Cosmo De' Medici An Historical Tragedy |
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| 3. | SCENE III. |
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 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
SCENE III.
An Apartment in the Ducal Palace.—Enter Garcia, followed by the Duchess.Duch.
This is no answer!
Gar.
Madam, I have no other.
Duch.
Then thou art positive in thy denial
Of the least knowledge where thy brother is?
Gar.
Thrice have I told thee so: if I make oath,
Thou'lt ask that thrice, as tho' the heavens were deaf
And needed iteration!
Duch.
Oh, my child,
What can this mean!—what can I do, or say?
Gar.
Nothing!
Duch.
My dearest son?
Gar.
Nothing, will best
Become your soft capacity.
Duch.
My Garcia!
Never before to me did'st thou address
Such cutting words!—fiery, perchance, at times,
On others thou hast darted glances fierce;
But ne'er before on me?
Gar.
Incessantly
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First comes a courtier—‘Where's the Prince Giovanni?’
Ere I can answer, that I do not know,
His tutor, or some blear astronomer,
Tasks me, with book or telescope in hand;
And then another, and another courtier!
Next comes a courtezan, and asks the same!
Duch.
Oh, this is false!
Gar.
When the truth will not serve,
'Tis evident that gossips covet lies?
When I reply, no one doth credit me!
They shrink away, with lurking looks and shrugs,
Pregnant of sinister meaning! Let them think!
In vile suspicions doth the devil paint
Men's self-bred villany unto themselves; but they—
Having oil'd consciences, do slip o' one side—
Think it their neighbour's portrait, and cry ‘shame!’
Duch.
Thou rack'st my very heart!
Gar.
Seek then thy bed,
And sleep it whole again.
Duch.
I e'en must leave thee,
If thus thou speak'st?
Gar.
Good madam, thoud'st best go!
Duch.
My son!—my Garcia!
Gar.
Any where—I care not—
I am worn out!
Duch.
What can this mean?—how end?
[Exit.
Gar.
Thou gentle mother of a savage son,
Now thou art dealt with!—I am glad 'tis o'er!
First pent within a den, then compass'd round,
And spear'd at, constantly, I'm made a tiger!
Who could remain a man 'midst all these wounds?
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I am grown older, both in body and mind,
By many a year; and my experience
Of life and death has superseded youth,
And all its flowers lie like a shower of stones.
Even the sweetness of the air is gone:
My fever'd breath has changed it. Not for me;
Oh not for me comes music in the night
With ravishing cadence—dreamy pulse and pause—
Revival—and far-dying. Nature wears
A sack-cloth robe, with ashes in her hair,
While time doth knot the cord.—Who is't I see?
Ippolita!—what terror, yet what love!
Her presence brings fresh life—but a fresh trial!
Well—'tis the last. O heart! revive once more,
And of thy proper energies create
New elements of hope to mould a world
Based on the trampled compost of despair,
As sun-lit harvests rise where squadrons fell!
Enter Ippolita.
Ippo.
I sought you, Garcia; for I much do fear
Giovanni's absence is not, as I had thought,
By me occasion'd?
Gar.
Then by whom, or what?
Ippo.
By some mischance endangering his life?
Gar.
(aside).
Now shakes the temple of my new-born world.
Ippo.
You tremble!
Gar.
Dark mischance surrounds us all.
Ippo.
You know it, then!—what hath befallen him?
You left him in the wood?
Gar.
True—there I left him;
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Of all I know of him, or he of me.
Ippo.
Ambiguous are thy words. I feel I never
Shall see him any more!
Gar.
(aside).
Now would I fain
Religiously repeat his parting blessing,
And love to her bequeath'd;—but how confess
That I was present and receiv'd his words?
I must not—yet I promis'd sacredly?
Ippo.
He hath no love for me—he never had—
Or could he thus leave torture to supply
His dear-felt presence?
Gar.
Thou art wrong in this.
