 | Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti |  |
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ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
[Angelo's Studio. A full-length picture, in a large frame, stands on the floor against an easel, placed nearly in the centre of the room. Two curtains are so arranged as to cover the picture when drawn together. Angelo stands in an imploring attitude near the picture, his pencil and pallette in his hands, appealing to Isabella, who is partly turned from him in an attitude of refusal. The back wall of the room such as to form a natural ground for a picture.]ANGELO.
Hear me, sweet!
ISABELLA.
No, we'll keep a holiday,
And waste the hours in love and idleness.
You shall not paint to-day, dear Angelo!
ANGELO.
But listen!
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Nay, I'm jealous of my picture;
For all you give to that is stol'n from me.
I like not half a look that turns away
Without an answer from the eyes it met!
I care not you should see my lips' bright color
Yet wait not for the breath that floats between!
ANGELO.
Wilt listen?
ISABELLA.
Listen? Yes! a thousand years!
But there's a pencil in those restless fingers,
Which you've a trick of touching to your lips—
And while you talk, my hand would do as well!
And if it's the same tale you told before
Of certain vigils you forgot to keep,
Look deep into my eyes till it is done—
For, like the children's Lady-in-the well,
I only hark because you're looking in!
Will you talk thus to me?
ANGELO.
Come night I will!
But close upon thy voice, sweet Isabella!
A boding whisper sinks into mine ear
Which tells of sudden parting! If 'tis false,—
We shall have still a lifetime for our love,
But if 'tis true, oh think that, in my picture,
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Let me but make it clearer!
ISABELLA.
Now, by heaven!
I think thou lov'st the picture, and not me!
So different am I, that, did I think
To lose thee presently, by death or parting,
For thy least word, or look, or slightest motion—
Nay, for so little breath as makes a sigh,
I would not take, to have it pass untreasured,
The empire of a star!
(While she was uttering this reproach, Angelo has looked at her with delight, and touched his portrait with a few rapid strokes.)
ANGELO.
My picture's done!
(Throws his pencil to the ground.)
Break, oh enchanted pencil! thou wilt never
On earth, again, do miracle so fair!
Oh Isabella! as the dusky ore
Waits for the lightning's flash to turn to gold—
As the dull vapour waits for Hesperus,
Then falls in dew-drops and reflects a star—
So waited I that fire upon thy lips,
To make my master-piece complete in beauty!
ISABELLA.
This is ambition where I look'd for love;
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I think you have no heart!
ANGELO.
Your feet are on it!
The heart is ever lowly with the fortunes,
Tho' the proud mind sits level with a king!
I gave you long ago both heart and soul,
But only one has dared to speak to you!
Yet, if astonishment will cure the dumb,
Give it a kiss—
ISABELLA,
(smiling.)
Lo! Where it speaks at last!
(A loud knock is heard.)
Hark, Angelo!
(He flies to the window, and looks out.)
ANGELO.
Tortesa with a guard!
Alas! that warning voice! They've traced thee hither!
Lost! Lost!
ISABELLA,
(Hastily drawing the curtain, and disappearing behind it.)
No! no! defend thy picture only,
And all is well yet!
ANGELO.
Thee and it with life!
(Draws his sword, and stands before the curtain in an attitude of defiance. Enter Tortesa with officers and guard.)
What is your errand?
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I'm afraid, a sad one!
For, by your drawn sword and defying air,
Your conscious thought foretells it.
ANGELO.
Why,—a blow—
(You took one, Signor, when you last were here—
If you've forgot it, well!)—but, commonly,
The giver of a blow needs have his sword
Promptly in hand. You'll pardon me!
TORTESA.
I do!
For, if my fears are just, good Signor painter!
You've not a life to spare upon a quarrel!
In brief, the corse of a most noble lady
Was stol'n last night from holy sanctuary.
I have a warrant here to search your house;
And, should the body not be found therein,
I'm bid to see the picture of the lady—
Whereon, (pray mark me!) if I find a trace
Of charms fresh copied, more than may beseem
The modest beauty of a living maid,
I may arrest you on such evidence
For instant trial!
ANGELO.
Search my house and welcome!
But, for my picture, tho' a moment's glance
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Would give the lie to your foul thought of me,
It is the unseen virgin of my brain!
And as th' inviolate person of a maid
Is sacred ev'n in presence of the law,
My picture is my own—to bare or cover!
