I'm come to grovel here for pardon. Canst thou
Forgive a wretch like me? Demetria,—Oh!
I've wronged thee,—injured thee past all forgiveness,—
But never yet have been so cursed as not
To love thee.

Dem.
Rise, my lord, and leave this place.

Cos.
Never, no never, never will I quit
Thy feet, till thou hast sealed my pardon. Love,
We 've been undone by fiendish treachery!
The Foe of all has twined me in his snare;—
That moment, when I vowed to love another,
My soul clung to thee,—clung in agony.
Not for one breath, one heart-beat, have I ceased
To love thee. Canst thou, spotless Purity,
Pardon my sin, in giving ear to slanders?

Dem.
Ha, Cosmo! hast thou foundered on that rock?

Cos.
O, 't was so subtly laid! Fool! fool! I knew,
I might have known, that angels sin not. Yet,
So cunningly—I sought to rend the toils,
But could not. O! Demetria, canst thou, wronged
So cruelly, forgive the wretched Cosmo?

Dem.
I know not whom I 've injured?—Who could fix
A stain upon me?

Cos.
The child of hell that tends
Thy sister, mastered me by some strong spell:
Made me believe your heart was Barbadeca's,
And I but trifled with, to veil your passion.

Dem.
Heavenly powers!—O, Cosmo, Cosmo!—
How couldst thou credit such a tale?—my heart!—
Mine?—Barbadeca's?—O, how couldst thou?

Cos.
Fiends, fiends,
With hellish potions overcame my reason.
'T is done,—'t is past,—my peace is justly wrecked!—
Forgive me, matchless Innocence; then cast
Me from remembrance: never think again
On one so damned.

Dem.
Take my pardon, Cosmo;
Would it were healing, as 't is freely given.
I fain would hear the mournful story; know
What frauds can so have wrought upon thy nature,
Upright and noble as I know it is.—
But 't is too late.—My Cosmo, we must part,—
Death's finger is upon me.

Cos.
(recoiling.)
Thou hast not!—

Dem.
Ah! Cosmo!—sorrows pressed so heavily—
Weak and alone—my constancy gave way—
I thought in one oblivious draught—

Cos.
So then,
I 've murdered thee! O, horror! horror! where
Is there a depth, dark as my reprobation?

Dem.
Don't blame thyself so bitterly, my Cosmo,
Because an evil star has crossed us here.
Perhaps, hereafter, we may meet in peace,
There, where the tongue of slander never stings,
Where no malicious fate can part us.

Cos.
Never—
Never!—Hope not for me.

Dem.
Would thou couldst feel
The peace, the bliss that settles at my soul!—
But now, disconsolate, alone, I thought
To breathe my spirit out, as in the desert;
Nought looked upon me but the silent heavens;
No voice bemoaned me but the passing wind.
Now, reconciled love is near me; hope
And joy spring in my bosom. Hear'st thou not
Music?—A sign some blessed one hovers near,
Commissioned to receive me.

Cos.
Must we part—
So newly met—Thou nothing know'st—not half,
Not half the love that agonizes here!

Dem.
Come near me, Cosmo:—let me lean upon thee:—
Nearer:—I 've loved thee long, and tenderly;—
I love thee still,—and never while this soul
Partakes of being, will thy virtues cease
Their influence o'er me. Whether it be my lot
To chant with white-stoled sisters, or to weep
An outcast, never shall I, can I, cease
To love thee. Let that soothe thine anguish. Now,
In this last solemn hour, the sharpest pang
I feel, is thus to leave thee here behind me
Afflicted and alone. For I had thought
To tread life's path beside thee, thought to share—
It cannot be—I feel it here—a grasp,
Like ice, benumbs me. Cosmo, let my prayer
Prevail.—Waste not thy life in useless sorrow:—
Be comforted—and cheer—my father.

Cos.
Comforted!—

Dem.
(in a fainter voice.)
Be not deceived—
O! by our loves,—by every hope, and fear,
I charge thee, lift not thy rash hand against
Thyself. O! 't is a solemn thing—That gleam
Has faded:—Darkness, dread uncertainty,
Oppress me.—Live—and pray for my unhappy—

(Her voice dies away.)
Cos.
Thou 'rt sinking—dying!—O, for words,—utterance,—
Loved—loved—O, I am—I cannot—

Dem.
(her head resting on his bosom.)
Ah, Cosmo! I have much to tell thee too—
More—many!—tender legacies—I 'd leave thee—
But shadows swim before me—shadows—

(Dies.)
Cos.
(for some time motionless.)
Still?—Dead?—Her heart beats not!—Yes—No—
Her pulse—All 's stopped! Dead! dead! I clasp her clay!
O sacrificed, O murdered angel!—This,
This is thy recompense!—Have I bereft
Those eyes of lustre? I broken that fond heart?—
What anguish must have driven her?—O, the pangs
The pangs her spirit suffered!—Thief! wretch! caitiff!—
I am too hateful!—Gentle, slaughtered angel!
One kiss—while life's perfume is on thy lips—
(Kisses her: gazes on her awhile: kisses her again.)
I ask no more than to partake thy lot!

(Stabs himself and sinks by her side.)