 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A Street.—Enter Garcia and Luigi del Passato.Pass.
Then, there's the tomb of the Assyrian King,
Where couchant sphynxes stare on vacancy
'Neath the broad shadows of white mulberry trees
That, in a double range, converge in front.
It is a level mass of solid stone—
Traced o'er with hieroglyphics and strange forms—
Whereon the fabric of an ancient god,
Grown blind with gazing on eternity,
Sits in the gap of unprogressive time,
And seems an Exile from remoter worlds!
Gar.
These are too far remov'd for sympathies—
Such as I fain would feel.
Pass.
Say not, too far:
He who died yesterday is full as old,
In his new state, as Cheops and King Nine.
Gar.
(aside).
Oh brother! art thou, then, so grey in death
Already!
Pass.
'Tis a lovely monument
Where Livy sleeps in Padua. I have oft
To see the figures slowly change their gold—
Grow bronzy—white—and then, o'ermass'd with shade.
Gar.
Why should'st thou smile because it held a stranger,
For whom, if thou had'st known him, tears had flow'd?
Pass.
Mine eyes are wet for no man: but when years
Are pass'd, and mourners have forgotten love,
The tears o' the mind congeal, and with slow hand,
That's sensitive with memory in each touch,
I shape them to a marble bust, and place it
In some sequester'd place where no one comes—
Unless to pray.
Gar.
Oh! that in such a place
I had the bust of one who is no more,
That I might ease my soul to it, in prayer!
Pass.
(aside).
Some heavy loss is figur'd in his heart;
I do but grieve him by this conversation
Which he did seek so earnestly: I'll leave him.
[Exit Passato.
Gar.
Gone!—he can rove, and with a steady mind,
No matter where: but I—where can I go?
Existence is become a sleepless fiend
Within, and on the surface of my flesh.
Despite the efforts of my will, I feel
My face is written over with the worst,
Although a lie to reason. Rise, my soul!
There's work to do i' the forest. I must go.
To-night, Giovanni, while the trembling stars,
With the cold visage of the awful moon,
Gaze down upon me, lighting up that cheek
On which I dare not look—thou shalt be buried!
[Retires.
Zach.
'Twas meet that I, being chief o' the band,
should make some daring effort, as a last chance to save
us from immediate destruction; and, unless I be much
deceived, my courage and cunning are well trimmed in
a fair wind. From the close observation I have since
taken of the dead body in the forest, while he who
watched it was asleep, I do assuredly believe 'tis one of
the Duke's sons; for they were hunting there, and I
hear that the youngest only is returned. Methinks I
descry a plan whereby I can turn this death to bright
advantage. What pale boy-noble is that? By our
Prophet! the very youth who fought with the Prince
in the forest! How much trouble doth good fortune
save us.
(Garcia advances.)
So, my lord! you are
come back?
Gar.
What says the friar?
Zach.
I say, you are come back?
Gar.
Come back?
Zach.
Yes; from the forest.
Gar.
Forest!
Zach.
Where you went hunting with the Duke's son. Come,
Do not attempt to fool with me, young man!
Gar.
With thee, rude-throated monk, dost thou not know me?
Zach.
Not I—
How should I?—who are you, forsooth?
Gar.
Don Garcia, second Prince of Florence.
Zach.
(aside).
Wheu!
What shall I make of this?—'tis a new land,
Where harvests grow in horror. Allah be praised!
Gar.
And what art thou, for sure thou art no friar?
Not I; I hate the race!
Gar.
What art thou, then?
Zach.
I do not greatly care if I do trust you,
Knowing you'll not betray me. I am Zacheo,
Chief of the Turkish Pirates.
Gar.
Art thou mad,
If thou be'st he, thus to proclaim thyself
To one who should arrest thee for thy head?
Zach.
My head is safe—ay, safer in the city
Than some heads are in forests.
Gar.
Fly! escape!
Fly while thou may'st!
Zach.
And why dost thou not fly?
Gar.
Who! who?
Zach.
