Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti | ||
SCENE III.
[A Street in front of the Falcone Palace. Night. Enter Isabella in her white bridal dress. She falters to her father's door, and drops exhausted.]ISABELLA.
My brain swims round! I'll rest a little here!
The night's cold, chilly cold. Would I could reach
The house of Angelo! Alas! I thought
He would have kept one night of vigil near me,
Thinking me dead. Bear up, good heart! Alas!
I faint! Where am I? (Looks around.)
'Tis my father's door.
My undirected feet have brought me home—
And I must in, or die! (Knocks with a painful effort.)
So ends my dream!
FALCONE,
(from above.)
Who's that would enter to a mourning house?
Your daughter!
FALCONE.
Ha! what voice is that I hear?
ISABELLA.
Poor Isabella's.
FALCONE.
Art thou come to tell me,
That with unnatural heart I killed my daughter?
Just Heaven! thy retribution follows fast!
But oh, if holy and unnumbered masses
Can give thee rest, perturb'd and restless spirit!
Haunt thou a weeping penitent no more!
Depart! I'll in, and pass the night in prayer!
So shalt thou rest! Depart!
(He closes the window, and Isabella drops with her forehead to the marble stair.)
(Enter Tomaso, with a bottle in his hand.)
TOMASO.
It's like the day after the deluge. Few stirring and nobody dry. I've been since twilight looking for somebody that would drink. Not a beggar athirst in all Florence! I thought that, with a bottle in my hand, I should be scented like a wild boar. I expected drunkards would have come up out of the ground—like worms in a shower. When was I ever
ISABELLA,
(faintly.)
Signor!
TOMASO.
Hey! What!
ISABELLA.
Help, Signor!
TOMASO.
A woman! Ehem!
(approaching her.)
Would you
take something to drink by any chance?
(Offers her
the bottle.)
No? Perhaps you don't like to drink out
of the bottle.
ISABELLA.
I perish of cold!
TOMASO.
Stay Here's a cloak! My master's out for the
night, and you shall home with me. Come! Perhaps
when you get warmer, you'd like to drink a little. The
wine's good!
(Assists her in rising,)
By St. Genevieve,
a soft hand! Come! I'll bring you where there's fire
and a clean flagon.
ISABELLA.
To any shelter, Signor.
Shelter! nay, a good house, and two hundred ducats in ripe wine. Steady now! (This shall pass for a good action! If my master smell a rat, I'll face him out the woman's honest!) This way, now! Softly! That's well stepp'd! Come!
(Goes out, assisting her to walk.)
Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti | ||