 | The complete works of N.P. Willis |  |
BIANCA VISCONTI;
OR THE HEART OVERTASKED.
Francesco Sforza — A Condottiero of the 14th century, afterward
Duke of Milan.Brunorio — His Lieutenant.
Sarpellione — Ambassador at Milan from Alfonso, king of
Naples.Rossano — A Milanese Captain, formerly companion in arms to
Sforza.Pasquali. — A whimsical Poet.
Bianca Visconti — Daughter of Philip Visconti,[1] the bed-ridden
Duke of Milan, and heiress-apparent to the crown.Giulio — Her Page, afterward discovered to be her brother and
heir to the crown.Fiametta — Waiting Women to Bianca, and partial to Pasquali.
Lords of Council, Priest, Messengers, Sentinels, &c.
DRAMATIS PERSONæ.
1. ACT I.
SCENE I.
[Pasquali the poet's chamber. Fiametta mending his hose
while he writes.]
Fiametta.
Why dost thou never write verses upon me?
Pasquali.
Didst thou ever hear of a cauliflower struck
by lightning?
Fiametta.
If there were honesty in verses, thou wouldst
sooner write of me than of Minerva thou talkst of. Did
she ever mend thy hose for thee?
Pasquali.
There is good reason to doubt if Minerva
ever had hose on her leg.
Fiametta.
There now! She can be no honest woman!
I thought so when thou saidst she was most willing at
night.
Pasquali.
If thy ignorance were not endless, I would
instruct thee in the meanings of poetry. But thou'lt call
Jupiter a cow driver, till the thunderbolt thou takest for a
bunch of twigs, strike thee dead for profanity. This once
understand: Minerva is no woman, but wit; and when the
poet speaks of unwilling Minerva, he talks of sluggish wit
— that hath nothing to do with chastity.
Fiametta.
Are there two names for all things then,
Master Pasquali?
Pasquali.
Ay — nearly.
Fiametta.
What is the learned name for honest wife?
Pasquali.
Spouse.
Fiametta.
When shall I be thy spouse then?
Pasquali.
When thou canst make up thy mind to forego
all hope of living in poetry.
Fiametta.
Nay, if I am not to be put in verse, I may as
well have a plain man for a husband.
Pasquali.
If thou wouldst be put in verse, thou shalt
have no husband at all.
Fiametta.
Now, wilt thou tell me why — in good common
words, Master Pasquali.
Pasquali.
Thus: — dost thou think Petrarch had e'er
made Laura so famous if she had been honestly his wife?
Fiametta.
An' she were thrifty, I think he might.
Pasquali.
I tell thee no! His sonnets had then been
as dull as the praises of the just. No man would remember
them.
Fiametta.
Can no honest women be famous then?
Pasquali.
Virtue disqualifies. There is no hope for
her in poetry if she be not a sinner. Mention me the most
famous woman in history.
Fiametta.
Helen of Troy, in the ballad, I think.
Pasquali.
Wouldst thou be more virtuous than she?
Fiametta.
Nay, that were presumption.
Pasquali.
Knowest thou why she is sung in an Iliad?
I will tell thee: being the wife to Menelaus, she ran away
with the prince of Troy.
Fiametta.
Then is it a shame to remember her.
Pasquali.
So thou sayest in thy ignorance. Yet for
that sin she hath been remembered near three thousand
years. Look through all poetry, and thou'lt find it thrives
upon making sinners memorable. To be famous, thou
must sin. Wilt thou qualify?
[A rap at the door.]
Page.
Master Pasquali! Master Pasquali!
Fiametta.
Holy Virgin! it is my mistress's page. An'
I be found here now, I were as qualified as Helen of Troy.
[She conceals herself. Enter the page.]
Pasquali.
How now, Master Giulio! Thou'rt impatient.
Page.
Zounds, Pasquali! If thou hadst been a prince,
I had not been kept longer at the door.
Pasquali.
If thou wert of age to relish true philosophy,
I could prove to thee that the poet were the better waited
for of the two. But what is thy errand?
Page.
A song — I want a new song!
Pasquali.
To what tune?
Page.
To a new tune on the old theme. Could I tell
thee a secret without danger now! Hast thou ne'er a cat
that will mew it out?
Pasquali.
No! not even a wall that has ears. What
is thy news?
Page.
My mistress Bianca hath lost all taste for my
singing!
Pasquali.
A pin's head might pay for that news.
Page.
But, good Pasquali, wilt thou not write me a
new song?
Pasquali.
Upon what theme?
Page.
Sforza — still Sforza! But it must be melancholy.
Pasquali.
Why melancholy?
Page.
Did I not tell thee once in confidence that she
loved him?
Pasquali.
Ay — and I writ a song in his praise.
Page.
I now tell thee in confidence that she hath lost
him; for she is to marry Lionel of Ferrara!
Pasquali.
Here's news, indeed.
Page.
It's the duke's will, and my lady is grieved to
the degree I tell thee. She'll have none of my music.
Wilt thou write me the song?
Pasquali.
Must it be mournful, say you?
Page.
Ay — as the jug-jug of her nightingale. She's
full of tears. Wilt thou write it now? Shall I hold the
ink while thou writest it?
Pasquali.
Bless the boy's wits! Dost thou think songs
are made like pancakes, by turning the hand over?
Page.
Why, is't not in thy head?
Pasquali.
Ay — it is.
Page.
And how long will it take thee to write eight
lines upon parchment?
Pasquali.
Not long — if Minerva were willing.
Shall I have it by vespers then?
Pasquali.
Ay — if thou wilt leave me presently.
Page.
Farewell then! Let it be melancholy, good
Pasquali.
[Exit.
[Fiametta comes out.]
Fiametta.
Now must I hurry to my mistress, ere that
monkey-page gets to the palace.
Pasquali.
Stands he well with her!
Fiametta.
If he were her born child, she could not love
him more. She fancies the puppy-dog has an eye of her
color. Good day, Master Pasquali.
Pasquali.
Stay! will she marry this Lionel, think you?
Fiametta.
Can you know anything by tears?
Pasquali.
Not so much by a woman's — but doth your
lady weep?
Fiametta.
Ay — like an aqueduct!
Pasquali.
Then it's more like she loves than hates him!
Fiametta.
Now, enlighten me that!
Pasquali.
Thus: — a woman, if she be a lady (for
clowns like thee, are of a constitution more dull and
reasonable); — a lady, I say, hath usually in her composition,
two spirits — one angelical, the other diabolical. Now,
if you stir me up the devil, he will frown — but if you touch
me the angel, he will weep! If your lady weep, therefore,
it is more like this match hath waked the angel than stirred
the devil — for I never saw woman yet, who, if her heart
were crossed, would not play the devil ere she knocked
under!
Fiametta.
How canst thou think such brave thoughts
on what does not concern thee!
Pasquali.
Does it concern me if I shall live for ever?
Fiametta.
Surely it doth!
Pasquali.
By what shall I live then?
Fiametta.
By faith in the catechism, I think!
Pasquali.
By poetry, I tell thee! And now digest
this paradox! Though poetry be full of lies, it is unworthy
to be called poetry if it be not true as prophecy.
Fiametta.
But how can that be true which is false?
Pasquali.
I will show thee! Thy lady's page would
have a song, now, full of lamentation for Sforza. In it, I
should say, the heavens wept — (which would be a lie) —
that the winds whispered mournfully his name (which
would be a lie), and that life without him were but music
out of tune (which would be a consumed lie)! Yet if she
loved Sforza, see you not that my verses, which are nothing
but lies, have a poetic truth. When if she love him not —
they are poetically false!
Fiametta.
'Tis like thy flatteries then! When thou
sayest my cheek is like a peach, it is true, because it hath
down upon it, and so hath a peach — yet it is false — because
my cheek hath no stone in it!
Pasquali.
Let me taste the savor of that peach. Thou
art wiser than I thought thee.
Fiametta.
I must go now.
Pasquali.
Find me out if she love him! I would fain
write no more verses on Sforza — whom I hate that he hath
only a brute courage, and no taste for poesy. Now,
Lionel's father was Petrarch's friend, and thy lady loving
my verses, it were more convenient if she loved Lionel,
who would love them too. Go thy ways now.
Fiametta.
Farewell, Master Pasquali!
Pasquali.
Stay — there be rude men in this poor quarter,
I will come with thee to the piazza. Come along,
mistress!
SCENE II.