Come, come—thou know'st well what I mean?
Gar.
What mean'st thou!
Zach.
I did see you in the forest
Murder your brother!
Gar.
Liar! monster! liar!
[Rushes upon Zacheo, who shakes him off.
Zach.
Off, younker!—off,—why, I did see you do it.
Gar.
Saw me! saw what?—ah! then thou saw'st it all?
Thou saw'st his provocation—his attack—
Thou saw'st us fighting fairly, hand to hand?
Zach.
(aside).
I'll not be caught! He'd have me for a witness.
No, no.
Gar.
You saw it all?
Zach.
I saw you kill him:
I saw that!
Gar.
You first saw him draw upon me—
And then we fought?
Fought! I saw nought of that.
One thing I only know—you kill'd him!
Gar.
Oh!
Despair is deepen'd—hope's last flash is spent!
Zach.
(aside)
Now must I trap him: none shall know the secret—
Thus can I hold it like a storm-cloud o'er him.
I will take means to have him seiz'd, and borne
Straight to the coast—as hostage will I keep him,
And with the Duke make terms—and with him too,
When he is Duke!
Gar.
Will gold assist me, Pirate,
To rivet silence?
Zach.
Ay, a little gold.
'Twill solder down the lid upon this secret:
But to make sure, we'd better bury him?
Gar.
Bury him!—bury him—to be sure—that's right!
We'll do't at once—immediate—'tis exactly
What I have thought of ever since—all day—
All day and night—this night we'll bury him!
Zach.
(aside)
He springs into my net. (Aloud)
We will—we will.
Gar.
Thou art a most discreet and proper person
For such an office—I discern it plainly—
Such things I am not used to—thou'rt the man:
Go—go alone—and bury him to-night!
Zach.
Alone!—no, no—I cannot do it alone:
You must go with me?
Gar.
Gold—take gold instead?
Zach.
And buy a helpmate, who may recognize
Whom 'tis we bury, and betray—
Gar.
I'll go:
I must go with thee.
Some one comes this way—
A dolphin of the court, wavering in gold.
Gar.
Where shall we meet?
Zach.
The outskirts of the forest.
[Exit Garcia, hastily.
Enter Cornelio.
Cor.
Prince Garcia with a friar!
He rush'd in haste away—'twas not confession:
Such converse and such flight are all unlike
His nature! The absence of the Prince Giovanni
Confounds us—and dark rumours plague the air—
But where's Dalmasso?
Zach.
(aside).
Seven of my band
Are in the city—two will be enough.
[Going.
Cor.
A word, good friar!
Zach.
Rich blessings on my lord!
Cor.
Hast had long conference with Prince Garcia?
Zach.
Garcia?—who's he?—I am a stranger here.
Cor.
Was't not Don Garcia?
Zach.
No! by my soul 'twas not!
Cor.
Nay, 'an thou dost not know him, how can'st swear?
Zach.
Swear! did I swear? I pray the heav'ns forgive me—
And for all future oaths.
[Exit Zacheo, abruptly.
Cor.
Wonderful prayer!
'Tis a professional licence to forestal
All truth and temper; but in external show—
Having more black than white in his eyes, and scorning
The bent back, humbleness, and funeral tone,—
Well might one deem him fit for worldly action,
And cut-purse sleights, rather than shriving souls!
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Public Gardens.—Enter Berta and Christina.Chris.
Was't not a festival of all rare beauty and
brilliance, notwithstanding the Duke's ill temper?
Would it were all to come again with the morrow?
Bert.
What could have made the Duke so gloomy
and sad?
Chris.
Bad news from some foreign court, it is said:
from the Emperor of Germany perhaps.
Bert.
I did not think the Duke ill-tempered: he is
never ill-tempered, though sometimes he seems very
stern and severe. But on that night, Christina, I saw
him several times turn his head aside, with such a look,
just as though he would burst into tears,—ay, become
all tears; and even at the height of the merriment
the recollection of it once or twice quite made my
heart ache.