I know he lov'd thee with such depth of soul,
That on his bed of death with his last breath
He would have call'd down showers of blessings on thee,
In token that he left his heart on earth!
Ippo.
Say'st thou so!—kindest Garcia!—say'st thou so?
Gar.
I'm sure of't.
Ippo.
Then, ye silent darksome walls,
That soon will shut me from the useless world,
Welcome—most welcome!
Gar.
These are friendly walls,
Where every tenant loves thee?
Ippo.
Soon shall I
Leave them for ever.
Gar.
Whither wouldst thou flee?
Ippo.
Into a convent's gloom.
Gar.
A convent!—surely—
Ippo.
Yes—it is sure as death, or deep-love.
Gar.
No!
Ippo.
There will I pray before mine hour-glass,
And woo the bony Death—farewell!
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No—no!
Thou must not do so—dear Ippolita?
Ippo.
Ah! wherefore should I stay?
Gar.
Stay to be loved—
To be adored—thou must not thus be lost,
And leave earth bare of comfort!
Ippo.
Lost to whom—
Whose comfort, Garcia?
Gar.
One prince of Florence,
Who is not here, Duke Cosmo hath affianced!
Another yet remains—alike devoted!
Ippo.
(with a piercing look of terror).
Garcia!
Gar.
(wildly).
I love thee!
Ippo.
(shrieks, and retreats).
Ah! I see it, now!
I see all, now!—let madness take thy hand
And wed it with my curses!—where's thy brother?
I feel he's dead!—thou—thou hast murder'd him!
[Exit, wildly.
Gar.
Have I embraced a thunder-cloud! Oh man!
Combustion of the elements ne'er made
So wide a flaw in the vast scheme of things,
As passion doth in thee! When some bright star
Which we behold adoring, suddenly
Explodes, and leaves all dark, that darkness soon
New orbs illume: passion hath only one.
A murderer did she call me!—foul, false word!—
'Sdeath! I begin to feel as if 'twere true,
And harden in the fact? Nor stand I singly.
What's he who slays in battle?—is't not murder?
Cornelio boasts he hath kill'd many men;
Verani, Basta, all the knights o' the court,
Have done the same—ay, and the Duke himself!
The cause is naught—our country's enemies, naught—
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Say, one doth poison a man's wife; the husband
Kills him forthright—that is a murderer!
What is the priest who dooms his soul to fire?
A murderer too, and worse! If you do kill
The bravo hired to stab you?—no excuse.
Or if, in a quarrel, blind with wine, or rage,
You slay the man unwittingly, whose hand
Falcon'd your throat while his blade glanc'd above,
The whole world roars, ‘Thou art a murderer!’
As they had roar'd at him if thou'dst been slain.
Thus, providential 'scapes are worse than death,
And good-luck heinous!
Enter an Attendant.
Well—what next?
Atten.
My lord,
His Highness waits within his private chamber
Your prompt attendance.
Gar.
(sternly, after some hesitation).
I have heard you.
[Exit Attendant.
What further would the Duke with me?—my trial
Exceeds all condemnation—what is this?
Methought I had pass'd the worst? Why, so I have!
Naught more remains but idle repetition,
Queries, conjectures, probabilities.
These blows do harden me, and make the deed,
Appalling once, seem common as a cloud
Wherein great faces frown and fade; my heart
Is as a stone that's on the high-way broken
By wheels, men, cattle—and I almost feel,
With like occasion I could do't again.
Terror hath dash'd his torch before mine eyes,
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Lies carv'd in ice, outstretch'd before my path;
Remorse is beggar'd; scarcely grief remains;
And of concealment I am grown so sick,
That on my coffin I would gladly sit,
Saying—‘Cease all this prate—'twas I who slew him!’
But I have ta'en my stand beyond retreat:
This deed, O Cosmo!—it is none of mine!
[Exit.
| Cosmo De' Medici | |