University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

A Hall in the Prison.—Night.
Enter the Duke, Duchess, Cicilia, Prince of Andria, with Guards, and followed by some Officers of State.
DUKE.
It may be hard—good cousin, to both—but yet
With pangs like these must pride be rooted up.

DUCHESS.
Let him behold the pearl his wrath has trod on—
Sit down with us.

DUKE.
His mother herself endures
All this to do him good—now take your places.

[They sit at a Table.—Arezzi is brought in, chained.
DUCHESS.
Who bound these fetters on the Count?

DUKE.
What! Provost—
A noble, and uncondemned?—take them away— (The chains are taken off.)

They grieve him less than us—trust me, Arezzi,
We had no share in this.

AREZZI.
I thank your Grace.
So much of courtesy might breed extremes
And shame us both—your highness, in refusing—
Myself, in asking—more—and yet it is
At last, scarce courtesy.

DUKE.
Tell me your wish.

AREZZI.
That what you mean to do—you will do soon—
What you would know, ask now: your eyes are witness—
There is no more to learn—let me go hence.

DUKE.
I would do so, but must not yet.—Go whither?

AREZZI.
No matter where. I wish to lessen time,
Not pain—and shun, what grieves me worse than death—
And not death too—these faces and your own.

DUKE.
They should awaken more than grief, Arezzi!

AREZZI.
If you remember what I was, or hope
Yourself to be remembered—sit not there
With studious wisdom settled in your face—
You and your queen to gaze! be like a king,
And chuse some nobler kind of hate than this.
Your questions cannot reach beyond myself.
If torments must instruct these lips in treachery—
I know my weakness, and will trust elsewhere—
Try them before you sleep.

DUKE.
O! God forbid!
You shall think justly of us both.

DUCHESS.
For her,
These tears must answer if she loves thee—thankless!
She is not, and she never was unfaithful.

DUKE.
A queen! she might have been—but love though cruel,
Outweighed two kingdoms, and Arezzi still
Is more than sovereignty.

DUCHESS.
She gave her promise—
And kept her faith, to you and me, Arezzi—
I trusted, you did not.

AREZZI.
My prayer was heard!
The other half will follow.

DUKE.
You wronged me too.

DUCHESS.
This child! prince Andria's innocent!—He who sends
His nurse to choose his wife!—was thus far manly—
He threw the arms which Fortune gave aside,
Put by his power, unrobed himself of greatness,
Forgot the privilege of his place, and stood
Fairly—as far as will could make it even—
On level ground before you. When he failed,
He did not hate his conqueror.

DUKE.
Ask herself—
You will believe Cicilia now.

AREZZI.
I do.
A greater error lessens shame for this,
Which yet is shameful.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
There are more than these—
Greater than both! you will not think them so—
But he who cleanses what were else corrupt,
And may impute no sin to love like yours—
Commands a purer service, calls it duty,
And makes his peace its blessing.

DUCHESS.
Tell us now
If Andria and myself, in twenty years,
Were less than parents to you?

PRINCE ANDRIA.
When we erred,
Was it through want of love?

DUCHESS.
You should have felt
No less than may become a child toward us.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
O! but we changed of late—frowned on your hopes,
Lessened our bounties, and for what we did,
Made will and power the prologues!

DUCHESS.
Alas! Arezzi—
Faith is too slow of growth for twenty years!
Distrust can root itself, wax gross, and bear
Its fruits to ripeness in a month!—We could not—
Till Ferdinand had renounced his love, the king
Had sent forgiveness to myself and Andria—
We dared not tell you what you are.

AREZZI.
What am I?

DUCHESS.
Our son.

AREZZI.
Your son!

DUCHESS.
Those whose place you struck at,
Were, what they are, in blood as well as fondness,
Your father, mother, cousins.

AREZZI.
Have mercy—God!
Save me from this!

DUCHESS.
Such tears become my child.
We too have erred—and will reproach no more.
You shall embrace your mother.

AREZZI.
O, no, no—
Shame never found a place near breasts like yours,
Nor must it now. There is a curse above us;
Sorrow and danger fall on all who love me,
And all I love—only thus far forgive—
If it were yours, recal it. (He kneels, and rests his head on the table.)


PRINCE ANDRIA.
Bring these friars.
[Savelli and Gerardo are brought in.
What led you here last night?—do you speak first.

SAVELLI.
My duty, prince.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Your office then is dangerous.

SAVELLI.
It is, but urgent.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Does it nourish rebels?

SAVELLI.
It comforts all, but most the fallen and guilty.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
We know your charity.