Look on it at your peril!
TORTESA,
(to the guard.)
Take his sword.
(The guards attack and disarm him.)
ANGELO.
Coward and villain!
(Tortesa parts the curtains with his sword, and Angelo starts amazed to see Isabella, with her hands crossed on her breast, and her eyes fixed on the ground, standing motionless in the frame which had contained his picture. The tableau deceives Tortesa, who steps back to contemplate what he supposes to be the portrait of his bride.)
TORTESA.
Admirable work!
'Tis Isabella's self! Why, this is wondrous!
The brow, the lip, the countenance—how true!
I would have sworn that gloss upon the hair,
That shadow from the lash, were nature's own—
Impossible to copy! (Looks at it a moment in silence.)
Yet methinks
The color on the cheek is something faint!
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(hurriedly.)
Step this way farther!
TORTESA,
(changing his position.)
Ay—'tis better here!
The hand is not as white as Isabella's—
But painted to the life! If there's a feature
That I would touch again, the lip, to me,
Seems wanting in a certain scornfulness
Native to her! It scarcely marr'd her beauty.
Perhaps 'tis well slurr'd over in a picture!
Yet stay! I see it, now I look again!
How excellently well!
(Guards return from searching the house.)
What! found you nothing?
SOLDIER,
(holding up Isabella's veil.)
This bridal veil—no more.
ANGELO,
(despairingly.)
Oh! luckless star!
TORTESA.
Signor! you'll trust me when I say I'm sorry
With all my soul! This veil, I know it well—
Was o'er the face of that unhappy lady
When laid in sanctuary. You are silent!
Perhaps you scorn to satisfy me here!
I trust you can—in your extremity!
But I must bring you to the Duke! Lead on!
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An instant!
TORTESA,
(courteously).
At your pleasure!
ANGELO,
(to Isabella, as he passes close to her.)
I conjure you,
By all our love, stir not!
ISABELLA,
(still motionless.)
Farewell!
(Tortesa motions for Angelo to precede him with the guard, looks once more at the picture, and with a gesture expressive of admiration, follows. As the door closes, Isabella steps from the frame.)
ISABELLA.
I'll follow
Close on thy steps, beloved Angelo!
And find a way to bring thee home again!
My heart is light, and hope speaks cheerily!
And lo! bright augury!—a friar's hood
For my disguise! Was ever omen fairer!
Thanks! my propitious star!
(Envelopes herself in the hood, and goes out hastily.)
122
SCENE II.
[A Street. Enter Tomaso, with his hat crushed and pulled sulkily over his eyes, his clothes dirty on one side, and other marks of having slept in the street. Enter Zippa from the other side, meeting him.]ZIPPA.
Tomaso! Is't thou? Where's Angelo?
TOMASO.
It is I, and I don't know!
ZIPPA.
Did he come home last night?
TOMASO.
“Did he come home!” Look there!
(Pulls off his hat
and shows his dirty side.)
ZIPPA.
Then thou hast slept in the street!
TOMASO.
Ay!
ZIPPA.
And what has that to do with the coming home of Angelo?
TOMASO.
What had thy father to do with thy having such a nose as his?
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What! gave thy mother a ducat?—cheap as dirt!
ZIPPA.
Blockhead, no! I'll give thee the ducat if thou wilt tell me, straight on, what thou know'st of Angelo!
TOMASO.
I will—and thou shalt see how charity is rewarded.
ZIPPA.
Begin!—begin!
TOMASO
Last night, having pray'd later than usual at vespers—
ZIPPA.
Ehem!
TOMASO.
I was coming home in a pious frame of mind—
ZIPPA.
—And a bottle in thy pocket.
TOMASO.
No!—in my hand. What should I stumble over—
ZIPPA.
—But a stone.
TOMASO.
A woman!
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Fie! what's this you're going to tell me?
TOMASO.
She was dying with cold. Full of Christian charity—
ZIPPA.
—And new wine.
TOMASO.
Old wine, Zippa! The wine was old!
ZIPPA.
Well!
TOMASO.
I took her home.
ZIPPA.
Shame!—at thy years?
TOMASO.
And Angelo being out for the night—
ZIPPA.
There! there! you may skip the particulars.
TOMASO.
I say my own bed being in the garret—
ZIPPA.
Well, well!
TOMASO.