[The Camp before Milan. The tent of Sforza at the side
and watchfires in the distance. Enter Sforza and
Brunorio.]
Sforza.
Is the guard set?
Brunorio.
All set, my lord!
Sforza.
The watch-fires where I ordered?
Brunorio.
Hold you your purpose, sir?
Sforza.
I will set on! This fickle Duke of Milan
Has changed for the last time. Brunorio!
Brunorio.
You seem disturbed, sir.
Sforza.
The best blood up that ever rose for Sforza.
Are your spears resolute?
Brunorio.
As yourself, my lord!
Sforza.
Why I have waited on the changing pleasure
Of this old duke so long.
Brunorio.
He promised you his daughter.
Sforza.
And every year he has renewed and broken
This promise of alliance.
Brunorio.
Milan against the Florentine, my lord?
'Tis said the fair Bianca is betrothed
To their ally Ferrara! They will join
Naples against you, and cry out “usurper!”
Sforza.
The first hewed wood! There lies enough to bar me,
Were I another Cæsar, from authority!
'Tis by this whip I have been driven so long —
'Tis by the bait of this old man's alliance
I have for ten years fought the wars of Milan.
They've fooled me year by year, and still found means
With their cursed policy, to put me off —
And, by the saints, they've reason. Could I point
The world to such a thread twixt me and Milan
As weaves a spider through the summer air,
I'd hang a crown upon it. Once possessed
Of a fair seat in Lombardy, my spears
Would glisten in St. Mark's!
Brunorio.
And thence to Naples!
Sforza.
You echo my own thought!
[Enter a sentinel.]
Sentinel.
By torch-light comes from Milan.
[Enter Sarpellione, in haste.]
Sarpellione.
I've rudely used my privilege to seek you!
Sforza.
By right of office you are ever welcome.
Sarpellione.
In haste and privacy?
Sforza.
Brunorio, leave us!
Sarpellione.
With terms of peace. The duke would give his daughter
To save his capital.
Sforza.
The duke does well!
Sarpellione.
You'll wed her then!
Sforza.
Free of all other terms save peace between us,
I'll wed her freely.
Sarpellione.
You're not the Sforza that should be the son
Of him who made the name!
Sforza.
But you are politic, and speak advisedly.
What bars my marriage with Duke Philip's daughter?
Sarpellione.
Bianca was not born in wedlock!
Sforza.
Well!
Sarpellione.
She's been betrothed to other suitors —
Sforza.
Well!
Sarpellione.
The ducal crown? Is't well to have a wife
Who has made up her mind to other husbands —
Who has been sold to every paltry prince
Twixt Sicily and Venice?
Sforza.
Is that all?
Sarpellione.
By the same mother to the Duke of Milan.
Sforza (seizing him by the arm).
Said you a son?
Sarpellione.
A son! — and — had I time —
Sforza.
To grant me but a moment.
[Turning to Sarpellione.]
Sarpellione.
Who'll make it good.
Sforza.
For what you say?
Sarpellione.
Will prove this story true. His mother fled,
As the world knows — in peril of her life —
To Naples.
Sforza.
I well remember.
Sarpellione.
From young Alfonso, newly king, she died;
But in her throes brought prematurely forth
A son; whom, fearing for his life, she hid,
And reared him, ever like a prince, till now,
Sforza.
Some fourteen years.
Sarpellione.
And feels his blood already.
Sforza.
What make you out of it to change my purpose?
Sarpellione.
Which Milan's allies will pluck back from you
To put the prince upon his father's seat —
My royal master wishes you forewarned.
Sforza.
He's kind — if that is all!
Sarpellione.
Of the best sword in Italy.
Sforza.
Lies under this?
Sarpellione.
Your star stoops to the south. Alfonso's army
Gathers at Capua to war on Florence!
(More earnestly.) He'll add Ravenna to your marquisate
For but a thousand spears!
Sforza.
Without his leave! Admit the herald there!
No, count! your policy has overshot!
The King Alfonso needs no spears of mine —
But he would have them farther off from Milan —
A blind mole would see that!
Sarpellione.
My lord! My lord!
Sforza.
Too long the sport of your fine policy!
With promises of power and fair alliance
I've fought for every prince in Italy —
And against all, in turn; now leagued with Venice
To beat back Florence from the Brenta; now
With Florence against Milan; then with Milan
To drive the Tuscan home again, and all
For my own glory, by some politic reason.
I'll have a place, or I'll be in the track on't —
Where the poor honor that my hand may pluck
Shall be well garnered. By Visconti's daughter
I set my foot in Milan. My poor laurels,
Such as they are, shall root there! — and, by Heaven,
I'll find a way to make their branches flourish!
Call in the herald, there!
Sarpellione.
Prince of Ferrara, whom Bianca loves —
Sforza.
And will suffice me still. If it should chance
Bianca loves another, 'tis an evil
To wed with me, which I will recompense
With chainless freedom after. In my glory
She'll find a bright veil that will hide all errors,
Save from the heart that pardons her.
Sarpellione.
You'll hear o' the young prince soon!
Sforza.
If there be one! — Our stars will rise together!
There's room enough!
[Exit Sarpellione and enter Rossano.]
I know your news.
Rossano.
The duke sends greeting to you —
Sforza.
And offers me his daughter — is't not so?
Rossano.
I marvel you anticipate so well!
Sforza.
Came by a serpent. How's the spear-wound now,
You took for me at Pisa? Brave Rossano!
We'll break a lance once more in company.
It warms my blood to find myself again
O' the same side. Come out in the open air!
We'll talk more freely, as we used to do,
Over a watch-fire. Come out, old comrade!
[Exeunt Sforza and Rossano.
SCENE III.
[The apartment of Bianca. Fiametta embroidering, and
the page thrumming his guitar.]
Page.
I'd give my greyhound now — gold collar and
silken leash — to know why the duke sent for my lady.
Fiametta.
Would you, Master Curiosity?
Page.
Mistress Pert, I would — and thy acquaintance
into the bargain.
Fiametta.
I would you knew as well how your mistress came by you.
Page.
I came to her from heaven — like her taste for
my music. (Hums a tune.)
Fiametta.
Did you! do they make sacks in heaven?
Page.
There's a waiting woman's question for you!
Why sacks?
Fiametta.
Because I think you came in one, like a
present of a puppy-dog.
Page.
Silence, dull pin-woman! here comes my mistress!
[Takes off his cap as Bianca enters. She walks across the
stage without heeding her attendants.]
Bianca.
My dream come true! my long, long cherished dream!
The star come out of heaven that I had worshipped!
The paradise I built with soaring fancy
And filled with rapture like a honey-bee
Dropped from the clouds at last! Am I awake? —
Am I awake, dear Giulio?
Page (half advancing to her).
Noble mistress!
Bianca.
It was this hand my father took to tell me —
It was with these lips that I tried to speak —
It was this heart that beat its giddy prison
As if the exulting joy new-sprung within it
Would out and fill the world!.....
................. Wed him to-morrow!
So suddenly a wife! Will it seem modest,
With but twelve hours of giddy preparation
To come a bride to church! Will he remember
I was ten years ago affianced to him?
I have had time to think on't! Oh, I'll tell him —
When I dare speak, I'll tell him — how I've loved him!
And day and night dreamed of him, and through all
The changing wars treasured the solemn troth
Broke by my father! If he listens kindly,
I'll tell him how I fed my eyes upon him
In Venice at his triumph — when he walked
Like a descended god beside the doge,
Who thanked him for his victories, and the people,
From every roof and balcony, by thousands
Shouted out “Sforza! Live the gallant Sforza!”
I was a child then — but I felt my heart
Grow, in one hour, to woman!
Page.
To hear my new song, lady?
Bianca.
My spirits are too troubled now for music.
Get thee to bed! Yet stay! hast heard the news?
Page.
Is't from the camp?
Bianca.
Ay — Sforza's taken prisoner!
Page.
I'm vexed for that.
Bianca.
Why vexed?
Page.
I shall bear sword and lance. There'll be no Sforza
To kill when I'm a man! Who took him, lady?
Bianca.
And gave him, bound, to me! In brief, dear Giulio!
The wars are done, and Sforza weds to-morrow
Your happy mistress!
Page.
A bonefire then!
Bianca.
Ay — twenty!
Page.
Here in the palace, and have masks and gambols
The year round, will you not?
Bianca.
You know not yet what love is! Love's a miser,
That plucks his treasure from the prying world
And grudges e'en the eye of daylight on it!
