University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Camillo, Marcellus.
CAMILLO.
A gentle invitation. Ha! Marcellus!
Welcome once more to Genoa, my dear cousin.
[embracing.
We heard you had escap'd with some slight hurts
That bloody lingering business there at Candia;
But such fierce storms of late have swept our coasts,
Our fears were, lest the angry elements,
Leaguing alike against the Christian cross,
Might prove worse foes even than the infidels.

MARCELLUS.
We had rough weather, but our sturdy bark
Out-rode it. Is my mother well? At leisure
I shall fatigue your ear with other questions
My ignorance and your kindness must excuse.

CAMILLO.
You have not seen her then?

MARCELLUS.
No. I arriv'd
Within this hour; and knowing how she lov'd,
Lov'd even to dotage, my poor brother Claudio,
(Lost by a fate so strange and horrible,)
I would not rush at once into her presence,
Till some kind friend, like you, should first inform me,
How best to assuage her grief, and hide my own.

CAMILLO.
Thought like a son. But O, his vanish'd form,
Again presented in your living likeness,
Will with the strong extreme convulse her soul,
And joy so mix'd with anguish doubly shake her.

MARCELLUS.
'Twas what I fear'd, Camillo. I must try then
To fix her fond attention on myself,
And shun that direful theme.

CAMILLO.
Direful indeed!
(How my heart shrinks even now to think of it!)
'Tis ever present to her tortur'd fancy:
And we who daily see her, have observ'd,
Our care to give the current of her thoughts
A different course, but swells up her impatience,
You know the lady Fulvia's ardent temper,
How sudden, yet how strong in every feeling.

MARCELLUS.
Our burning mountains, when their fires burst forth,
Rage not more fiercely than her breast inflam'd.
But is it possible, in all this time,
Months after months elaps'd, no light, no spark,
To guide to a discovery has been trac'd?
The Turkish gallies so o'erspread the sea,
My letters rarely reach'd me while at Candia.

CAMILLO.
What have you heard?

MARCELLUS.
But thus much, and no more:
Two days ere that for his intended marriage
With good Durazzo's daughter, lovely Julia,
Was Claudio missing; two days more were pass'd
In fruitless search, and sad anxiety:
When on the fifth, some weary mariners,
Flying for shelter from a furious storm,
Midst the white caverns on the western shore,
A mile from Genoa, found his lifeless body:
In his clench'd hand was his own blood-stain'd sword,
And in his manly breast a mortal wound.

CAMILLO.
And there ends all our knowledge. Proclamation
Of vast rewards to find his murderer,
Is still abroad through all the Italian states.
The untouch'd jewels of his costly habit,
Bright and conspicuous, clearly manifest
'Twas not the crime of men who kill for spoil.

MARCELLUS.
Alas, Camillo, well I know the place;
When we were boys it was our favourite haunt.
He could not sure have fall'n by his own sword?

CAMILLO.
Impossible: A thought so black and sullen
Ne'er dim'd the sunshine of his chearful breast.
The joy he long had sigh'd for in his reach,
Possess'd of all that gilds the morn of life,
And each fair prospect bright'ning to his hopes;
Besides, the exalted tenour of his mind,
Too firm and full for wild extremities;
They crush that black conclusion: nay, the skilful,
Who search'd the wound with closest art and care,
Pronounc'd it, not the execrable work
Of his own sword, but some assassin's steel.

MARCELLUS.
May wakeful conscience, like a writhing snake,
If still he lives, curl round the villain's heart,
With sharpest venom to consume and gnaw him!
I know our base, Italian, stabbing spirit;
In the close art of murder none excell us.
We tread the very earth, breathe the same air,
With our old Latian sires; but, for their virtues,
As well might eagles rustle their large plumes
Where owlets roost, or filthy kites engender,
As they find shelter in our dastard breasts.

CAMILLO.
Let others rail; but thine's a nobler task;
To shame degen'racy by fair example:
For twenty forward spirits, like thine own,
Might shake this state from its inglorious trance,
And rouse our sloth to gallant enterprise.

MARCELLUS.
I left it a luxurious, worthless city,
Proud of its trash, its wealth; if such I find it,
I will not strike my lazy root at home,
To rot in rank contagious apathy,
But seek again a scene of vigorous action.
The unskilful perseverance of the Turk
Still wakes excitement for a soldier's ardour.—
But who are those so earnest in discourse?
This way they move.

CAMILLO.
Durazzo is the eldest.

MARCELLUS.
Fair Julia's father; him I know. The other?

CAMILLO.
Mentevole his name, a noble youth,
And suitor (hopelessly, I think,) to Julia,
Though vulgar fame calls him a favour'd wooer.
But this report, startling your mother's ear,
(Who brooks no slight to her son's memory,)
Has much estrang'd her from Durazzo's house:
And thus, the bonds of their long amity
The lie with many mouths has puff'd asunder.

MARCELLUS.
My care shall be to reunite their friendship,
But how must I esteem Mentevole?

CAMILLO.
As one accomplish'd, brave, and liberal.
Soon after your departure for the siege,
He came from travel home, and was to Claudio
A second self.

MARCELLUS.
So shall he be to me;
I'll wear him here. But go thou to my mother,
Prepare her for my coming. For a moment
Leave me to greet this venerable lord,
And beg his introduction to the stranger.

[Exit Camillo.