Chris.
And did the Duke shed tears, Berta?
Bert.
No, I didn't see one: for just when I thought
they where coming in a flood, he shut his eyes very, very
close, and when he opened them again the tears seemed
all to have gone inward.
Chris.
I noticed him once or twice looking over the
hall where we all were, as if it were a shocking dream;
but I ran away whenever I saw him coming, and forgot
it as soon as I could.
[They retire.
Enter Zacheo and two Pirates, disguised also as friars.
Zach.
As to the dead body that lies in the forest, we
cause for thinking our doing so might be dangerous;
and burying it can be of no use to our future designs,
as some folks about the court have already seen it.
Two of the hunting party went back, and very soon
found it; albeit, for some private motives, I suppose,
it remains there, hard and fast. What we have
to do is merely to seize the young man who comes to
meet us; gag him, and carry him off to the coast.
1st Pi.
We understand.
2nd Pi.
If he resists, I suppose we are not to give
him the point, but only notch him here and there, not
very deep, with the edge?
1st Pi.
Or just break one leg, a little—poor boy!
Zach.
Neither, neither! he must not be injured.
I want to use him.
1st and 2nd Pi.
O!—oho!
Berta and Christina, advancing.
Chris.
Our lover with the coal-black eyes and beard,
'tis certain! But the other two?
Bert.
Doubtless his conversation with them differs
vastly from the strain wherein the naughty hypocrite
chaunted that strange song to us. Could we but over-hear
them!
Chris.
They perceive us!
Zach.
A whirlwind catch these women!
1st Pi.
Why?
2nd Pi.
I approve the build of them much.
Zach.
Well, well.
(Aloud.)
Our blessings on the
gentlewomen!
1st Pi.
Yes, our very best bless—
Zach.
Be silent!
(to Bert.)
They are grim, rough men; but
do not seem of an ill nature.
Zach.
Lovely and devout daughters of Florence! I must
now bid you farewell, as we have some sacred business
to settle. Let me salute your hands, whiter i' the pearly
palm, I swear by our Prophet's beard, than the inside
of any oyster-shell!
[Offers to kiss Berta's hand.
Bert.
You must not do so!
1st Pi.
(to Chris.)
Daughter, your hand! By that
same oyster's—I mean Mahomet's—pearly beard—
Chris.
(Snatching her hand away).
I like not such
language—shame on thy shaven crown!
Enter Macchietti and Chiostro, from behind.
Mac.
My wife! she hath just given her fingers to be
pinched and fondled by that ill-favoured friar!
Chios.
Mine also, if my eyes see aright!
Bert.
Christina! our husbands!
Chris.
And seeing us, plainly!
Zach.
Your husbands!—we'll go.
Bert.
You must not—you must not! they have
observed your most unfatherly salutations.
Chris.
We shall introduce you! Nay, 'an you stir,
we are all dishonoured.
Bert.
We must at once devise somewhat that shall
give them a respect for you! I shall say you are a very
learned friar indeed!
Zach.
Me! no, no! sweet lady, I beseech you!
Chris.
(to 1st Pi. )
And I shall say you are the celebrated
friar who paints altar-pieces!
1st Pi.
With all my heart.
2nd Pi.
And I—what shall I be?
Bert.
Dumb!
Macc.
I fear we interrupt some pious homily?
2nd Pi.
(to 1st.)
What's homily?
1st Pi.
(aside).
'Tis a paste of pigeons' eggs.
Bert.
Interrupt!—we were but now most anxious
for your presence. This is a very learned friar, just
arrived in Florence, from All-saints' Monastery, in the
north of Spain—God bless us!
Chios.
Oh, indeed!—Father, you are welcome
among us.
Zach.
Many thanks, worthy sir.
Chris.
This is the celebrated Friar Innocent, who is
so famous in Spain for painting altar-pieces!
Macc.
Eh?—ah!—I shall rejoice in his acquaintance!
1st Pi.
A shoal of thanks, worthy sir.
Macc.