Another's look is theft — another's touch
Robs it of all its value. Love conceives
No paradise but such as Eden was
With two hearts beating in it.
[Leaves the Page and walks thoughtfully away.]
A home upon some green and flowery isle
In the lone lakes, where we will use our empire
Only to keep away the gazing world.
The purple mountains and the glassy waters
Shall make a hushed pavilion with the sky,
And we two in the midst will live alone,
Counting the hours by stars and waking birds,
And jealous but of sleep! To bed, dear Giulio!
And wake betimes.
Page.
Good night, my dearest lady!
Bianca.
That needs will keep me waking.
Fiametta.
Good night, lady.
Bianca.
For moods like mine. I'll forth upon the terrace,
And watch her while my heart beats warm and fast.
2. ACT II.
SCENE I.
[The square of Milan. The front of the cathedral on the
right. People kneeling round the steps, and the organ
heard within. Enter Pasquali and Fiametta in haste.]
Fiametta.
Now, Master Pasquali! said I not we should
be too late?
Pasquali.
Truly, there seems no room!
Fiametta.
And I her first serving-woman! If it were
my own wedding I should not grieve more to have missed it.
You would keep scribbling, scribbling, and I knew it was
past twelve.
Pasquali.
Consider, Mistress Fiametta! I had no news
of this marriage till the chimes began; and the epithalamium
must be writ! I were shamed else, being the bard
of Milan.
Fiametta.
The what, of Milan?
Pasquali.
The bard, I say! Come aside, and thou
shalt be consoled. I'll read thee my epithalamium.
Fiametta.
Is it something to ask money of the bridegroom?
Pasquali.
Dost thou think I would beg?
Fiametta.
Nay, thou'rt very poor!
Pasquali.
Look thee, Mistress Fiametta! that's a
vulgar error, thou hadst best be rid of. I, whom thou
callest poor, am richer than the duke.
Fiametta.
Now if thou'rt not out of thy ten senses, the
Virgin bless us.
Pasquali.
I'll prove it even to thy dull apprehension.
Answer me truly. How many meals eats the duke in a
day?
Fiametta.
Three, I think, if he be well.
Pasquali.
So does Pasquali! How much covering has
he?
Fiametta.
Nay — what keeps him warm.
Pasquali.
So has Pasquali! How much money carries
he on his person.
Fiametta.
None, I think. He is a duke, and needs
none.
Pasquali.
Even so Pasquali! He is a poet, and needs
none. What good does him the gold in his treasury?
Fiametta.
He thinks of it.
Pasquali.
So can Pasquali! What pleasure hath he in
his soldiers?
Fiametta.
They keep him safe in his palace.
Pasquali.
So they do Pasquali in his chamber. Thus
far, thou'lt allow, my state is as good as his — and better —
for I can think of his gold, and sleep safe by his soldiers,
yet have no care of them.
Fiametta.
I warrant he has troubled thoughts.
Pasquali.
Thou sayst well. Answer me once more,
and I'll prove to thee in what I am richer. Thou'st ne'er
heard, I dare swear, of imagination.
Fiametta.
Is't pagan nation or a Christian?
Pasquali.
Stay — I'll convey it to thee by a figure.
What were the value of thy red stockings over black; if it
were always night?
Fiametta.
None.
Pasquali.
What were beauty if it were always dark?
Fiametta.
The same as none.
Pasquali.
What were green leaves better than brown —
diamonds better than pebbles — gold better than brass — if it
were always dark?
Fiametta.
No better, truly.
Pasquali.
Then the shining of the sun, in a manner,
dies your stockings, creates beauty, makes gold and
diamonds, and paints the leaves green?
Fiametta.
I think it doth.
Pasquali.
Now mark! There be gems in the earth,
qualities in the flowers, creatures in the air, the duke ne'er
dreams of. There be treasuries of gold and silver, temples
and palaces of glorious work, rapturous music, and feasts
the gods sit at — and all seen only by a sun, which, to the
duke, is black as Erebus.
Fiametta.
Lord! Lord! Where is it, Master Pasquali!
Pasquali.
In my head. (Fiametta discovers signs of
fear.)
All these gems, treasuries, palaces, and fairy harmonies
I see by the imagination I spoke of. Am I not
richer now?
Fiametta (retreating from him).
The Virgin help us!
He thinks there's a sun in his head! I thought to have
married him, but he's mad.
[She falls to weeping.
[The cathedral is flung open, and the organ plays louder.
The bridal procession comes out of church and passes
across the stage. As they pass Pasquali, he offers his
epithalamium to Sforza.]
Sforza.
What have we here — petitions?
Bianca.
Pasquali's not a beggar. You shall read
Something inventive here! He's a clear fancy,
And sings your praises well. Good chamberlain!
Bring him with honor to the palace! Please you,
My lord, wilt on!
Page
(to Pasquali).
We'll sit together, and have songs and stories,
And keep the merriest end on't!
[As the procession passes off, Sarpellione plucks Pasquali by
by the sleeve, and retains him.]
Sarpellione.
A fair bride, sir!
Pasquali.
What would you, noble count?
Sarpellione.
Should be a poet, like yourself, to know
The worth of such a jewel!
Pasquali.
But we are staying from the marriage feast —
Sarpellione.
One word! (Pulls him aside.)
Have
you ambition?
Pasquali.
Upon a marble cherub — always spread,
But fastened to a body of such weight
'Twill never rise till doomsday. I would drink
Sooner than talk of it! — Come on! my lord!
Sarpellione.
For a shrewd, rapid wit. As one who looks
Oft on the sun, there needs no tedious care
Lest the light break too suddenly upon you.
Is it not so?
Pasquali.
Say on!
Sarpellione.
Has over it a sky all poetry.
I know it well.
Sarpellione.
Cherished Bocaccio and Petrarch there,
And 'tis the quality of the air they breathed —
Alphonso feels it! Brief and to the point!
My royal master sends for you. He'd have
A galaxy around him!
Pasquali.
Noble count!
[Enter Page.]
Page.
I'm sent to bid you to the feast, sirs!
Sarpellione.
We'll follow straight. [Exit Page.
This leaden-headed soldier
Slights you, I see — He took you for a beggar!
Pasquali.
Humph! 'tis his wedding day, and I forgive
him!
Sarpellione.
You're used to wrong, I knew.
Pasquali.
I'm bent upon a feast — wake not a devil
To mar my appettie!
Sarpellione.
This brainless spear-head would be duke of Milan.
Pasquali.
What! while the duke lives!
Sarpellione.
For there is one — I'll prove it when you will —
And he will murder him to take his crown.
Pasquali.
How know you that?
Sarpellione.
Would have this usurpation and this murder
In time prevented.
Pasquali.
How!
Sarpellione.
There's no way else — but 'tis a dangerous theme
To talk on here — come out o' the way a little,
And you shall have such reasons for the deed —
Pasquali
(flings him from him with contempt).
My lord! I'm poor. I have a thirst for honors
Such as you offered me but now, that burns
Like fire upon my lips — I could be tortured
Through twenty deaths to leave a name behind me.
But nay, I prate — I'll turn not out to thee
The golden inside of a soul of honor —
(Leaving him.) When next you want a hand for a bad deed,
Look to your equals — there are those beneath you
Who, from their darkling wells, see guiding-stars
Far o'er your head, my lord! [Exit.
Sarpellione.
Do not betray e'en villains! I shall find
Another and a fitter. To the feast now!
And watch my time and means. [Exit.
SCENE II.
[An ante-room, with a feast seen beyond. Enter Sforza and Rossano.]
Rossano.
Invented here by the duke's armorer;
Will you walk forth?
Sforza.
My helmet!
[Enter Bianca.]
Bianca.
You would not go abroad?
[She takes the helmet from the page as he brings it in.]
Sforza.
To look at some new arms.
Bianca.
Will do as well. Here are some loving verses
Writ on your marriage!
Rossano.
Your father gave me at the siege of Parma.
The rags wave yet!
Sforza.
Than feast a hundred years!
Bianca.
Come in, and hear the verses? There's a wine
You did not taste, grown on Vesuvius;
Pray you come in!
Rossano.
Your father plucked from a retreating soldier
To head the fight at Pisa. 'Tis well hacked!
Sforza.
(To Bianca.) Nay, sweet! by your leave
(Takes his helmet.)
Betimes at supper. Keep the revels toward!
We'll taste your wine anon. Come, brave Rossano!
