University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Another part of the Forest. Enter Giovanni and Garcia, breathless and excited.
Gio.
I say 'twas mine.

Gar.
'Twas mine, sir!

Gio.
'Twas my spear
That thro' the haunches pierc'd him!

Gar.
Where's the boar?
The savage hath escap'd us.

Gio.
I was close
When you did cross me in your headlong blindness
To make a random blow, and thus we lost him!
'Tis ever so with hot, misguiding haste!

Gar.
It was the wolf you smote.

Gio.
Mass! 'twas the boar!

Gar.
He sped this way. Look you at these moss'd trunks,
Torn white with's tusks!—and here his hoofs with rage
Have spurn'd rough trenches!—on these drooping leaves
See the rank clotted foam! But he is gone!

Gio.
I hate thus to be foil'd!—seldom I use
These idle games—and now I must be foil'd!

Gar.
I'm vex'd as you—but we may find another.

Gio.
Nay, I'm fatigued—disgusted!

Gar.
Was't my fault?

Gio.
It was—thou know'st it was—or thou shouldst know!

Gar.
Mine!—how?

Gio.
Assuredly.

Gar.
Why, brother, look you here—
It was the wolf you smote, just as he sprang
Into the thicket where the boar had rush'd!
I know 'twas all confusion at the moment,
But that I saw.

Gio.
Thou seldom see'st aright.

Gar.
So long thou'st been unpractis'd in these sports,
'Tis thou whose ardour doth mislead thine aim.
'Twas much the same when, three years since, we both
Cast off our hawks: thou said'st 'twas thine that struck
The cloud-borne game,—the falconer said 'twas mine.
Thy study's lamp breeds visions in thine eyes
When i'the open air.

Gio.
'Tis vanity
And childish petulance that make thee blind!

Gar.
What made the falconer blind, then?

Gio.
Pshaw!—thy ducat.

Gar.
Thou'st learnt illiberal shifts—thy Saint's a lawyer!

Gio.
Insolent boy!

Gar.
My senses are sure vouchers.

Gio.
Thy senses!—they're as yet i' their swaddling-clothes!

Gar.
Is this the modesty you learn from books,
And women so admire?

Gio.
Go—cease thy prattle!
I'm vex'd and tir'd, and in no mood to bear it.

Gar.
Then, sir, go you!

Gio.
Do not provoke me, boy!

Gar.
The forest's wide—what care I for your mood?
Return and cool, and seek instead of books
Our mother's chamber, or Ippolita,
And of her learn to sweeten your ill-temper.

Gio.
Ippolita!—what mean you? ha! what mean you?
Dost taunt me with her name?

Gar.
Taunt you!—Ah, no;
She is too dear to me—too much respected,
And too much lov'd, to use for any taunt.

Gio.
What's this!—thou lov'st her as thy foster-sister,
Or as our mother loves her, or the Duke?

Gar.
More, more!—'tis a strange moment for the avowal.

Gio.
Thou'd'st love her as a wife, then?

Gar.
Ay, most truly!—
But what is this to thee, that thus with eyes
Staring and flaming, with a stiffening mouth,
And working fingers, thou dost trembling stand?

Gio.
I love Ippolita!

Gar.
Thou!

Gio.
And sincerely!
Nay more, she loves me better than her life—
Beyond her happiness!

Gar.
Can this be true?
But what a cruel palterer must thou be,
Knowing that thou'rt to wed another soon,
Thus to seduce her love,—thus to rob me
Of her first feelings! Oh, 'tis base!—most base!

Gio.
Rail boy, no more! I cannot, will not, bear it!
Give up thine idle thought, for she is mine!

Gar.
Thine!—idle thought!—why, what's thy studious thought?
Hie to the Emperor's court and make your way—
Strut i' the market, and there strike a bargain
To set your sanctity on stronger bones!
My idle thought!—I love her as my soul,
And as the soul of all this Heaven above us!

Gio.
Unbearable!—fear not my sword's keen edge,
But with the flat o' the blade I will chastise thee!

[Draws.
Gar.
What!

Gio.
I shall beat thy words into loud cries,
Scorning thy boyhood as thine insolence!

Gar.
Thou scarlet braggart!

Gio.
Thou shalt find, I will.

Gar.
Thou'd'st best not try it!

[Draws.
Gio.
Insolent young villain!

[They fight off.
Enter Zacheo, from behind a tree.
Zach.
As fair a fight as I would wish to see!
The younger one is down!—ah! up again?
His sword is broken—half of it remains,
And makes a fiery circle round both heads!
'Sdeath! 'tis a desperate bout!—here they come reeling!
I'll have no share in it.

[Zacheo retreats.
Re-enter Garcia, with Giovanni, who staggers, and leans upon his sword.
Gar.
What hast thou done?

Gio.
(faintly).
Wrong, Garcia—wrong—and death must be the atonement.

Gar.
Death!—no, no! thou art not wounded deeply?

Gio.
Mortally!

Gar.
No!—it cannot, cannot be?

[Supports him.
Gio.
I feel my life fast flowing into the grave—
The grass looks red and hazy—all's confused—
And a sick atmosphere envelopes me—
A general shroud!

[Sinks down.
Gar.
'Tis but a passing faintness—

Gio.
It will pass—
And I—with it. List to my parting words.—
[Garcia kneels beside him.
Bear my best blessing to Ippolita,
Thus full of mine eternity:—thou'lt do it?

Gar.
I will—I will do anything—merciful God!

Gio.
If thou shouldst marry her—be kind and loving—
And tell our father—tell him from me, dear Garcia,
That this unworthy end was the worst crime—
If crime can be where thought was absent—lost—
Wherewith my conscience is oppress'd: farewell!

[Dies.
Gar.
He is not dead!—he is not surely dead?
Giovanni, speak to me—speak but one word!
Make some faint sign—the least—that I may know
A thread of life remains!—save me from madness!
[After a pause.]
Yes—he is surely dead—he must be dead!
No sleep was e'er like this—no trance—no fainting!
Those white and rigid lips—those dreadful eye-balls,
Turning me all to stone;—all but my soul—
Would that were stone too!—God! make me a stone,
Or make him animate!—these unnatural limbs—
These root-cold fingers—fallen jaw—this hair
Steaming the grass—all prove that Death is here;
For every vital thing i' the universe
Is quite unlike it! Where—where shall I go!

[Exit, wildly.
Zacheo, coming forward.
Zach.
A mortal fight—a very desperate fight,
And a right grievous one it seems to ha' been!
In all my time I ne'er felt thus before!
Death I can bear—but who can bear remorse,
Or such despair as shakes that boy to the soul?
I hate to see it—death is nothing to it!
I had a mind, just at the height o' the fray,
To step between and beat their swords to earth;
But prudence held me: 'troth! I've always found
Meddling for good of others hurts one's self,
And no thanks gain'd beside. Hist!—I'll steal off
From my old forest bed-chamber to the city,
Lest I be found and question'd of this deed;
Which e'en might lead to many other questions.
(Listening, and looking round.)
How sharp the wind sings thro' the dead man's teeth!
And jars mine, too, as coldly! Evening shades
Creep o'er the quivering leaves. I almost fancy
I see strange forms like Afrits and pale Gouls,
Dodge round the dark trunks, while the air seems filling
With faces of men slain at sea, and those
Who sand-graves found ashore! Away! 'twas written!

[Exit.