(aside).
I never heard his name before, as a
painter!
2nd Pi.
(aside to 1st).
The Innocent of All-saints,
ha! ha! ha!
Chios.
(to Zach.)
Doubtbless, the learned father is
familiar with all the Hebrew authorities, touching the
early history of the Jewish nation? I am at this time
endeavouring to discover what is become of those of
the ten tribes of Israel whom we have not yet been able
to trace?
Zach.
I wish you every success, I'm sure. I dare
say, worthy dervish, you will find them, if you keep a
sharp look out.
Chios.
(aside).
Dervish!—rather abrupt in speech—
but I make no doubt, a very profound scholar.
Macc.
(to 1st Pi.)
Had I made a journey to the
north of Spain, we should speedily have become
acquainted; but I have never been there.
That's a pity.
Macc.
Nor have I ever seen any of your famous
altar-pieces.
1st Pi.
How should you, unless they had been stolen,
or the walls they're nailed on could walk?
Macc.
Ahem!
Bert.
(to Chris.)
Did'st expect this?
Chios.
(to Zach.)
I have noticed that the figures on
the old Egyptian sarcophagi—many of which figures are
evidently water-men—
Zach.
Yes, I understand all about that.
Chios.
No doubt—I beg your pardon! I have
noticed, I was about to say, a great resemblance
between these figures—in shape, colour, and even in
symbolic accompaniments—and those of the ancient
Mexicans. 'Tis true, indeed, that there is somewhat
universally primitive in their entire appearance. You
observe they are probably traced from the wall-shadows
of men, and are altogether very like the first scrawled
effigy of humanity that childhood loveth to depict.
Nevertheless, I conclude—but may I enquire what
opinion the learned father entertaineth?
Zach.
My opinion is the same as yours; but 'tis not
worth a cockle-shell. We're here, and we're there, and
then we're with God. And where that may be, is no
business of yours.
Chios.
(aside).
A coarse and crabbed man!—the
result of ascetic studies in monastic walls.
(To Zacheo)
You have gone to the bottom, I see.
Zach.
If I had, how should I be here?—but the
watermen you spoke of, they are all gone long ago to
the bottom of the sea.
Chios.
(aside).
Doth he purpose to insult me!—or
wit?
Bert.
(to Chris.)
I would, Christina, all this were
at an end!
Macc.
(to 1st Pi.)
What sort of ground dost love to
use for painting?
1st Pi.
Any ground that first offers. But I work
wonders on a good rich ground—the fat o' the land suits
me best.
Macc.
Prefer you, on all occasions, to lay the colour
on fat?
1st Pi.
Yes, very: an inch thick—and of mutton.
Many's the sheep I ha' used!
Macc.
Hem! you jest. I should have thought you
would prefer distemper—the grand fresco style.
1st Pi.
I like the grand frisking style, too—but good
health is a blessing—that! for your distemper!
Macc.
(aside).
A most singular brute! No painter,
worthy of the calling, ever had such an eye in his head
as this friar; or such a bark-carved and grotesque expression!
Paint an altar-piece!
(To Christina).
And
who is this third friar behind, here?
Chris.
He is a famous painter, also!
[Second Pirate comes forward.
Macc.
(aside).
Impossible!
Zach.
(aside).
Why should a man who can wield a
sword full as easily as these people use a brush or a pen,
stand still to be thus fooled?
(To Macchietti).
Our
brother here, is dumb—quite dumb—'tis waste of wind
to ask him any questions.
Macc.
Dumb!—how dos't make him understand,
then?
Zach.
By signs—he hath a great gift in signs.
Yes; there's none can equal his painting in
that line, for signals and ships' heads!
Macc.
What!
(To 2nd Pirate.)
And you paint
altar-pieces also, I suppose?
[Second Pirate nods and gesticulates.
Berta and Chris.
Ha! ha! ha!
Chios.
Fie! do not mock his infirmity!
Macc.
You—a painter!
(To Zach.)
Interpret what he means?
Zach.