[They go out. Bianca looks after them thoughtfully a few
moments, and then walks back slowly to the banquetting
room.]
SCENE III.
[The ramparts at night. Enter-Sforza and Rossano.]
Rossano.
Seemed grieved when you came forth!
Sforza.
But that I had some private information
She loved another!
Rossano.
You're perhaps abused!
Sforza.
To my meridian, see you! — a rough soldier —
Who never learned the courtly phrase of love.
And she — the simplest maiden in a cot,
Is not more tender-eyed, nor has a heart
Apter to know love's lesson ere 'tis time.
She's loved ere now, Rossano!
Rossano.
Yet be not rude too rashly.
Sforza.
This forced link that policy puts on her
Loose as a smoke-curl! She shall know no master,
And be no slave for me!
Rossano.
You'll not neglect her!
Sforza.
When that sun sets, if no unpitying cloud
Trouble her sky, there rises oftentimes
A crescent moon of memory, whose light
Makes the dark pathway clear again. Bianca's
May have gone down for me! I'll be no cloud
To mar the moon as well.
Rossano.
A footfall this way. (They stand aside.)
[Enter Pasquali hiccupping, and talking to himself.]
Pasquali.
That wine was grown on Vesuvius. That's
the reason it makes such an eruption. If it breaks out o'
the top o' my head how — as I think it will — for it gets hotter
and hotter — I shall know if wit be in the brains or the
belly.
Rossano.
(Aside
— Stay — my lord! This is Pasquali,
whose verses Bianca sometimes sings to her lute. Ten to
one now but you may gather from his drunkenness if Bianca
loves another.) (Rossano comes forward.) Good even,
Master Pasquali.
Pasquali.
That's an everyday phrase — this is holyday!
Rossano.
A merry good even then!
Pasquali.
Ay, that's better! For we're all merry —
except the bride. And that's the way of it.
Rossano.
What's the way of it?
Pasquali.
See here! Who is it that never weeps at a
funeral?
Rossano.
You shall tell me.
Pasquali.
The dead man, that hath most cause.
Rossano.
And what hath that to do with a bridal?
Pasquali.
A great deal. Of all people at a bridal,
who should be most merry? Why, the bride! now I have
just left a bride that is sad enough for a funeral.
Rossano.
For what cause, think you?
Pasquali.
There are some things which can have but
one cause. There's but one cause for drunkenness, and
there's but one grief on a wedding-day.
Rossano.
And what's that?
Pasquali.
Wine — causes drunkenness!
Rossano.
And what causes grief in a bride?
Pasquali.
Want of love for the bridegroom.
Rossano.
How know you that, sir?
“When first young Lionel did catch mine eye,
“Sforza, the valiant, passed unheeded by!”
Rossano.
Villain! these are thine own lying verses!
Pasquali
(pulling out his sword).
The figures of speech
are lies of verse. But if thou sayest that it is a lie that
Bianca loves Lionel best, thou liest in prose, and so, come
on! (Attacks Rossano, and Sforza comes foward, and
strikes up their swords.)
Sforza.
He writes what's palatable, and but echoes
That which is rung at court. She loved this prince —
Sarpellione told me so before.
We'll to the field and our old mistress, glory.
Come on — we'll talk of battles and forget her.
[Exeunt.
Pasquali.
Fighting's not my vocation; but I have an
itching that way, and I'll after him. Halloo! Were there
two men? I think there were two. The last man called
me a drunkard! That's no offence! a poet may be a
drunkard! But “villain!” that's incompatible, and must
be pricked back. Halloo! [Exit.
SCENE IV.
[Bianca's chamber at midnight. She sits on a couch in a
white undress, and Sforza beside her in his armor.]
Bianca.
Dost think this ring a pretty one, my lord?
Sforza.
Marancio gave me — Giacomo Marancio.
The ring his wife sent — but you've heard the story?
Bianca.
I think I never heard it.
Sforza.
The heart grows but to speak of. She was held
A hostage by the Milanese (I pray you
Pardon the mention), when, twixt them and me
Marancio held a pass. Her life was threatened
If by his means I crossed the Adige. She —
(Brave heart! I warm to speak of her!) found means
To send to him this ring; wherein is writ
“He who loves most, loves honor best.” You'll see it
Here o' the inside.
Bianca.
Did you see this lady?
Sforza.
With perilous odds, only to bring her off —
And would have sold my life for't.
Bianca.
Did you see her?
Sforza.
The ring of him.
Bianca.
Of any other woman?
Sforza
(rising and taking his helmet).
There are some qualities that women have
Which are less worthy, but which warm us more
Than speaking of their virtues. I remember
The fair Giovanna in her pride at Naples.
Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left
Little to shine in history — but her beauty
Was of that order that the universe
Seemed governed by her motion. Men looked on her
As if her next step would arrest the world;
And as the sea-bird seems to rule the wave
He rides so buoyantly, all things around her —
The glittering army, the spred gonfalon
The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven —
Seemed glorious by her leave.
Bianca
(rising and going to the window).
Of such sweet praise, my lord! Did you not hear
The faint note of a nightingale?
Sforza.
A far-heard clarion, methought! They change
The sentinels perchance. 'Tis time Rossano
Awaits me on the ramparts.
Bianca.
Go not abroad again to-night, my lord!
Sforza.
To gossip of the fields he's lost and won,
And I, no less, to listen. Get to bed!
I'll follow you anon.
[Exit Sforza.
Bianca.
I never dreamed of this! To be his bride
Was all the heaven I looked for! Not to love me
When I have been ten years affianced to him! —
When I have lived for him — shut up my heart,
With every pulse and hope, for his use only —
Worshipped — oh God! idolatrously loved him!
Why has he sought to marry me? Why still
Renew the broken pledge my father made him?
Why, for ten years, with war and policy,
Strive for my poor alliance?..........
............... He must love me,
Or I shall break my heart! I never had
One other hope in life! I never linked
One thought, but to this chain! I have no blood —
No breath — no being — separate from Sforza!
Nothing has any other name! The sun
Shined like his smile — the lightning was his glory —
The night his sleep, and the hushed moon watched o'er him; —
Stars writ his name — his breath hung on the flowers —
Music had no voice but to say I love him,
And life no future, but his love for me!
Whom does he love? Marancio's wife? He praised
Only her courage! Queen Giovanna's beauty?
'Tis dust these many years! There is no sign
He loves another; and report said ever
His glory was his mistress. Can he love?
Shame on the doubt! 'Twas written in the ring
“He who loves most, loves honor best” — and Sforza
Is made too like a god to lack a heart.
And so, I breathe again! To make him love me
Is all my life now! to pry through his nature,
And find his heart out. That's wrapt in his glory!
I'll feed his glory then! He praised Giovanna
That she was royal and magnificent —
Ay — that's well thought on, too! How should an eye,
Dazzled with war and warlike pomp, like Sforza's,
Find pleasure in simplicity like mine!
(Looks at her dress.)
Unlock my jewels and my costly robes,
And while I keep his show-struck eye upon me,
Watch for a golden opportunity
To build up his renown!..........
............. And so farewell
The gentle world I've lived in! Farewell all
My visions of a world for two hearts only —
Sforza's and mine! If I outlive this change,
So brief and yet so violent within me,
I'll come back in my dreams, oh, childish world!
If not — a broken heart blots out remembrance.
[Exit into her bridal chamber, which is seen beyond on
opening the door.]
3. ACT III.
SCENE I.
[An ante-chamber of the palace. Brunorio leaning sullenly
on his sword by the door: Enter Sarpellione.]
Sarpellione.
What's this? — the brave Brunorio turned
lackey?
Brunorio.
Nay, count! I wait my turn.
Sarpellione.
May have a judgment of a soldier's duty,
You're out of place, sir! This is not the camp!
You're not on guard here! There's a difference
Twixt patience at your post, and kicking heels
In my lord's antechamber!
Brunorio.
My own thought, noble count! As you came in
I brooded on't.
Sarpellione.
To a shrewd use now! I have marked his brows
His confidence with Sforza. Could I seize
The lightning in this jealous thunder-cloud —
I'll see the depth on't.) Sforza knows you're here?
Brunorio.
Who bid me wait here.
Sarpellione.
Fair treatment for a soldier! Say, Brunorio!
What was't I heard of the Pope's standard-bearer
Clove to the wrist?
Brunorio.
You see the weapon, here!
Sarpellione.
I thought promotion had been won with service!
