University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Interior court of the castle.
Enter Fracastro from a cell, which he locks, and then offers the key to Sardo, who enters from the opposite side.
Fra.
Take you the key.

Sardo.
I scorn to be a gaoler.

Fra.
Take you the key: some good, perhaps, may come. Enter Marco.

Well;—hast thou found him?

Marco.
I have not.

Fra.
'Tis strange.
See ye where chamois quaff the mountain stream,
Beneath yon rugged Alpine arch?

Sardo.
I do.

Fra.
Thither he fled. I follow'd; till he came
Close to the ledge, from which, suspending, weeps
Yon silver'd birch; that like a wizard hangs,
Dipping its leaves within the rippling wave,
And dropping pearls before the lunar ray.
Near where those cygnets, with their mother, rest,
With beaks conceal'd beneath their downy wings.
There he lean'd long in meditation; lifted,
—If by his eyes and countenance I might judge—
In silent awe before the universe.
He stood, methought, like some majestic abbey;
When 'twixt two clouds of purple and vermeil,
The soften'd lustre of the solar beams
Glows o'er its time-worn fragments; and it stands
A venerable emblem of magnificence,
Chasten'd with beauty. Then a rustling wind
Past o'er the torrent; and I look'd; when lo—
A mist arose betwixt us, and he vanish'd.
Come—we must find him ere we sleep.

Sardo.
The lady!

Fra.
Which way?—I see:—her cheeks bedew'd with tears.
I promised I would lead her to the captive.
Bring me the fruit.

Sardo.
I shall return this moment.

[Exeunt Sardo and Marco.
Enter Lavinia.
Lav.
As thou dost love thy father, mother, sister,
Brother, and friend; oh lead me to Lorenzo:
And the good deed shall pave thy path to heaven.

Fra.
Lady;—nay, fear not; I'll perform my promise. Enter Sardo, with a basket of fruit.

Take these pomegranates: they may soothe his thirst.
Why dost thou tremble? none shall harm thee here,
While I live free, and can protect thee, lady.
Open the wicket of the cell, good Sardo.

Lav.
Angels of grace—Lorenzo! and in chains?
Horrid; most horrid! (Runs to him.)
Let me break these bonds;
These wretched, execrable, bonds; or perish.

Lor.
This is a joy, I never hoped to see,
On this side heav'n.

Lav.
Lorenzo; my Lorenzo!

Lor.
Nay, do not bathe my bosom with thy tears.
Fortune may yet blush deep for these deserts.
These arms may yet sustain thee; and our love—

Lav.
Can we not break these miserable bonds?
Let us both try.

[They endeavour to break them.
Lor.
In vain: 'tis all in vain.
Not thrice the compass of such strength as ours
Could break one link. So weak is honest strength,
Unarm'd, opposed to tyranny.

Sardo.
The signor!

Enter Romano.
Rom.
Nay, how is this? I little thought to find,
Fracastro traitor to his trust.

Fra.
No traitor;
Either to thee, or to myself. Nay more:
I'm no cameleon, to adopt all colours,
Worn by the object, nearest which I stand.
I am no Proteus to assume all shapes;
Nor can I change my humour with my interest:
Mean with the great; obsequious with the vicious;
Honest in nothing. I disdain such men!
Thou art my father,—for I have no other.
Therefore, I owe thee,—as my mother's brother,
Duty, obedience, reverence, and love.
But truth and justice are beyond all ties;
Even of father, mother, master, or—sovereign.
I shall be honest.—Sir! I think, thy fame,
—But let me speak it to thyself alone— [Draws him aside.

Calls on thee loudly to redeem this wrong.
You weep for wrongs; yet act the wrong thyself!
I marvel:—nay, I blush for thee:—with blushes,
Wrung from the depth and silence of a heart,
Which hates injustice, as it hates the devil.

Rom.
Why, this is honest; and I love thee: yet
Pause one short moment. Hast thou felt—? thou hast not—
A bleeding martyrdom through all thy nerves,
—Head, heart, and feet,—for nine revolting years?
Hast thou sow'd fame,—an honest fame,—and reap'd
Envy and treachery, ignominy, and scorn?

Fra.
(aside.)
Why have I lived to such an hour as this?

Rom.
Hast thou lost fortune?—that is nothing;—one,
In whom life centred? Hast thou lost a daughter?
A sire thou hast lost, and a mother too;
Not as I mine!—My mother was struck dumb:
She died in horror; and my father fell,
In laughing madness, on Francesca's corse.

Fra.
(aside.)
I've struck the strings too harshly.

Rom.
When thou hast
Endured all these, for nine horrific years;
Judge me.—Behold me in my ruins!—See—
I stand like some torn fig-tree of the desert,
Shorn, shrivell'd, scorch'd; while sultry whirlwinds sweep
Along th'illuminated face of heaven,
Blasting the fertilizing strength of nature.
Was I not chain'd from head to foot? Behold—
Look at these wrists. When I behold these scars,
These miserable, blood-stain'd, scars;—I perish!
Tear but my sandals:—this will never heal.
Here was I wrung; here were the fetters lock'd;
Here was I pierced:—May vast volcanoes rise,
Flame o'er their roofs; and bury them in ashes
Sir, you are wrong,—I tell thee, thou art wrong,
To probe my wounds, and play upon me thus. [Turns suddenly to Lorenzo.

Wake, sir: no transports. Poison taints the lip
Of those, who drink before they ought. Awake!