He means that—that—
1st Pi.
That he can paint fishermen in a storm, with
the wind howling—the moon sea-sick—the sails rent all
to shivers—the mast going over the side—the boat capsizing,
and the fish trodden under foot: and moreover,
that he'll paint with thee—thou cold pitch-pot!—for a
hundred crowns, any day and hour thou'lt dare to
name!
[General astonishment and confusion.]
Zach.
(to Pirates).
We'll go.
1st Pi.
(aside).
I ha' settled him!
Zach.
A fool's hell burn thy tongue! 'tis enough to
settle us all! We shall now be suspected—arrested—
and pay our heads for your wager!
1st Pi.
Wilt stay for this?
Zach.
(aloud).
Our blessings on you all!
Both Pirates.
Good day!
[Exeunt Zacheo and Pirates abruptly.
Macc.
And the dumb one, also!
Chios.
Yes; the dumb painter hath exhumed a voice.
[Exeunt Berta and Christina.
Macc.
We now turn, for explanation, to you—stay!—
[Exit Macchietti hastily after them.
Chios.
The understanding is of no avail
Where grounds of argument are shifting sands!
[Exit, at the opposite side.
SCENE III.
Another part of the Gardens. Enter Cornelio and an Officer.Cor.
Sir! let me tell you I've a memory
That holds, sir, like the talons of a hawk!
Off.
You've not the credit for't.
Cor.
I know that, well;
But 'tis most certain, some things I retain.
Off.
Ay, sir; but then a corsair's face doth change
Each year, with fresh-got scars and strange disguises,
Cheeks beat to boot-leather, or a nose laid low.
Cor.
But certain eyes do last a man his life,
Never to change, or be forgotten. Mark now!
When I was station'd—'tis five years ago—
Within San Stephano's Fortress, on the coast,
One night our men surpris'd a felon rout
Of pirates, lurking in a hollow rock.
Thro' us they desperately hew'd their way,
And by our torches' light their leader's face
I saw. Most strange is the resemblance
Unto that friar whom I found this morn
With Garcia, deep in talk; tho', till this moment,
Diavolo scatenato!—there's the man!
And with him two broad-shoulder'd, shambling friars,
All hurrying swiftly towards the garden gates!
Off.
Let's after them!
Cor.
Have at your cowls, ye rogues!
Man follows close when Satan leads the way!
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Interior of the Chapel of San Lorenzo.—Garcia, seated at the foot of a Statue.Gar.
Ye creeping winds that whisper thro' the aisle,
Still in mine ear breathe his continual name
With sense of peace; but oh, forbear the sounds
That midst pale sepulchres and statues groan,
As though the dying, not the dead, were here!
[He rises, and slowly advances.
He is no slave of circumstance, whose will
Is constant to his heart; yet must we oft
Act as if slaves—however free within—
Resolv'd on future franchise. Thus, am I,
A Prince of Florence, with a Pirate link'd
For burial of the dead; and on his mercy,
His interest, humour, treachery, or faith,
Hangs my dread secret. Would I had told it all!
Now 'tis too late—I should not be believ'd.
Our known unfriendliness from infancy,
Would, with its steady and progressive march,
How would my father fix his eye on me—
My tender mother turn aside, and fall!
They shall not know it; so will blinded grief,
And sad perplexity, rove round the gap
Which horror else would crowd!—Yonder's the Duke!
He sees me!—and his stately step hath changed
Into most hurried—he is calm again!
But with a solemn countenance prepares
To speak to me. Now, soul! endure this trial,
Come what may, after.
Enter Cosmo.
Cos.
Garcia, why art thou here?
Gar.
Sir, it is solitary, like myself;
Therefore I came.
Cos.
Why art thou solitary?
Gar.
Because alone.
Cos.
Thou need'st not be alone:
Many there are well worthy of thy friendship,
Of thine own age; virtuous, and bright in talent:
Parents thou hast, and a most noble brother?
Gar.
All this, sir, I confess.
Cos.