Was't thou, indeed? I heard the King Alfonso
Say 'twas the best blow and the bravest followed
He'd know in his time. How it came to his ears
I know not but he made the court ring with it!
Brunorio.
The king?
Sarpellione.
How long since thou wast made lieutenant?
Brunorio.
Five years come March!
Sarpellione.
Treads merit in the dust! Sforza keeps back
His betters, brave Brunorio!
(Rossano passes out.)
That man cuts off your sunshine, or I know
Nothing of courts! I, that have no part in it,
Have marked how you are slighted for Rossano!
Forgive my touching on't! 'Tis my respect
For a brave soldier makes me speak so freely.
But were I of your counsel —
Brunorio.
My heart speaks through your lips. Since this Rossano
Has had my lord's ear, I've been thrust aside
Like a disgraced hound.
Sarpellione.
And between us, — I've heard you lightly mentioned
By this ungrateful Sforza!
Brunorio.
How, my lord?
Sarpellione.
He told Rossano, there, that you had strength,
And struck a sharp blow — and so did an axe!
But for your brains — and then he tossed his head —
You've seen the scorn upon his lip?
Brunorio.
I've a sharp blow left yet — and brains enough
To find a time to strike it! Did you say
Alfonso had spoke well of me, my lord?
Sarpellione.
If you'd take service with a better master —
You're captain from this hour.
Brunorio.
I take your offer, that your commendations
Will find no swifter bearer than myself
To King Alfonso.
Sarpellione.
On the best terms with Sforza, and you'll see
With half a glance, that while he's here in Milan
His best sword could not leave him for Alfonso,
But it would throw suspicion upon me,
And touch my credit here. I'll write your warrant,
Which you shall keep, and use it when you please.
But for the present shut your bosom up,
And bear your wrongs. Sforza awaits you now —
Go in. I'll see you as you pass again!
[Exit Brunorio.
Must not be duke — and if I fret this cur
Till he will tear his master, why, 'twill save
A worthier hand the trouble on't.
[Exit Sarpellione.
SCENE II.
[Sforza discovered sitting thoughtfully in his apartment.
The page curiously examining his sword.]
Sforza
(yawning).
This is dull work!
Page.
A trick of fence?
Sforza.
A weapon in that needle-case of thine?
Page
(drawing).
I'd give you all the odds twixt it and yours!
Look at that blade! (Bends it.) Damascus!
[Sforza smiles, and unbuckles his scabbard.]
You shall not laugh at me! I'll give you odds, —
With anything to stand on!
Sforza.
And you shall touch me if you can! Come on!
And see I do not rap you o'er the cockscomb!
Page.
Have at you fairly! Mind! for I'm in earnest!
(They fence.)
Sforza.
One — two!
Page
(makes a lunge).
Three! there you have it!
Sforza
(starting up).
This is no play.
Page.
What! does the needle prick?
(Wipes it with his handkerchief.)
Sforza.
No more at it or thee. Come here, thou varlet!
Where got thy mistress such a ready hand
As thou art?
Page
(fencing with the chair).
From an eagle's nest, my lord!
Sforza.
But tell me — what brave gentleman of Milan
Has thy blood in his veins?
Page.
Sarpellione brought me here from Naples.
Sforza.
Thou'rt not his child. I'll answer for't.
Page.
I hate him! Come! Wilt try another pass?
Sforza.
Stay! is the count thy master then?
Page.
He's an old snake! But I'll say this for him,
Were I a royal prince — (as I may be —
Who knows!) — Sarpellione could not treat me
With more becoming honor.
Sforza
(starting up suddenly).
Should be the duke's son that he told me of?
Come hither, sir! What know you of your father?
(Aside. — 'Tis the Visconti's lip!)
Page.
I know, my lord. Alfonso sent me here,
Five years ago, in quality of page.
I was to serve my lady and no other,
And to be gently nurtured. The king gave me
A smart new feather — bade me bear myself
Like a young prince at Milan —
Sforza
(starting away from him).
Princely in spirit, and Visconti's impress
On every feature! He'll be duke of Milan!
Page.
Heard you the duke was worse to-day, my
lord?
Sforza.
What duke?
Page.
I heard the doctor say you'd wear his crown
In three days. Never say I told you of it!
He whispered it to old Sarpellione,
Who —
Sforza.
What?
Page.
Looked daggers at him!
Sforza.
Plucks at my soul indeed! If the duke die,
The crown lies in the gift of my new wife,
And I were duke as sure as he were dead —
But for this boy!
(Walks rapidly up and down.)
In half a year! — Ferrara — then Bologna —
Florence — and thence to Naples! I'd be king
Of Italy before their mourning's threadbare —
But for this boy!..............
(The page still fences with the chair.)
And there should go, e'en with the news, to France,
A bold ambassador from one Francesco, —
Sforza by birth and king of Italy —
But for this boy!........
.......... I would he were a man!
I would an army barred me from the crown,
Sooner than this boy's right! But he might die!
He might have run upon my sword just now!
'Twere natural, — and so it were to fall
In playing with't, and bleed to death unheard,
From a ripped vein. That would be natural!
He might have died in many ways and I
Have had no part in't.
Page.
Will you fence, my lord?
Sforza
(clutches his sword, and suddenly sheaths it, and
walks from him. Aside).
Shall Sforza be the murderer of a child!)
No — No! I'll not fence with thee! Go and play!
I — I — I — (turns from him).
Stay! shall such a grain of sand
As a boy's life, check Sforza's bold ambition!
I, who have hewn down thousands in a day
For but the play on't — I, upon whose hand
Sat slaughter, like a falcon, to let loose
At all that flew above me! I — whose conscience
Carries the reckoning of unnumbered souls
Sped unto hell or heaven, for this ambition! —
Shall I mar all now with a woman's pity
For a fair stripling!
(Draws his sword, and the page, who has been regarding
him attentively, comes up and pulls him by his sleeve.)
Page.
If I have harmed you — for you seem so angry
I think I have — more than I meant to do —
Take my own sword, and wound me back again!
I'll not cry out — and when you see me bleed,
You'll pardon me that I was so unhappy
As to have chanced to wound you!
(Kneels, opens his bosom, and offers his sword-hilt to Sforza.)
Sforza.
Give me thy hand, boy!
(Looks at him a moment, and passes his hand across his
eyes.)
Page.
Letting of blood — when done in fair play, mind you!
Has no offence in't.
Sforza.
I'll see thee at the feast to-night! Farewell!
(Page kisses his hand, and exit.)
Shade of my father! If from heaven thou lookest
Upon the bright inheritance of glory
I took from thee — pluck from my tortured soul
These thoughts of hell — and keep me worthy of thee!
Walks up and down thoughtfully, and then presses the crucifix
to his lips.)
Help me, just Heaven!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
[A bridal feast seen through a glass door in the rear of the
stage. Enter from the banqueting room, Bianca, dressed
with great magnificence, followed by Sforza, Rossano,
Brunorio, and Sarpellione. A raised throne at the side.
Music heard till the door is closed.]
Bianca.
Grows giddy with the never-wearying dance,
And music's pause is sweet as its beginning.
Shut the doors, Giulio! Sarpellione! enter!
You're welcome to Trophonius' cave! We'll hold
The Court of Silence, and I'll play the Queen.
My brave lord, you shall doff that serious air,
And be court favorite — sit you at our feet!
Sforza.
I'll sit here with Rossano. Honor's flower —
That lifts a bold head in the world — at court,
Looks for the lily's hiding-place.
Sarpellione.
Lies in this new humility.) The lily
Is lowly born, and knows its place, my lord!
Bianca.
Yet is it sought with pains while the rose
withers!
Sarpellione.
And all its parts are honored — while the lily
Upon one fragile stem rears all its beauty —
And its coarse family of leaves are left
To lie on the earth they cling to.
Sforza (to Rossano, with whom he has been conversing apart).
He was worse yesterday!)
(Bianca rising with dignity, and descending from the ducal
chair.)
Bianca.
Misled our mother, never was fair truth
So subtly turned to error. If the rose
Were born a lily, and, by force of heart
And eagerness for light, grew tall and fair,
'Twere a true type of the first fiery soul
That makes a low name honorable. They
Who take it by inheritance alone —
Adding no brightness to it — are like stars
Seen in the ocean, that were never there
But for the bright originals in heaven!
Sarpellione (sneeringly).
Rest to the gallant soul of
the first Sforza!
Bianca.
