University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

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.
If a civilian
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.
By the saints
My own thought, noble Count! As you came in
I brooded on't.

SARPELLIONE,
(aside.)
(This blockhead may be turn'd
To a shrewd use now! I have mark'd his brows
Blackening upon Rossano, who usurps
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.
I had a message by a varlet page,
Who bid me wait here.

SARPELLIONE.
By a page? Sacristie!
Fair treatment for a soldier! Say, Brunorio!
What was't I heard of the Pope's standard-bearer
Clove to the wrist?

BRUNORIO.
Heard you of that, my Lord?
You see the weapon, here!

SARPELLIONE.
Was't thine, i' faith?
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 follow'd
He'd known 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 wast thou made lieutenant?

BRUNORIO.
Five years come March.

SARPELLIONE.
Jove! how this peasant's son
Treads merit in the dust! Sforza keeps back
His betters, brave Brunorio!
(Rossano passes out.)
Ay—there!
That man cuts off your sunshine, or I know
Nothing of courts. I, that have no part in it,
Have mark'd 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.
Noble Count,
My heart speaks thro' your lips. Since this Rossano
Has had my Lord's ear, I've been thrust aside
Like a disgrac'd hound.

SARPELLIONE.
Frankly, brave Brunorio!
And between us,—I've heard you lightly mentioned
By this ungrateful Sforza!

BRUNORIO.
How, my Lord?

SARPELLIONE.
I would not tell you but to serve you in it—
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.
Curse on him!
I've a sharp blow left yet—and brain enough
To find a time to strike it! Did you say
Alfonso had spoke well of me, my Lord?

SARPELLIONE.
So well, that, on my own authority—
If you'd take service with a better master—
You're Captain from this hour.

BRUNORIO.
My Lord! So promptly
I take your offer, that your commendations
Will find no swifter bearer than myself
To King Alfonso.

SARPELLIONE.
Stay—I'm not just now
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 Brunurio.
He's a fit tool! This o'er-ambitious Sforza
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.
My Lord, wilt please you teach me
A trick of fence?

SFORZA.
Ay—willingly! Hast thou
A weapon in that needle-case of thine?

PAGE,
(drawing.)
A weapon! If I had your legs to stand on
I'd give you all the odds 'twixt it and yours!
Look at that blade! (Bends it.)
Damascus!
[Sforza smiles, and unbuckles his scabbard.]
By the gods
You shall not laugh at me! I'll give you odds,
With any thing to stand on!

SFORZA.
Nay—I'll sit—
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—well thrust, by Jupiter! Again!
One—two!

PAGE,
(makes a lunge.)
Three! there you have it!

SFORZA,
(starting up.)
Come—
This is no play!

PAGE.
What! does the needle prick?

(Wipes it with his handkerchief.)
SFORZA.
'Tis a Damascus if thou wilt! I'll laugh
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.
I'll swear to it! Thou hast the eagle's eye!
But tell me—what brave gentleman of Milan
Has thy blood in his veins?

PAGE.
I'm not of Milan.
Sarpellione brought me here from Naples.

SFORZA.
Thou'rt not his child, I'll answer for't.

PAGE.
Not I!
I hate him! Come! Wilt try another pass?

SFORZA.
Stay! is the Count thy master then?

PAGE.
My master?
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.)
What if this
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'll tell you all
I know, my Lord. Alfonso sent me here,
Five years ago, in quality of a 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.)
It is he!—
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.
Nay, sir! you ought to know what Duke!
I heard the doctor say you'd wear his crown
In three days. Never say I told you of it.
He whisper'd it to old Sarpellione,
Who—

SFORZA.
What?

PAGE.
Look'd daggers at him!

SFORZA,
(aside.)
(Now the devil
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.)
I'd set my foot in Venice
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! [OMITTED]
(The Page still fences with the chair.)
[OMITTED] I'd found a dynasty!—
Be second of the name—but the first king—
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! [OMITTED]
[OMITTED] I would he were a man!
I would an army barr'd 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 ripp'd 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.)
(Get thee gone, devil! After all his glory
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.)