Then, why alone?
Gar.
Your Highness knows that I have oft preferr'd it
To courtly scenes?
Cos.
Ay, in the forest's gloom—
Perchance companion'd by your dogs and hawks;
But not in holy walls?
Gar.
Into the sanctuary
To-day I came, regretful of time lost.
Cos.
Where is Giovanni?
We have been too much sunder'd.
Cos.
Answer me, Garcia?
Gar.
By my soul, I know not!
Unless i' the forest?
Cos.
Why swear'st thou by thy soul?
Gar.
Because 'tis nearest God!
Cos.
(aside).
If he be guilty, it is nearer th'Accurs'd!
(Aloud).
Tamper not, boy!
Left you your brother well, or sick, or hurt,
When last you parted—speak?
Gar.
I left him well.
Cos.
He is not yet return'd: dost thou know that?
Gar.
I do, sir.
Cos.
What detains him?—ha!
Gar.
Heaven's will!
Cos.
(aside).
Can he have done it? (Aloud).
Then, thou know'st nought more?
Gar.
Nought more: but I would gladly give my life
To see him now come back!
Cos.
Garcia—no matter—
You need not stay here.
Gar.
Sir, I kiss your hands.
[Exit Garcia.
Cos.
If he be guilty, he hath fool'd my nerves,
Which I did think were lock'd in fortitude;
And thus the judge's knees sometimes do tremble
Before the criminal: such strength has crime
When nature finds excuse in potent minds!
If he be guilty, what a monstrous thing
Hath issued from my loins! But there remains
One trial!—if he bear it, being guilty,
He is not human!—if he be innocent,
It must be manifest; but if his sword
Judgment, with execution hand in hand,
Shall from its throne inflexibly descend,
And strike the serpent back into his clay.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
An Apartment in the Ducal Palace.—Enter Duchess and Ippolita.Duch.
I grieve for both: I would it were not so,
Or could be remedied. What said the Duke?
You told him all?
Ippo.
Kindly he spake to me,
Without one word of chiding, tho' he seem'd
Heavily troubled. I did tell him all
That was important.
Duch.
And to your design
Of self-immurement in a convent's walls,
What said he?
Ippo.
That I did not mention.
My future life I deem so valueless,
I would not listen to one passing sigh
For my conclusion. Since I am fix'd to do it,
I should not seek for sympathy, which longs
To be entreated back.
Duch.
Thou mak'st me weep
By thus rejecting tears.
Ippo.
Madam, your kindness
Hath ever been most motherlike, and now
Adds the last pang that points my barb'd resolve.
What saith my son to this?—and tell me, love,
Sincerely—do'st not know where now he is?
Ippo.
No, Madam, truly; and I deeply feel
I ne'er shall see him more.
Duch.
Yet, answer me:
What think'st thou of his absence?
Ippo.
That he's gone,
To spare my grief at parting, and his own.
He would not have me see the preparations
For his bright visit to the German court.
I ne'er shall see him more!
Duch.
Thou dost affright me!
He is not gone—he hath not ta'en his leave
Of me! Perchance he's in the forest lost?
His ardour in the chase hath injured him,
Or he'd return: may be, he has sprain'd a joint,
And now in some kind peasant's hut is laid.
He will be here anon.
Ippo.
Come when he may,
Into life's blighted forest I have plunged,
Ne'er to retrace my steps.
Duch.
Lament not thus!
Some youthful noble at a future day
Will estimate thy virtues and thy beauty?
Ippo.
Beauty shall burn out, as the sacrifice
On passion's altar, ruin'd tho' it be.
No: since I cannot wed the man I love
Above all others, beyond measurement
Or expectation of the fondest hope,
I'll wed my soul unto his memory;
Thus live—and for this only—and then die!
Duch.
My child!
Sweet lady! do not pity me;
For pride oft braids the hair that sorrow moistens.
The prince hath prov'd his duty; I, my love;
And cypress-sceptred Misery follows both!