I have a brief tale for thine ear, ambassador!
Sarpellione.
I listen, lady!
Bianca.
An eagle once from the Euganean hills
Soared bravely to the sky. (To Sf.) (Wilt please my lord
List to my story?) In his giddy track
Scarce marked by them who gazed upon the first,
Followed a new-fledged eaglet, fast and well.
Upward they sped, and all eyes on their flight
Gazed with admiring awe, when suddenly,
The parent bird, struck by a thunderbolt,
Dropped lifeless through the air. The eaglet paused,
And hung upon his wings; and as his sire
Plashed in the far-down wave, men looked to see him
Flee to his nest affrighted!
Sforza (with great interest).
Did he so?
Bianca.
He wheeled a moment in mid air, and shook
Proudly his royal wings, and then right on,
With crest uplifted and unwavering flight,
Sped to the sun's eye, straight and gloriously.
Page.
Lady — is that true?
Bianca.
Sforza the First and Second!
(The bell tolls, and enter a messenger.)
Messenger.For my sad news! your royal father's dead!
Bianca (Aside, with great energy).
(Turning to the messenger.)
Messenger.
Madam —
Bianca.
The crown was mine.)
(Turns to the messenger.)
In his extremity?
Messenger.
Most honored madam —
Bianca.
He can not hate me when I make him royal!
It would be monstrous if he did not love me!)
(To the messenger.)
Messenger.
He died as he had lived, unseen of any
Save his physician!
Bianca.
And then our mourning will shut out the world!
All royal, and all mine!) (To Sf.) Please you, my lord,
Dismiss the revellers! My father's dead!
(Aside. — There are no more Viscontis — Sforza's children
Shall now be dukes of Milan! Think on that!
He'll think on't, and his heart will come down to me,
Or there's no truth in nature!) (To Sf.) My brave lord!
Shall we go in?
Sforza.
Will forth with me, to see the funeral
Fitly arranged.
Bianca.
You'll come back soon, my lord!
Sforza.
Ay — presently! [Exit Bianca.
Rossano.
She walks!
Sforza.
And in her port already mocks the dutchess.
Rossano.
She would have made a glorious queen, my
lord!
Sforza.
Let's forth upon our errand, and forget
There was a crown in Milan. [Exeunt.
4. ACT IV.
SCENE I.
[Pasquali's chamber. Fiametta sitting with his cap in her
hand.]
Fiametta.
What wilt thou do for a black feather,
Pasquali?
Pasquali.
Hast thou no money?
Fiametta.
No — save my dowry of six pieces.
Pasquali.
Give the pieces to me, and thy dowry will be
ten times greater.
Fiametta.
An it be not six times less, I will never trust
counting upon fingers.
Pasquali.
Hast thou no dread of dying uncelebrated?
Fiametta.
If it be sin, I have a dread of it by baptism.
Pasquali.
Is it a sin to neglect thy immortality?
Fiametta.
Ay — it is.
Pasquali.
Then take heed how thou fallest into sin —
for to be the friend of a poet is to be immortal, and thou
art no friend of mine if I have not thy six pieces.
Fiametta.
But how shall I have six times more, Master
Pasquali?
Pasquali.
In reputation! Wouldst thou marry a fool?
Fiametta.
No, truly.
Pasquali.
Then if thy husband be wise, he will be
more proud that thou art famous, than covetous of thy six
pieces.
Fiametta.
And shall I be famous? (Gives him the
money.)
Pasquali.
Thou wilt live when Sforza is dead!
Fiametta.
Is not Sforza famous, then?
Pasquali.
He hath fame while he lives, and so had King
Priam of Troy. But if Homer had not written, Priam
would have been forgot and Troy too; and if Sforza live
not in poetry, he is as dead in a century — as thou and
Laura were, but for thy favors to Petrarch and Pasquali.
Fiametta.
Why does not Sforza give thee six pieces and
be immortal?
Pasquali.
Truly — he pays more for a less matter! It
is the blindness of great men that they slight the poets.
Look here now — hath not Sforza shed blood, and wasted
treasure, and taken a thousand murders on his soul, to
leave a name after him?
Fiametta.
I misdoubt he hath.
Pasquali.
Now will I whom he thinks less worthy than
a trumpeter, sit down, and with a scrape of my pen, make
a dog's name more known to posterity.
Fiametta.
When thou speakest of a dog, I think of my
lady's page. Canst thou tell me why she should love him
so out of reason?
Pasquali.
Canst thou tell me why the moon riseth not
every night, as the sun every day?
Fiametta.
No — truly.
Pasquali.
Neither can I give thee reason for a woman's
fancy — which is as unaccountable in its caprice as the moon
in its changes. Hence the sun is called “he,” the moon
“she.”
Fiametta.
Holy Virgin — what it is to be learned!
Pasquali.
Come, Fiametta! spend thy dowry while thy
mind is enlightened!
Fiametta.
If I should repent now!
Pasquali.
Think not of it. If thou shouldst repent to-morrow,
I shall still go beseemingly to the funeral, and
thou wilt be famous past praying for. Come away!
SCENE II.
[The garden of the palace of Milan. Enter Bianca in
mourning, followed by Sarpellione.]
Bianca.
Liar — 'tis not true!
Sarpellione.
Writ when he sent him to you —
Bianca
(plucks it from him, and tears it to pieces).
Writ by thyself —
Sarpellione
(taking up the pieces).
The story of his birth, and that he is
Your brother, pledges his most royal honor —
Bianca.
Lie upon lie —
Sarpellione.
With sword and battle!
Bianca.
Will whip him back to Naples! Tell him so!
There'll be a duke upon the throne of Milan
In three days more, whose children will be kings!
Sarpellione.
Your brother; madam!
Bianca.
The crown is mine, and I will give it him!
Sarpellione.
While a Visconti lives — and one does live —
Princely and like his father — 'tis not yours —
And Sforza dare not take it.
Bianca.
In taking me. Sforza is duke, I say!
Sarpellione.
Am I dismissed to Naples with this news?
Bianca.
Ay — on the instant!
Sarpellione.
To bid the prince make ready for his journey?
Bianca.
What prince?
Sarpellione.
With the whole league of armed Italy
To take the crown he's born to.
Bianca.
I love, called Giulio! If you mean to ask me
If he goes with you — lying traitor! no!
I love him, and will keep him!
Sarpellione.
Knows him for prince, and then farewell to Sforza!
He's flown too near the sun!
Bianca.
What dost thou know of eagles who wert born
To mumble over carrion! Hast thou looked
On the high front of Sforza! Hast thou heard
The thunder of his voice? Hast met his eye?
'Tis writ upon his forehead: “born a king!”
Read it, blind liar!
Sarpellione.
The world shall read it.
Bianca.
They say all breathing nature has an instinct
Of that which would destroy it. I of thee
Feel that abhorrence! If a glistering serpent
Hissed in my path, I could not shudder more,
Nor would I kill it sooner — so begone!
I'll strike thee dead else!
Sarpellione.
Madam!
(Exit Sarpellione.)
Bianca.
At the first word with which he broke it to me
My heart gave nature's echo! 'Tis my brother!
I would that he were dead — and yet I love him —
Love him so well, that I could die for him —
Yet hate him that he bars the crown from Sforza.
He's betwixt me and heaven! were he but dead!
Sforza and I would, like the sun and moon,
Have all the light the world has! He must die!
Is known and loved in every quarter of it.
Naples is powerful, and Venice holds
Direct succession holy, and the lords
Of all the Marches will cry “down usurper!”
For Sforza's glory has o'ershadowed theirs.
Both can not live, or I must live unloved —
And that were hell — or die, and heaven without him
Were but a hell — for I've no soul to go there!
Nothing but love! no memory but that!
No hope! no sense! — Heaven were a madhouse to me!
Hark! who comes here?
(Enter Sarpellione and Brunorio. Bianca conceals herself.)
Sarpellione.
And thou'rt a made man!
Brunorio.
Sforza sleeps not well.
Sarpellione.
A brainless ass!
Brunorio.
'Sdeath, he did call me so!
Sarpellione.
And thou wilt save a prince who'll cherish thee,
And Sforza's soul a murder — for he'll kill him
Ere one might ride to Naples.
Brunorio.
Think'st thou so?
Sarpellione.
Sforza were duke. With Milan at his back
He were the devil. Rather than see this,
Alfonso would share half his kingdom with thee.
Brunorio.
I'll do it!
Sarpellione.