I put her into Angelo's.
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Oh, unspeakable impudence! Didst thou do that?
TOMASO.
I had just left her to make a wine posset, (for she was well nigh dead), when in popped my master,—finds her there—asks no questions,—kicks me into the street, and locks the door! There's the reward of virtue!
ZIPPA.
Did he not turn out the woman, too?
TOMASO.
Not as I remember.
ZIPPA.
Oh worse and worse! And thou hast not seen him since?
TOMASO.
I found me a soft stone, said my prayers, and went to sleep.
ZIPPA.
And hast thou not seen him to day?
TOMASO.
Partly, I have!
ZIPPA.
Where? Tell me quickly!
TOMASO.
Give me the ducat.
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(gives it him.)
Quick! say on!
TOMASO.
I have a loose recollection, that, lying on that stone,
Angelo called me by name. Looking up, I saw two
Angelos, and two Tortesas, and soldiers with two spears
each.
(He figures in the air with his finger as if trying
to remember.)
ZIPPA,
(aside.)
(Ha! he is apprehended for the murder of Isabella. Say that my evidence might save his life! Not unless he love me!) Which way went he, Tomaso?
(Tomaso points.)This way? (Then has he gone to be tried before the Duke.) Come with me, Tomaso! Come.
TOMASO.
Where?
ZIPPA.
To the Duke's palace! Come!
(Takes his arm.)
TOMASO.
To the Duke's palace? There'll be kicking of heels in the ante-chamber!—dry work! I'll spend thy ducat as we go along. Shall it be old wine, or new?
[Exeunt.
127
SCENE III.
[Hall of Judgment in the Ducal Palace. The Duke. upon a raised throne on the left. Falcone near his chair, and Angelo on the opposite side of the stage with a guard. Isabella behind the guard, disguised as a monk. Tortesa stands near the centre of the stage, and Zippa and Tomaso in the left corner, listening eagerly. Counsellors at a table, and crowd of spectators at the sides and rear.]DUKE.
Are there more witnesses?
COUNSELLOR.
No more, my liege!
DUKE.
None for the prisoner?
COUNSELLOR.
He makes no defence
Beyond a firm denial.
FALCONE.
Is there wanting
Another proof, my liege, that he is guilty?
DUKE.
I fear he stands in deadly peril, Count.
(To the Counsellor.)
Sum up the evidence.
(He reads.)
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'Tis proved, my liege,
That for no honest or sufficient end,
The pris'ner practised on your noble Grace
And Count Falcone a contrived deceit,
Whereby he gained admittance to the lady.
(Tomaso exhibits signs of alarm.)
DUKE.
Most true!
COUNSELLOR.
That, till the eve before her death,
He had continual access to the palace;
And, having grown enamoured of the bride,
Essay'd by plots that never were matured,
And quarrels often forced on her betrothed,
To stay the bridal. That, against the will
Of her most noble father and the Duke,
The bride was resolute to keep her troth;
And so, preparing for the ceremony,
Upon her bridal morning was found dead.
'Tis proved again—that, while she lay in state,
The guard, at several periods of the night,
Did force the pris'ner from the chapel door;
And when the corse was stol'n from sanctuary
All search was vain, till, in the pris'ner's hands
Was found the veil that shrouded her. To these,
And lighter proofs of sacrilege and murder,
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No more!
DUKE.
Does no one speak in his behalf?
TORTESA.
My liege! so far as turns the evidence
Upon the prisoner's quarrels with myself,
I'm free to say that they had such occasion
As any day may rise 'twixt men of honor.
As one of those aggriev'd by his offences,
You'll wonder I'm a suitor for his pardon—
But so I am! Besides that there is room
To hope him innocent, your Grace's realm
Holds not so wondrous and so rare a painter!
If he has killed the lady Isabella,
'Tis some amends that in his glorious picture
She's made immortal! If he stole her corse,
He can return, for that disfigured dust,
An Isabella fresh in changeless beauty!
Were it not well to pardon him, my Lord?
ISABELLA,
(aside.)
Oh brave Tortesa!
DUKE.
You have pleaded kindly
And eloquently, Signor! but the law
Can recognize no gift as plea for pardon.
For his rare picture he will have his fame;
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Find not a voice to tell his innocence,
He dies at sunset!
ISABELLA,
(despairingly.)
He is dead to me!
Yet he shall live!