Lav.
Wrongs have unsex'd me. Hear, thou man of blood;
Hear, whilst you may. That youth—should'st thou—!
The great Eternal will avenge his cause,
And heap more woes and ruin on thy head,
Than ever fell to one man's lot before.
What has he said? what wrong has he committed?
Let not thy passions tempt thee to a ruin,
Even more dreadful than thou know'st already.
No man acts wrong,—the mightiest monarch acts
Nothing, that's wrong, but soon repents the deed.
This hour, this awful, this horrific, hour,
Alone is thine. The next—Eternity!
And in that dread eternity, who knows
What woes, unheard of, may assail thee? Say—
What crime? what wrong? what injury? Not one!
Why then permit Revenge—the worst of passions—
Thus to disgrace and prey upon thee?—Shame!
Had he done that, which thou hast done thyself,
Thou could'st not;—nay,—what wrong has he committed?

Rom.
Did he not charge me with Francesca's murder,
With his own lips, and to my face? Deny?
The truth sits pallid on thy cheek; it speaks
In every movement:—He's condemn'd already.

Lav.
The guilt is not in saying that you did it;
But in your doing it. If you did it;—how
Came you to do it? 'Twas a deed most horrid!

Rom.
Who say, I did it? miscreants. A deed—
Then there's his father, his officious father,
Who took my judgment on himself;—'twas he,
That gave me to the myrmidons, who bound
These innocent hands. Could he—the monstrous thought!
Could he have struck the angel, that he loved?
At midnight too? when none can guard themselves!
Out, out—the charge, the ignominious charge,
Is scarce inferior to the deed itself.

Lav.
Dost thou condemn him for his father's fault?

Rom.
He is of Naples: guilt enough for any.
Have I not sworn? and shall I break an oath?

Lav.
Sworn what?

Rom.
To all the hated sons of Naples,
Bonds, stripes; nay—death.

Lav.
Oh frightful—frightful—frightful!

Rom.
Worse than condemn an innocent man unheard?

Lor.
(sarcastically.)
Innocent!

Rom.
Ay—innocent. Who dares—?

Lav.
Is the charge false then?

Rom.
False as heaven is true.
When a man stabs a hero, or a—woman!
This is the fatal, this the guilty, hand,
With which he perpetrates the deed:—the spots!
No doubt, thou'lt see the damning spots of murder.
Look at it;—judge.

Lav.
As white as snow.

Rom.
Not all,
Not all the waters of the Rhine or Danube,
Tigris, Euphrates, Ganges, Sinde, or Nile,
Congo or Zad: not e'en th'Atlantic waste,
That rolls its waters over continents,
Once the blest seats of empire, arts, and arms,
Could e'er have washed the bloody spots away,
Had I been guilty of a deed so foul,
So monstrous, and so terrible.

Lav.
Thou'rt wrong'd!
I feel as certain thou art innocent,
As if I were some messenger from heaven,
Sent to unlock the secrets of thy soul.
Thy manner proves it; and thy countenance
Wears a pure impress, that's as free from guilt,
As babes from treason.

Rom.
He is free. Those words—
Fly, fly; release him from his bonds. No thanks:
Stay not to thank me. Lead her to him, Sardo.

Fra.
Give her the key. Unlock the chains thyself.
This is the way:—observe, 'tis thus:—now fly,
And drink soft rapture from thy lover's eye.

Rom.
(to Fracastro.)
The name of heaven's pure first-born, Innocence,
Sent such a stream of rapture to my heart,
I could have hail'd her for St. Agnes; knelt;
And wept in ecstasy. Fracastro,—Raphael,
(For thou hast been a Raphael to my soul;)
I've been so torn, so lacerated, scorch'd,
By evil words,—those daggers of the tongue,
Which pierce more deeply than the scimetar—
That I have sometimes,—ay, full often,—doubted
E'en the sure evidence of my own self-knowledge;
And felt, I must be, what the world so long,
So loudly, has proclaim'd. Come hither: say—
Can Scythian winters wed Cashmerian suns?
Or fuschias vermeil 'neath the vast monsoon?
Can time strew laurels o'er the grave of guilt?
Or love shed raptures o'er the couch of scorn?
Yet may the wormwood of a friend's rebuke
Prove sweet,—nay sweeter,—than th'Hyblean hive.
Touch but this hand; my heart with pride shall glow.

Fra.
Now admiration, reverence, and love
Again command my soul. I thought thee wrong:
And,—to speak truth with reverence,—I bled,
To see thee wrong thy noble nature so.
That gave a courage to my pity.—Sire!
Pardon my fault: I'm all submission now.
See, where they come: bliss lightening in each face.

[Goes towards Lorenzo and Lavinia; takes them by the hand, and leads them to Romano.
Rom.
Kneel not, I charge. Rise instantly: 'tis I—
I ought to bend, to yield, and sue for pardon.
I ought to kneel. I've wrong'd ye both. We sin
Beyond the common measure of a crime,
When we confound the guiltless with the guilty.
Give me thy hand, sweet lady; yours, Lorenzo:
May ye be happy in each other's love.
Good Sardo,—oh the luxury of this deed!—
Lead them within; and set before them all
The fruits, we have; and do not choose, but speak
In honest praise of that delicious wine,
Lacrymæ Christi. All Anacreon wrote,
In praise of Bacchus, will be found in that.

[Exeunt Lorenzo and Lavinia, with Sardo.
Fra.
A blind old man! Fontano;—or my fancy
Rules o'er my judgment.

Rom.
Thou art right:—'tis he.
Alas—how changed from him, who once, like Theseus,
Bore on his brow the roseate tint of youth,
And tower'd, like Ajax, more a god than man.
Let us go round, and meet him at the portal.

[Exeunt.