Whom he would murder. Now collect thy senses,
And look around thee! On that rustic bank,
Close by the fountain, with his armor off,
He sleeps away the noon.
Brunorio.
With face uncovered?
Sarpellione.
Quite over him! But thou must strike so well,
That, should he see thee, he will never tell on't.
Brunorio.
I'd rather he were covered.
Sarpellione.
But mark the ground well. By this alley here,
You'll creep on unperceived. If he's awake —
You're his lieutenant, and may have good reason
To seek him any hour? Are you resolved?
Brunorio.
I am!
Sarpellione.
Once more look round you!
Brunorio.
To-morrow, he'll ne'er wake!
Sarpellione.
Come now and try the horse I've chosen for you.
We'll fly like birds with welcome news to Naples!
(Exeunt Sarpellione and Brunorio.)
Bianca.
So black as these — to plot so foul a murder!
Oh unretributive and silent Heavens!
Heard you these men? Thank God that I can save him!
The sun shone on them — on these murderers —
As it shines now on me! — Would it were Giulio
They thought to murder! — Ha! what ready fiend
Whispered me that? Giulio instead of Sforza!
Why that were murder — too! — Brunorio's murder! —
Not mine! — my hands would show no blood for it!
If Giulio were asleep beneath the mantle
To-morrow noon, and Sforza in his chamber —
What murder lies upon my soul for that?
.......................
I'll come again to-night, and see the place,
And think on't in the dark! [Exit Bianca.
5. ACT V.
SCENE I.
[Same scene in the garden. Enter Bianca.]
Bianca.
Come anything — I will not! He is gone
To bring me flowers now, for he sees I'm sad;
Yet, with his delicate thought, asks not the reason,
But tries to steal it from me! — could I kill him!
His eyes grew moist this morn, for I was pale —
With thinking of his murder! could I kill him!
Oh Sforza! I could walk on burning ploughshares,
But not kill pitying Giulio! I could starve —
Or freeze with wintry cold — or swallow fire —
Or die a death for every drop of blood
Kneeling at my sad heart, but not kill Giulio!
No — no — no! no!
(Sforza comes in dejectedly.)
Sforza.
Give you good day, Bianca!
Bianica.
That you should drop your words so sorrowfully?
Sforza.
I am not ill, nor well!
Bianca.
Not well?
Sforza.
Beats on sometimes, when the heart quite runs down.
I'm very well!
Bianca.
The priest said so — to share both joy and sorrow.
For the last privilege I've shed sweet tears! —
If I'm not worthy —
Sforza.
For many proofs of gentle disposition,
Which, to say truth, I scarcely looked for in you —
Knowing that policy, and not your choice.
United us!
Bianca.
My lord!
Sforza.
For this, to see my heart — if you could do so,
But there's a grief in't now which brings you joy,
And so you'll pardon me!
(Giulio comes in with a heap of flowers, which he throws
down and listens.)
Bianca.
That can not be!
Sforza.
That I had trained, till, in the sky above him,
He was the monarch of all birds that flew.
I loved him next my heart, and had no joy,
But to unloose his feet, and see the eagle
Quail at his fiery swoop! I brought him here!
Sitting one day upon my wrist, he heard
The nightingale you love, sing in the tree,
While I applauded him. With jealous heart
My falcon sprang to kill him; and with fear
For your sweet bird, I struck him to my feet;
And since that hour, he droops. His heart is broke,
And he'll ne'er soar again!
Page.
Were worth a thousand nightingales.
Bianca.
He utters his own doom!) (To Sf.) My lord, I have
A slight request, which you will not refuse me.
Please you, to-day sleep in your chamber. I
Will give you reason for't.
Sforza.
The noon creeps on apace, and in my dreams
I may forget this heaviness. (Goes in.)
Bianca.
Strong heart! and think on Sforza! Giulio!
Page.
Madam!
Bianca.
This opiate in his cup, and from his sound
And sudden sleep he'll wake in Paradise.)
Giulio, I say! (She mixes an opiate.)
Page.
I dreamed I was in heaven, and feared to stir
Lest I should jar some music. Was't your voice
I heard sing, `Giulio?'
Bianca.
Let him not love me most, when I would kill him.)
Drink! Giulio!
Page.
Is it sweet?
Bianca.
You'll drink in this world!
Page.
I can make it sweeter —
And how?
Page.
With your health in it!
Bianca.
Not my health! Drink what other health thou wilt!
Not mine — not mine!
Page.
That Sforza told us of! Would you not kill
The nightingale that broke his spirit, madam?
Bianca.
Oh Giulio! Giulio! (Weeps.)
Page.
You loved your singing bird so well, dear lady!
Bianca.
(He'll break my heart!)
Page.
Must pine unless the nightingale were dead,
Would you not kill it?
Bianca.
I must do so!
Page.
If I had fed the nightingale, and loved him;
And he were innocent, as, after all
He is, you know — I should not like to kill him —
Not with my own hands!
Bianca.
Must I be struck with daggers through and through!
Speaks not a mocking demon with his lips?
I will not kill him!
Page.
May I sleep there, sweet lady, in his place?
Bianca.
No, boy! thou shalt not!
Page.
Then will you?
Bianca.
I would I could! and have no waking after!
Come hither, Giulio! nay — nay — stop not there!
Come on a little, and I'll make thy pillow
Softer than ever mine will be again!
Tell me you love me ere you go to sleep!
Page.
With all my soul, dear mistress! (Drops asleep.)
Bianca.
This mantle for his pall — but stay — his shape
Looks not like Sforza under it. Fair flowers,
(Heaps them at his feet, and spreads the mantle over all.)
Pure spirit and sweet fragrance! So — one kiss!
Giulio! my brother! Who comes there? Wake, Giulio!
Or thou'lt be murdered! Nay — 'twas but the wind!
(Withdraws on tiptoe, and crouches behind a tree.)
(Brunorio creeps in, followed by Sarpellione at a distance.)
Sarpellione.
Strike well, and fear not!
Bianca
(springing forward as he strikes).
Ah God!
(She drops on the body, the murderer escapes and Sforza
rushes in. As he bends over her the scene closes.)
SCENE II.
[A road outside the walls of Milan. Enter Sarpellione and
Brunorio, flying from the city, and met by Pasquali.]
Pasquali.
(As they attempt to pass him without answer, he steps before
Sarpellione.)
Sarpellione.
Stand off, and let me pass!
Pasquali.
One single word!
Sarpellione.
And loose my bridle! I'll be there o' the instant!
(Brunorio hastens on.)
Pasquali.
Tolling in Milan, that is never heard
But at some dread alarm.
Sarpellione
(pressing to go on).
Is that all?
Pasquali.
I met a flying peasant here just now,
Who muttered of some murder, and flew on!
Sarpellione.
Slave! let me pass!
(Draws, and Pasquali confronts him with his sword.)
Pasquali.
To tempt me to a murder. Something tells me
That this hot haste has guilt upon its heels,
And you shall stay till I know more of it.
Down with your point!
Sarpellione.
Villain! respect my office!
Pasquali.
They've soldiers' law, and if your skirts are bloody,
You'll get small honor for your coat, ambassador!
Bear back, I say!
(They fight, and Sarpellione falls, disarmed on his knee.)
Sarpellione.
In mercy, spare my life!
Pasquali.
And meet the news! If you are innocent,
I'll ne'er believe a secret prompting more.
If not, I've done the state a worthy service.
On, on, I say!
(Drives Sarpellione out before him at the point of his sword.)
SCENE III.
[A room of state in the palace. Enter Rossano ana a
Priest.]
Rossano.
Will she not eat?
Priest.
Since the boy died!
Rossano.
Nor slept?
Priest.
Nor closed an eyelid!
Rossano.
What does she?
Priest.
Goes through the page's murder — makes his couch
As he lay down i' the garden — heaps again
The flowers upon him to eke out his length;
Then kisses him, and hides to see him killed!
'Twould break your heart to look on't.
Rossano.
That she must crown him?
Priest.
Of any duke of Milan, the succession
Fall to a daughter, she may rule alone,
Giving her husband neither voice nor power
If she so please. But if she delegate
The crown to him, or in extremity
Impose it, it is not legitimate,
Save he is crowned by her own living hands
In presence of the council.
(Enter Sforza, hastily, in full armor, except the helmet.)
Sforza.
Ho! Rossano!
Rossano.
My lord!
Sforza.
To see the crown imposed! Bianca dies!
