 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
114
SCENE VII.
Interior of the Chapel of San Lorenzo. Three biers, each bearing a covered form, are elevated pyramidally, in the centre. Priests, Nobles, Monks, Ladies, &c. are ranged on each side. The organ breathes forth a heavenly strain.Enter Ippolita, clad in a long black veil.
Ippo.
Not all the hopes and pleasures of the world
Can pour one drop of balm on such a loss.
Mine eyes, dear friends! are blind with scalding tears
That shut out nature—all, save misery.
Sigh not for me, that in a convent's cell
I wall up life—my heart doth share yon bier!
Enter Chiostro and Dalmasso, attired in mourning.
Chios.
These losses, and the centre of his heart
Thus suddenly transpierced—blow following blow
With rapid agonies commingling wild,
Scatter all fortitude, which ever needs
Some interval ere it regain its poise.
Dal.
The Duke can ne'er recover this! It is
A trial passing human energy.
Chios.
Within this hour he seems to have lost himself,
Like Saturn wandering thro' a wilderness;
Or he doth stand, a solid Dismay! How different
He look'd when Titian painted him!—O, grief!
Thou can'st entomb Osiris in a cloud,
And to black beamy shadows and ruins change
The architectural Day! Yet, he'll not fall!
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(aside).
There is a hideous mine beneath the earth,
And a dark spirit tracks him, pace for pace!
[The organ plays a solemn dirge.]
Enter Cosmo, attired in black velvet; his face all pale, and with disordered hair.
Cosmo
(advancing slowly and abstractedly).
My lofty and firm motives that once held
United as the Alps, are changed i' the acting
To martyr'd ashes—staked humanity!
This world's a bubble: see! where now it bursts,
And men and things fly off, and melt in air!
Yon spheres are temporal, and a yawn will end
The Ptolemaic dream! Our brain's mere dust,
Moisten'd and moved by rays and dews from heaven;
Soon dark—dry—void!—Creation's final lord—
Oblivion, crown'd with infinite blank stars—
Inherits all! I've done a hydra wrong!
Now will its monstrous constellation blazon
My deed, till heaven dissolve!
Priest.
My liege!
Chios.
Your Highness!
Cosmo
(still in abstraction).
Could I do otherwise?—I might have waited!
Peace, Garcia!—leave me!
Dal.
(aside to Chios.)
Hear you that, of Garcia?
Chios.
Did he say, leave me?
Cosmo.
Still my soul is strong,
And fights up hill against an armed Conscience.
In vain!—the constant effort proves it vain!
Thus nature's secret single-combat mars
The strength of man, which else might brave the spheres
With Atlas 'neath his heel. Now, all is o'er!
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My lord!
Cosmo.
I am cast backward—ne'er to rise.
All that had made me great—is gone!
Chios.
My liege!
A Noble.
May't please your illustrious Excellency!
Cosmo.
Mock not mine agony—mock not my state!
(Recovering himself).
So—they are there!—my wife—my dear lost sons!
My noble hope, Giovanni, snatch'd away!
My dear boy, Garcia—prematurely snatch'd!
(To the Priests).
Pardon me!—let your sacred rites proceed!
[A lofty chair is placed for the Duke.]
No!—I'll sit here.
[Seats himself in a Confessional.]
Priest.
Commence the solemn service!
MASS.
Celestial beams dry up our grief,
While these bright spirits now ascend;
Our hearts pour forth but for relief—
We know their life can never end!
No stain, no guilt is theirs:
Then purify our prayers,
And clear our souls—
Cosmo starts forward. The Mass pauses abruptly.
Cosmo.
This mass I like not!—it is vague—defective,
And most reproachful! Cease it on the instant!
How should my prayers be pure? Yet, wherefore not?
Giovanni died of pestilence—so did Garcia;
By a worse pestilence cut off—an error,
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As the united sense of right is vast
In all its bright proportions!
Priest.
Good, my liege!
Chios.
(aside).
Grief hath disturb'd his brain.
Dal.
(aside).
What he hath done
Is now too plain. How terrible a secret
For his appall'd successor's ear!
Chios.
(to Priest).
Speak to him.
Lo! where his heavy scalding tears pour down!
Cosmo
(with forlorn dignity).
Continue! Noble gentlemen and friends,
I cannot explain these things. My present state
Savours too much o'the elements. 'Tis a story
Such as in pealing thunder might be told—
Yet better lost in echoes o'er the sea,
Since none can thoroughly know what's in the soul.
Pray ye, excuse me! I am not much in years;
And tho' this morn methought my hair look'd grey,
'Tis but a few nights' snows. Yet, sorrow is strong,
And I an unarm'd and a childless man.
Once more, your pardon.
[He advances to the lofty chair placed for him.]
Let the mass proceed!
[Seats himself.
MASS.
From depths of gloom and grief
Seek not a vain relief,
Till the heart's heavy load o'erflow;
But grant us strength, O Heaven! to bear
This weight of agony and fear
That presses down the atmosphere,
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Clings like the leaden crown of Woe!
[As the Mass concludes, Cosmo falls back in the chair.]
Dal.
The Duke!—he faints!
All.
The Duke!
[Nobles and attendants rush towards him.
Cosmo.
'Tis well. Great God, thou knowest!
[Dies.
Chios.
(After a solemn pause).
There sped—on mighty wings, o'erspanning all
This nether globe—the noblest soul that e'er
Stoic, or Platonist, or sage full-hearted,
Framed in imagination of the just,
And man's immortal destiny made clear
By mortal practice, superseding death.
There broke a solid heart! Drop we no tears
On this colossal wreck; or, while our eyes
Play rebel to high thoughts, close, close his lids,
So their stain'd orbs reflect not this our weakness—
Needful as rain to those who dwell on earth.
[The scene slowly descends, displaying the whole extent of the Piazza del Granduca, with the grand equestrian statue in bronze of Cosmo the First, as it stands there at the present time.]
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