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
The Forest. Night.—Enter Zacheo and two Pirates.Zach.
'Tis a pitch-black night. The vault above,
with that one star, looks like a long hole into some
terrible place! I fear we ha' lost him!
1st Pi.
The moon does not rise these two hours.
Zach.
Sink the moon!
1st Pi.
No, no! poor thing; she's useful.
Zach.
We ought to have fallen in with the boy ere
this, were't dark as the seventh pit.
2nd Pi.
I ha' no objection, myself, to a bit o' moon
now and then.
Zach.
Hist! what's that? Something rustled i' the
boughs!
1st Pi.
'Twas a wolf; he just shoved his nose out
from yon thicket to reconnoitre us with a sniff—but he's
a wise beast.
2nd Pi.
We are no prize for man or wolf.
Zach.
I think for myself. My head hath fifty crowns
of gold set upon it; and I am vastly suspicious that we
are not the only men groping about this forest to-night.
1st Pi.
The young man you hope to see?
And others, whom we fear. I have heard voices
i' the wind.
1st Pi.
Singing in the hollow bole of a tree, then.
Zach.
Attend to me! The young man, as I told you,
expects me here, to help him bury a friend who has
been killed by somebody in the forest.
1st Pi.
I dare say he did it himself.
Zach.
Pshaw! not he, nor I either. We shall find
him, ere long. When we hear him approach, you shall
stand fast at a little distance, till I have told him the
body is buried without his help, and have drawn him
off to the right part of the outskirts. You will then
come up, in the way of friendship, as benighted
travellers, till I give the signal to bind him, and take
him to our haunt.
1st Pi.
We understand.
Zach.
This way: hist! be silent—don't brush the
boughs so roughly.
1st Pi.
Who can help it?
Zach.
Hist!—this way—stand fast when you hear
him coming.
[Exeunt.
Enter Garcia.
Gar.
I've stagger'd blindly round the awful spot
Where he doth lie—I dared not to approach
My brother's body!—there's an atmosphere
Circling the ground, that bars me like a wall
Whereon sit spirits of the other world,
Silent as death, and doubly terrible!
Why came I here alone? I should have known
'Twas useless. Where's the swarthy, hard-featur'd man,
Who's pledg'd to aid me—he who knows it all?
All!—no, no, no!—he doth but know the end,
I've missed him at the entrance. I am here
Alone, and in a spot that seems cut off
From nature—and my feelings and my thoughts
Begin to take the tone—ghastly, accurs'd;
Yet void of action as an empty hell,
Wherein I stand a king, whose only subjects
Are rebel torments pent within his soul!
I will break through this spell! I'm innocent!
Yonder the body of my brother lies:
'Tis fit I give it burial: these my hands
Shall with a sacred feeling dig his grave,
And place him there, as in his mother's lap.
His mother's! Oh! let not my brain whirl thus!
It must be done—or here I'll wait for ever.
My soul hath sworn this to itself, and nature
Cannot oppose the power that breeds all acts!
[He retires up the stage; but rushes back with a cry of horror.
They come!—they come!—the spirits of the earth,
Abhorring murder by a brother's hand,
Will not permit him to do sacrilege
By opening her breast!—the ministers
Of nature take the office on themselves,
In horror of my deed! They come! they come!
[The body of Giovanni, covered with a dark hanging mantle, is slowly and silently borne across the back of the stage. One dim torch is carried in front. The slow train, enveloped in their cloaks, follow in darkness.
They're gone! What means it? O, thou terrible dream!
Whose pageant hath appall'd my waking soul;
Whether my brain delirious conjur'd thee,
Thy purport to me? I will fly this spot—
I can but die—and any grave will suit me,
So that it be not here!
[Rushes away.
Enter Zacheo and Pirates.
Zach.
Hist! hist!—'twas he!
Yonder he speeds, with wild, uneven steps!
The cavalcade hath scared him: well I knew
Somewhat was stirring here! Now, follow close,
And cautiously, lest we ourselves be seen!
[Exeunt.
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