My throne hangs on your speed! Fly!
(Exit Rossano.)
Despatch a hundred of my swiftest horse
Toward Naples! Bring me back Sarpellione!
Alive or dead, a thousand ducats for him!
Quick!
(Exit sentinel, re-enter Rossano.)
Rossano.
(Enter a messenger.)
Lady Bianca prays your presence with her!
Sforza.
With my choice troops! Post them at every gate!
Send for the Milanese to scout or forage,
I care not what, so they're without the wall!
And hark, Rossano! if you hear a knell
Wail out before the coronation peal, —
Telling to Milan that Bianca's dead,
And there's no duke — down with the ducal banner,
And, like an eagle, to the topmost tower
Up with my gonfalon! Away!
(Re-enter the messenger from Bianca.)
Sforza.
I come! I come!
Pasquali
(without).
In, in!
(Enter Sarpellione, followed by Pasquali.)
Sarpellione
(aghast at the sight of Sforza).
Alive!
Sforza.
Have you come back to get some fresher news?
Alfonso'd know who's duke! While you are hanging,
I'll ride to Naples with the news myself!
Ha! ha! my star smiles on me!
(Bianca rushes in and crouches at the side of Sforza, as if
hiding from something beyond him.)
Bianca.
Come! come! Brunorio! — If you come not quick,
My heart will break and wake him!
(Presses her hand painfully to her side.)
Nay, think on Sforza! Think 'tis for his love!
Giulio will be an angel up in heaven,
And Sforza will drink glory from my hand!
Come! come! Brunorio! (Screams piercingly.)
Ah, who murdered Giulio!
Not I! — not I! not I!
Sforza
(watching her with emotion).
Are bought the proudest triumphs of this world!
Bianca.
Will the bell never peal!
Priest
(to an attendant).
Her mind plays truly now. Her life hangs on it!
The waiting for the bell of coronation
Is the last link that holds!
Sforza
(raising her).
My much-loved wife!
Bianca.
Is it thee, Sforza? Has the bell pealed yet?
Sforza.
You'll kill me this way!
Bianca
(dashing down the cup).
Think you I'll drink
fire!
Sforza.
Then taste of this! (Offers her a pomegranate.)
Bianca
(laughing bitterly).
The fruit of hell has ashes at the core!
Mock me some other way!
Sforza.
My poor Bianca!
Bianca.
And you're a devil, and can mock his voice,
But Sforza never spoke so tenderly!
You overdo it! Ha! ha! ha!
Sforza.
I would her brother had been duke in Milan
And I his slave — so she had lived and loved me!
Bianca.
Of a soul's agony in hell to see
The blest afar off? Can I not see Giulio?
(Struggles, as if to escape something before her eyes.)
Sforza.
(Struggles with himself a moment.)
Nay, then, 'tis time to say farewell Ambition!
(Turns to the Priest.)
But I have heard, the sacrifice of that
Which the repenting soul loved more than heaven,
Will work a miracle!
(Takes his sword from his scabbard, and proceeds in a
deeper voice.)
As never mother loved her rosy child!
My heart is in its hilt — my life, my soul,
Follow it like the light! Say thou dost think
If I give that up for a life of peace,
Heaven will give back her reason —
Priest
(eagerly).
Doubt it not!
Sforza.
Then — take it!
(Drops the hitt into his hand, and holds it a moment.)
Sarpellione
(in a hourse whisper).
Welcome news for King Alfonso!
Sforza
(starting).
I'll follow in its gleaming track to Naples
If the world perish!
(Enter Rossano.)
Now, what news, Rossano?
Rossano.Consent to see the crown imposed in private,
Three delegated lords will presently
Attend you here!
Sforza
(energetically).
To look forth from his tower and watch this window!
When he shall see a handkerchief wave hence
Let him peal out. (Attendant goes out.)
My gonfalon shall float
Over St. Mark's before Foscari dreams
There's a new duke in Milan! Let Alfonso
Look to the north!
(Enter attendant.)
Attendant.
Wait to come in!
(Sforza waves his hand, and they enter.)
1st Lord.
Health to the noble Sforza!
Sforza.
Must cut off ceremony, Milan's heiress
Lies there before you failing momently,
But holds in life to give away the crown.
If you're content to see her put it on me
Let it be so as quickly as it may!
Give signal for the bell!
(The handkerchief is waved and the bell peals. Bianca
rises to her feet.)
Bianca.
Where am I? Bring some wine, dear Giulio!
(Looks round fearfully.)
Am I awake now! I've been dreaming here
That he was dead! Oh God! a horrid dream!
Come hither, Sforza! I have dreamt a dream,
If I can tell it you — will make your hair
Stand up with horror!
Sforza.
Tell it not!
Bianca.
Was, in my dream, my brother! how I knew it
I do not now remember — but I did!
And loved him — (that you know must be a dream)
Better than you!
Sforza.
What — better?
Bianca.
Being my brother, he must have the crown!
Stay! — is my father dead — or was't i' the dream too?
Sforza.
He's dead, Bianca!
Bianca.
And Giulio did — and somehow you should hate me
If he were duke; and so I killed him, loving me,
For you that loved me not! Is it not strange
That we can dream such things? The manner of it —
To see it in a play would break your heart —
It was so pitiless! Look here! this boy
Brings me a heap of flowers! — I'll show it you
As it was done before me in the dream!
Don't weep! 'twas but a dream — but I'll not sleep
Again till I've seen Giulio — the blood seemed
So ghastly natural! I shall see it, Sforza,
Till I have passed my hand across his side!
(Turning to the attendants.)
Sforza.
Will you not drink?
(She drops the cup in horror.)
Bianca.
Had liquid fire in't when the deed was done —
A devil mocked me with it!
(Another cup is brought, and she drinks.)
Thank God, I wake now!
(She turns to an attendant.)
Is in the garden?
Strike the bell once more?
Bianca.
He kissed me ere he slept — wilt listen,
Sforza?
Sforza.
Tell me no more, sweet one!
Bianca.
The very flowers he brought me, at his feet,
To eke his body out as long as yours —
Was't not a hellish dream?
(The bell strikes again, and she covers her ears in horror.)
'Tis no dream — now I know — yes — yes — I know
These be the councillors — and you are Sforza,
And that's Rossano — and I killed my brother
To make you duke! Yes, yes! I see it all!
Oh God! Oh God!
(She covers her face, and weeps.)
Sforza.
Little by little. With this flood of tears,
Her brain's relieved, and she'll give over raving.
My wife! Bianca! If thou ever lovedst me,
Look on my face!
Bianca.
For thy dear love, the eyes I had to see it,
The ears to hear it. I have broke my heart
In reaching for't.
Sforza.
The life-drops in my heart are less dear to me!
Bianca.
You did not know the price of! Had you spoken
But one kind word upon my bridal night!
Sforza.
Forgive me, my Bianca!
Bianca.
With thirst now, and my eyes grow faint and dim.
Are you here, Sforza! mourn not for me long!
But bury me with Giulio! (Starts from him.)
Hark! I hear
His voice now! Do the walls of Paradise
Jut over hell? I heard his voice, I say!
(Strikes off Sforza, who approaches her.)
Who upon earth had no heart! Can you take
No shape but that? Can you not look like Giulio?
(Sforza falls back, struck with remorse.)
He prays for poor Bianca! And look, see you!
The portals stir! Slow, slow — and difficult —
(Creeps forward with her eyes upward.)
I come! (Falls on her face.)
(Sforza drops on his knee, pale and trembling.)
Sforza.
What heard I then? “Sforza, give up thy sword!”
Was it from heaven or hell!
(Shrinks as if from some spectre in the air.)
(Holds out his sword as if to the monk, and Sarpellione, who
has been straining forward to watch Bianca, springs
suddenly to her side.)
Sarpellione.
She's dead! Ha! ha! who's duke in
Milan now?
(Sforza rises with a bound.)
Sforza.
Sforza!
(He flies to the window, and waves the handkerchief. The
bell peals out, and as he rushes to Bianca, she moves, lifts
her head, looks wildly around, and struggles to her feet.
Rossano gives her the crown — she looks an instant smilingly
on Sforza, and with a difficult but calm effort places
it on his head. All drop on one knee to do allegiance,
and as Sforza lifts himself to his loftiest height, with a
look of triumph at Sarpellione, Bianca sinks dead at his
feet.)
[Curtain falls.
THE END OF BLANCA VISCONTI.
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