(She drops the cowl from her shoulders, and with her arms folded, walks slowly to the feet of the Duke.)
FALCONE,
(rushing forward.)
My daughter!
ANGELO,
(with a gesture of agony.)
Lost!
TORTESA.
Alive!
ZIPPA,
(energetically.)
Tortesa'll have her!
(Isabella retires to the back of the stage with her father and kneels to him, imploring in dumb show; the Duke and others watching.)
TORTESA,
(aside.)
So! all's right again?
Now for my lands or Isabella?—Stay!
'Tis a brave girl by Heaven!
(Reflects a moment.)
A sleeping draught,
And so to Angelo! Her love for me
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It was well done! I feel my heart warm to her!
(Reflects again.)
Where could he hide her from our search to-day?
(Looks round at Isabella.)
No? Yet the dress is like! It was the picture!
Herself—and not a picture! Now, by Heaven,
A girl like that should be the wife of Cæsar!
(Presses his hand upon his heart.)
I've a new feeling here!
(Falcone comes forward, followed by Isabella with gestures of supplication.)
FALCONE.
I will not hear you!
My liege, I pray you keep the prisoner
In durance till my daughter's fairly wed.
He has contriv'd against our peace and honor,
And howsoe'er this marvel be made clear,
She stands betroth'd, if he is in the mind,
To the brave Signor yonder!
DUKE.
This were well—
What says Tortesa?
TORTESA.
If my liege permit,
I will address my answer to this lady.
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For reasons which I need not give you now,
Fair Isabella! I became your suitor.
My motives were unworthy you and me—
Yet I was true—I never said I lov'd you!
Your father sold you me for lands and money—
(Pardon me Duke! And you, fair Isabella!
You will—ere I am done!) I push'd my suit!
The bridal day came on, and clos'd in mourning;
For the fair bride it dawn'd upon was dead.
I had my shame and losses to remember—
But in my heart sat sorrow uppermost,
And pity—for I thought your heart was broken.
(Isabella begins to discover interest in his story, and Angelo watches her with jealous eagerness.)
I see you here again! You are my bride!
Your father holds me to my bargain for you!
The lights are burning on the nuptial altar—
The bridal chamber and the feast, all ready!
What stays the marriage now?—my new-born love!
That nuptial feast were fruit from Paradise—
I cannot touch it till you bid me welcome!
That nuptial chamber were the lap of Heaven—
I cannot enter till you call me in!
(Takes a ring from his bosom.)
Here is the golden ring you should have worn.
Tell me to give it to my rival there—
I'll break my heart to do so! (Holds it towards Angelo.)
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(looking at her father.)
Would I might!
TORTESA.
You shall if't please you!
FALCONE.
I command thee, never!
My liege, permit me to take home my daughter!
And, Signor, you—if you would keep your troth—
To-morrow come, and end this halting bridal!
Home! Isabella! (Takes his daughter's hand.)
TORTESA,
(taking it from him).
Stay! she is not your's!
(Turns to the Duke.)
My gracious liege, there is a law in Florence,
That if a father, for no guilt or shame,
Disown, and shut his door upon his daughter,
She is the child of him who succors her;
Who, by the shelter of a single night,
Becomes endowed with the authority
Lost by the other. Is't not so?
DUKE.
So runs
The law of Florence, and I see your drift—
For, look my lord! (to Falcone,)
if that dread apparition
You saw last night, was this your living daughter,
You stand within the peril of that law.
FALCONE.
My liege!
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(looking admiringly at Tortesa.)
Oh noble Signor!
TORTESA,
(to Isabella.)
Was't well done?
Shall I give Angelo the ring?
(As she is about to take it from him, Tomaso steps in behind, and pulls Isabella by the sleeve.)
TOMASO.
Stay there!
What wilt thou do for dowry? I'm thy father?
But—save some flasks of wine—
ISABELLA,
(sorrowfully.)
Would I were richer
For thy sake, Angelo!
(Tortesa looks at her an instant, and then steps to the table and writes.)
ANGELO,
(coming forward with an effort.)
Look, Isabella!
I stand between thee and a life of sunshine.
Thou wert both rich and honor'd, but for me!
That thou couldst wed me, beggar as I am,
Is bliss to think on—but see how I rob thee!
I have a loving heart—but am a beggar!
There is a loving heart—
(Points to Tortesa.)