(Aside.)
(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 unnumber'd 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 the sleeve.)
PAGE.
Look you here, my Lord!
If I have harm'd 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 chanc'd to wound you!

(Kneels, opens his bosom, and offers his sword-hilt to Sforza.)
SFORZA.
Angels keep me!
Give me thy hand, boy!

(Looks at him a moment, and passes his hand across his eyes.)
PAGE.
You'll forgive me, sir?
Letting of blood—when done in fair play, mind you!
Has no offence in't.

SFORZA.
Leave me now, sweet boy!
I'll see thee at the feast to-night! Farewell!
(Page kisses his hand, and exit.)
Shade of my father! If from Heaven thou look'st
Upon the bright inheritance of glory
I took from thee—pluck from my tortur'd soul
These thoughts of Hell—and keep me worthy of thee!
(Walks up and down thoughtfully, and then presses the crucifix to his lips.)
As I am true to honor and that child,
Help me, just Heaven!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

[A bridal feast seen through a glass door in the rear of the stage. Enter, from the banquetting-room, Bianca, drest with great magnificence, followed by Sforza, Rossano, Brunorio, and Sarpellione. A raised throne at the side. Music heard till the door is closed.]
BIANCA.
They who love stillness follow us! The brain
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.
Too envious a place and office both!
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,
(aside.)
(What trick
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.
The rose lifts to the sun its flowering tree,
And all its parts are honor'd—while the lily
Upon one fragrant stem rears all its beauty—
And its coarse family of leaves are left
To lie on th' earth they cling to.

SFORZA,
(to Rossano, with whom he has been conversing apart.)
(I've sure news
He was worse yesterday!)

(Bianca rising with dignity, and descending from the ducal chair.)
BIANCA.
Now, since the serpent
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.
Amen! but triple glory to the second!
I have a brief tale for thine ear, Ambassador!

SARPELLIONE.
I listen, Lady!

BIANCA.
Mark the moral, sir!
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 mark'd by them who gazed upon the first,
Follow'd 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,
Dropp'd lifeless thro' the air. The eaglet paused,
And hung upon his wings; and as his sire
Plashed in the far-down wave, men look'd to see him
Flee to his nest affrighted!

SFORZA,
(with great interest.)
Did he so?

BIANCA.
My noble Lord—he had a monarch's heart!
He wheel'd 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.
Ay—men call those eagles
Sforza the First and Second!

(The bell tolls, and enter a Messenger.)
MESSENGER.
Pardon, Madam,
For my sad news! your royal father's dead!

BIANCA,
(aside, with great energy).
(Sforza'll be Duke!)
(Turning to the messenger.)
Died he in much pain, know you?

MESSENGER.
Madam—

BIANCA,
(aside.)
(The crown is mine! He will remember
The crown was mine.)
(Turns to the messenger.)
Sent he for any one
In his extremity?

MESSENGER.
Most honour'd Madam—

BIANCA,
(aside.)
(Ingratitude is not the lion's fault—
He cannot hate me when I make him royal!
It would be monstrous if he did not love me!)
(To the messenger.)
Said you my father sent for me?

MESSENGER.
No, Madam!
He died as he had lived, unseen of any
Save his physician!

BIANCA,
(aside.)
(Sforza must be crowned
And then our mourning will shut out the world!
He'll be alone with me and his new glory—
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.
Go you in first! (hands her in)
Rossano
Will forth with me, to see the funeral
Fitly arrang'd.

BIANCA.
You'll come back soon, my Lord?

SFORZA.
Ay—presently!

[Exit Bianca.
ROSSANO.
With what a majesty
She walks!

SFORZA.
She knows not that she has a brother,
And in her port already mocks the duchess.

ROSSANO.
She would have made a glorious queen, my Lord!

SFORZA.
She should have made one—but I cannot talk on't!
Lets forth upon our errand, and forget
There was a crown in Milan.

[Exeunt.