University of Virginia Library

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.