—with wealth and honor!
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TORTESA,
(to Isabella.)
Say thou wilt wed the poorer?
ISABELLA,
(offers her hand to Angelo.)
So I will!
TORTESA.
Then am I blest, for he's as rich as I—
Yet, in his genius, has one jewel more!
ISABELLA.
What sayst thou?
(Angelo reads earnestly.)
TORTESA.
In a mortal quarrel, lady!
'Tis thought ill-luck to have the better sword;
For the good angels, who look sorrowing on,
In heavenly pity take the weaker side!
ISABELLA.
What is it, Angelo?
ANGELO.
A deed to me
Of the Falcone palaces and lands,
And all the moneys forfeit by your father!—
By Heaven, I'll not be mock'd!
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The deed is yours—
What mockery in that?
ISABELLA,
(tenderly to Tortesa).
It is not kind
To make a refusal of your love a pain!
TORTESA.
I would 'twould kill you to refuse me lady!
So should the blood plead for me at your heart!
Shall I give up the ring? (offers it.)
ISABELLA,
(hesitatingly.)
Let me look on it!
TORTESA,
(withdrawing it.)
A moment yet! You'll give it ere you think!
Oh is it fair that Angelo had days,
To tell his love, and I have not one hour?
How know you that I cannot love as well?
ISABELLA.
'Tis possible!
TORTESA.
Ah! thanks!
ISABELLA.
But I have given
My heart to him!
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You gave your troth to me!
If, of these two gifts you must take back one,
Rob not the poorer! Shall I keep the ring?
(Isabella looks down.)
ANGELO.
She hesitates! I've waited here too long!
(Tears the deed in two.)
Perish your gift, and farewell Isabella!
ISABELLA,
(advancing a step with clasp'd hands.)
You'll kill me, Angelo! Come back!
TORTESA,
(seizing him by the hand as he hesitates and flinging him back with a strong effort.)
He shall!
ANGELO.
Stand from my path! Or, if you care to try
Some other weapon than a glozing tongue,
Follow me forth where we may find the room!
TORTESA.
You shall not go.
ANGELO,
(draws.)
Have at thee then!
(Attacks Tortesa, who disarms him, and holds his sword-point to his breast. Duke and others come forward.)
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The bar
'Twixt me and heaven, boy! is the life I hold
Now at my mercy! Take it, Isabella!
And with it the poor gift he threw away!
I'll write a new deed ere you've time to marry.
So take your troth back with your bridal ring,
And thus I join you!
(Takes Isabella's hand, but Angelo refuses his.)
ANGELO,
(proudly.)
Never! But for me,
The hand you hold were joyfully your own!
Shall I receive a life and fortune from you,
Yet stand 'twixt you and that?
ISABELLA,
(turning from Angelo.)
Thou dost not love me!
TORTESA.
Believe it not! He does! An instant more
I'll brush this new spun cobweb from his eyes.
(Approaches Zippa.)
Fair Zippa! in this cross'd and tangled world
Few wed the one they could have lov'd the best,
And fewer still wed well for happiness!
We each have lost to-day what best we love.
But as the drops, that mingled in the sky
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Yet with a new drop tremble into one,
We two, if you're content, may swim together!
What say you?
ZIPPA,
(giving her hand.)
I have thought on it before,
When I believed you cold and treacherous,
'Tis easy when I know you kind and noble.
TORTESA.
To-morrow, then, we'll wed; and now, fair Signor,
(To Angelo.)
Take you her hand, nor fear to rob Tortesa!
(Turns to the Duke.)
Shall it be so, my liege?
DUKE.
You please me well.
And if you'll join your marriage feasts together
I'll play my part and give the brides away!
TORTESA.
Not so, my liege! I could not see her wed him.
To give her to him has been all I could;
For I have sought her with the dearest pulses
That quicken in my heart, my love and scorn.
She's taught me that the high-born may be true.
I thank her for it—but, too close on that
Follow'd the love, whose lightning flash of honor
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The poor who leap up to the stars for duty
Must drop to earth again! and here, if't please you,
I take my feet for ever from your palace,
And, match'd as best beseems me, say farewell.
(Takes Zippa's hand, and the curtain drops.)
THE END.
| Two ways of dying for a husband. I. Dying to keep him, or Tortesa the usurer. II. Dying to lose him, or Bianca Visconti | |