University of Virginia Library

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.