University of Virginia Library

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,
Crush down my oaths in all their high array.
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?

Gar.
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
Hath slain his brother—proved beyond all doubt—
Judgment, with execution hand in hand,
Shall from its throne inflexibly descend,
And strike the serpent back into his clay.

[Exit.