SAVELLI.
Your highness knows
More than you love or practise then! I am
Confessor to the Count, I was his tutor—
And, feeble as I may be in myself,
The Churches servant shall perform her will,
If princes chide or not.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Thou insolent priest!
The Church disclaims a traitor.

SAVELLI.
In her name,
I scorn his lie who calls me such. The Count
May tremble, but he knows the truth—does he
Perjure his soul—and for a life of shame,
Impute to me his treasons?

Arezzi
(rising.)
I do not—

SAVELLI.
Hear that—and one as noble as yourself—
Too poor, indeed, to be a proud man's brother—
But yet, your father's son. Speak what thou knowest.

GERARDO.
I will.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
You shall be called on soon, and then
May answer for yourself—we have your billets—
We know your messages—Savelli first
Must meet his brethren here, whose backs may bring
Their abbey's chest untired.

GERARDO.
Ah! thus it is—
Time never mollifies! Before they hear us,
Our next in blood—whose cradle was our own—
Whose flesh and bones are ours—rise up against us!
Savelli knows me what I am, and not
What I may once have been—do I speak truth?
Should I be trusted, brother?

SAVELLI.
Both.

GERARDO.
Why then—
As there is hope of better worlds than this—
Thou art a traitor.—What dost gaze at, man?
I do not fear to speak my words twice o'er—
A cruel, cozening, barbarous, devilish traitor!
Thou hast betrayed thy friend, ensnared the guiltless,
Made me a blind partaker in thy knavery—
This thou hast done—shame on thee, hypocrite!
Andria may trust me now.

SAVELLI.
Thou double-faced fiend!

GERARDO.
Go on—revile, accuse, eat thine own words,
Warn all against belief!—the snare is broken,
And like a frighted bird, I spread my wings
Where truth shall be my resting place.—What was I?
A carrier of his billets! message-bearer!
A runner to and fro in frauds and treasons?
Were these the treasurer's alms? his charities?
His debts and dues?—O! fie, fie, fie!

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Stop now—
And tell us if it were your office too
Which brought you here last night?

GERARDO.
Brother! it was
My love toward that bad man; false pity, fear,
Amazement, and the credit of our house
Now lost! quite gone! Behold him wild with haste,
Half-choked, like one pursued, distraught, possessed,
And bellowing where I lay—O! help me, save me!—
He kneels beside my bed—and looks behind—
Attests the spiritual fellowship between us—
And by our common vows, adjures my pity—
Tells me this treason in the Count, and shows
Some knowledge near to guilt: through me, perchance,
As brother to the prince—these doors may open—
Arezzi must be silenced. Half awake
I rise and follow him—but, ye saints above!
What plots! what snares!—how many oaths and curses!
Fierce vows, relentless wishes, bloody hopes,
And lamentations o'er abortive crime!—
Yes—both of them repent—but what? that murder
Had not been tried more secretly.—One owns
His trust betrayed, the abbey's treasury spent
To fee conspiracy.

DUKE.
This was your friend
For whom you testified so much? whose grace
Shone like a glory round him? He was learned
In all good studies, but the most in those
Which lead to godliness!

GERARDO.
What does this prove?
Your Grace reminds me well—what does it prove?
Marry—what else but that I loved the man,
And did believe him faithful? He has blinded
One wiser than myself—my brother there.

SAVELLI.
Answer this slave, Arezzi.

AREZZI.
When I swore,
It was to both.

GERARDO.
Now will your highness hear!
There was an oath then—do I lie or not?
Savelli tendered poison to the Count—
He has it in his bosom still—by this
My words are verified.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Take it away—

[Savelli takes out the poison, and drinks it.
DUKE.
Lay hold upon the friar!—too late!

GERARDO.
No matter—
'Tis poison I know.

SAVELLI.
I leave him to your Grace—
May all believe and trust him!

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Till last night
You never heard of this conspiracy?

GERARDO.
Never—till late last night. Hold there, one moment!
Let me be sure—good sooth—I said too much!
I do bethink me of an iron-tongued prater—
The zany of some mountebank decayed—
What was it that they called his name?—a patch
With perilous impudence, brimful of lies
Which bubbled from him daily all day long,
And yet were never spent—a traveller's book
Where every nation's folly found its place,
And all mens' sins, a record—One who had
No soul to be ashamed of—so no shame.
He was Arezzi's counsellor, till his skull
Split on the palace stairs last night—I think
They called the knave—Cimbelli.

AREZZI.
Slanderous liar!
Beware to tempt me further—this Cimbelli
Was noble, if nobility be truth,
And good, if what is faithful lean from evil!—
Yet thou dost well—he was the impostor's scourge,
And hypocrites abhorr'd him.

DUCHESS.
Peace, awhile—
What more of this Cimbelli?

GERARDO.
May I speak?—
So! mercy on us! need these traitors patience!—
The ape we talk about, now two days gone,
Came where I could not shun him, held me fast
And said—“We shall require your prayers, and you
“May then leave off to pray. The prince, your brother,
“Must turn into a monk instead, yourself
“Shall be a prince.” I smiled upon the sot
And asked him, when? he answered, “When the duke
“Is Count Arezzi's subject, and the Count
“Becomes a king.”—I do not chide with drunkards,
So bade him go and sleep.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Where is Cimbelli?

[Cimbelli throws aside his cloak and cap, and comes forward.
AREZZI.
Cimbelli!

CIMBELLI.
Ay, Cimbelli—who has heard—
Despite the proverb of a listener's fortunes—
Some good about himself at last. He kept
His peace with much ado. Behold me, father,
One of his highness' guards—a man in trust;
The prince your brother gave his zany this—
[Shows his sword.
Dost take me for my ghost?—prithee leave staring—
He did not mean to burn me—what thou saidst
Of letters written by his Grace to Spain,
Then signed and sealed by thee—was fanciful.
The Inquisitors have other fish to fry.
Let the prince live!—besides, why should we kill him?
His lands and honors cannot fall to thee:
He is provided with an heir—Arezzi
Is nephew to your reverence, and his son.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
You hear the truth—what else?

SAVELLI.
Let me speak once.
The darkness gathers round me—I would die
With one sin less—Arezzi fell through treachery—
Beware Gerardo, prince!—Give me some help;
Trust not that scorpion—mercy—O!—no mercy!

[He falls and is carried out.
PRINCE ANDRIA.
Take him away.

PROVOST.
He points, and tries to speak.

GERARDO.
Is this your son indeed?

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Get thee hence—Cain!

GERARDO.
Andria, we both must go—and childless both—
We leave no heirs behind us.
[He takes a dagger from his breast and stabs Arezzi.
Half is done!
Now, brother, for thyself.

DUCHESS.
Lay hold upon him—

[As Gerardo passes round the table to Prince Andria— Cimbelli strikes him with his sword, and throws him down.
CIMBELLI.
Incarnate devil!—canst die? your sword, prince Andria,
Has done its master service!

CICILIA.
Look, he bleeds—
Save him—bring help!

AREZZI.
It is not much.

DUCHESS.
Child, child!

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Look up and speak, my son.

CIMBELLI.
Courage, Arezzi!
He struck but once, bear ye that carcase out—
[To the Guards.
It grins with mischief still.

AREZZI.
Let me lie down.

CICILIA.
Will no one stop this blood! he bleeds to death—
There is no help, no pity!

AREZZI.
I deserve none—
And least of all from you—yet have I loved
To guilt and madness—you will pardon now?

CICILIA.
O! do not speak of pardon—all need pardon!
It is imperfect love that can forgive—
Mine never felt but grief.

PRINCE ANDRIA.
Look! the blood stops!

CICILIA.
We may be happy yet.

AREZZI.
O! never, never!—
The pardoned traitor happy! I have brought
Shame on yourself, and these.

DUCHESS.
Good God! good God!
Make me be patient—I would learn to suffer—
Yet now be merciful!

AREZZI.
It was his mercy
I did not die last night—he never blesses
Him whom a father loves, yet cannot bless!

PRINCE ANDRIA.
We both have blessed thee, child—

AREZZI.
Come near, Cimbelli—
For my sake serve my mother—raise me higher,
So, I feel strength and less in pain—this blood
Which drains my heart, still leaves its guilt behind!

DUCHESS.
Hush, hush! we call not ignorance, guilt—and error
May end in peace.

AREZZI.
No error leads to this—
It makes us not ungrateful! Let men call me
The parricide Arezzi! I have been
Opinion's fool too long. Yourselves, my parents—
Ah! better never known as such, than now—
Will fear to grieve while sorrow looks like sin!
Go, wash your hands—and say that God is just—
He strikes the guilty! One will pity still,
Whose meekness has endured so much, and borne
Distrust, reproach, unkindness! Let the rest
Forget me, or abhor me—I shall find
A place where all things else are good and pure,
For long remembrance—promise this, Cicilia.

CICILIA.
I do.

AREZZI.
Forgive me—O! those lips once more—
They make death easier—all is silence here—
Speak to me—do not leave me—love me still—
Forgive the ungrateful—speak—good God! just God!

[Dies.