University of Virginia Library

SCENE I

Scene.—The prison of Faenza; Luigi alone. The dawn is approaching.
Luigi.
The dawn, the dawn! Now when all wakes to life,
I wake to death. When all revives, I die.
This freshness and the coming colour make
The faint grave worse. Oh, but to die at dawn!
At midnight, yes! but not when the world stirs,
When the Creator reassures the earth,
And reappears in balm out of the East.
Now I must give up life, now when the bird
Resumes its carol and the old music makes,
Now must I go to silence; never there
The twitter of the brown bird in the leaves,
Nor rustle of foliage there, nor flushing sky.
[He rises and walks restlessly to and fro.
Now the bright river-fish leaps to the light,
Now creatures of the field bestir them, and speak
With mellow sound in twilight of the farm,
And shrilly Chanticleer proclaims the day.
Now the rose lifts her from a weight of dew,
Or raises her red bosom from the rain,
And many a pale flower from dark ground revives.
Not far away, so little a space away,
Many a garden freshened by night's cloud,
Suspires its various odours from the earth,
And Nature sighing from good sleep awakes.
The sea is conscious of the invisible orb,
Revisiting in glory her faint flood.
The stars are gone, and balm breaks on the world.
[He sits again.
And in this moment I must yield my breath.
[Starting up again.
And now not only Nature shakes off sleep,
But now the labourer to the field repairs
To dig the sweet earth, or to clip the hedge,
Or through the furrow follow on the plough.
Now wakes the young wife, and but half-awake
Kisses the dreaming babe beside her laid,
While all her deep heart murmurs in its ear.
The soldier starts up to the trumpet-call;
The shopman takes the shutter from the shop,
And in the window carefully displays
His wares; the trim girl unto market trips;
And many a memory stares up at the sun.
And he who rides, and would the morning take,
To saddle springs, or he the morning dew
On foot meets gladly; sweetly comes the day
To the sea-weary, watchers stung with brine;
News of the absent to the bed is brought,
Letters from children in a world far-off.
And whether sad or sweet the world awake,
Whirls with a million graves about the sun.
Life, life begins! And I this hour must die.
[Still walking to and fro.
And who knows that we cease who seem to cease?
If I must answer, ere the dawn is full,
For all my faults and folly, and to whom?
Haled before him who made us; or to view
A heavy river rolling amid souls,
Or to remember in an outer dark.
Life! life! I cannot die, I dare not die,
And yonder cloud is slowly reddening!
She, too, she comes not, though she heard my fate;
I am by all deserted and bereft.
O Gemma sister, you, you then at least
Might for the last time round me throw your arms,
Giving the extreme kiss before my doom;
But I must go to what I fear alone.

[A knock is heard at the door. Enter the Jailor, accompanied by the Executioner and an Assistant.
Jailor.
Luigi Gonzaga, are you now prepared
Or will you see a priest, and in his ear
Confess and with a lighter bosom die?

Luigi.
Is not my sister here? has she not sent
A word, a little word? I cannot think
That she will let me die in such a silence.

Jailor.
She is not here, and she has sent no word.

Luigi.
Oh, but she might! It is not yet too late.
Give me a little more of time to breathe;
She would not let me perish who so long
Has grown with me and loved me: I but ask
A little space to see her once, or hear
Her voice—is this unnatural? if 'twere
One to whom passion drew me, even thus
Leave would be given, but my sister, sure
You'll not refuse to me a brief delay.

Jailor.
I have no order, and I have no leave
To grant delay: immediate is my task,
And theirs who now await you.

Luigi.
Grant me then
A cup of wine: this is allowed; then, then
I'll make no more delay: a cup of wine,
The last cup!

Jailor.
You shall have this; but no more
Then can you tarry, or by force we bear you
To execution. [To Assistant.]
Fetch a cup of wine.

[Exit Assistant.
Luigi.
I cannot think why Gemma all this while
Holds off from me; she surely, if none else,
Would say farewell; ah, strange her silence is.
[Enter Assistant with cup of wine, which he gives into the hands of Luigi.
Now for the last time do I taste of thee,
Juice of the grape; I drink my final cup.
[He drinks.
Ah, but the joy of life from this last draught
Runs stronger through my veins, and takes my heart,
And now than ever more impossible
It seems to die; I cannot, will not cease,
With this red liquor dancing thro' my blood.
If you must kill me, it must be by force,
I'll not be tamely haled by you along.
But ah, can you not spare me a short while;
Look, I have money; you, all three of you,
Shall live at ease if only I may breathe;
Then hide me in this dungeon, and give out
That I am dead, I will reward you well.
You have no grudge against me; one of you
Hide me and take the price!

Jailor.
Seize him at once,
Bear him without, and as the law enjoins,
Do with him: we have heard enough of speech,
I will not lose my office for soft talk.

Executioner.
Nor I.

Assistant.
Nor I.

Jailor.
Then bear him quickly out!

[They advance on Luigi and seize him, when there is heard approaching the galloping sound of a horse's hoofs.
Luigi.
Listen! a horse's hoofs, and here they stop!

[There is a commotion outside and a Messenger rushes in breathless with a paper.
Messenger.
This from Pietro Tornielli, straight
Despatched.

Jailor.
[Opening and reading.]
Gonzaga, you are free forthwith.

Luigi.
Free, free!

Jailor.
We have no further leave to keep you,
There is the door—and there the world again.

Luigi.
But, but!

Jailor.
The reason of this freedom find
Without these walls, we have but to obey.

Luigi.
And yet I cannot—

[A further noise without, then Pulci and Carlo rush into the prison.
Pulci.
Luigi, you are freed.
So much we heard and from the horseman learned.

[Exeunt the Executioner and Assistant.
Jailor.
I wish you well, sir. What I said I said
Because it is my office—fare you well.

Luigi.
But I am lost in this—farewell, good fellow.
[Exit Jailor.
And you two have no joy in those your eyes;
We have been friends—how long? Yet you run hither,
Bringing me life and news of liberty,
With no wild word or clasp of sudden hand,
Nor steady grip, nor look of eye to eye.
Well, I am freed—ah, God!—I should rejoice!
Thou soaring sun, I come to thee again
To revel in thy splendour! I am given
Back once again to colour and the dew.
Well, let us quit this place; come, come, my friends,
Yet, yet—again I say you seem to grieve
That I am snatched thus from the dismal grave.
Is my life hateful to you thus restored?
Speak, men, speak! There is some lurking cause
For such a funeral greeting from the tomb.
You, Carlo, if not Pulci, speak straight out!

Carlo.
Luigi, you cannot think we are not glad,
We two of all Siena, to behold you
Now freed, and passing to the outer air.

Luigi.
Yet still I say that something lurks behind,
And I myself am not less guilty now
Than then committed—what my crimes were then
Are now my crimes no less—yet I am freed.

Pulci.
Luigi, the prison door is open now
Because your sister in the deep of night,
So is it said, for your sake yielded her
To Pietro Tornielli.

Luigi.
Ah, my God!
No, no, I'll not take life upon these terms.
I am shaken through all my being, I am changed;
Where once I cowered, now I cower no more.
She, she—she knew I would not have this bargain.
Now I will put my freedom to some use.
Call up your friends, however few they be,
And I will storm the palace and demand
My death—I'll ask it as a boon, as once
Life I demanded. Ah, I loathe to breathe,
And the great sun is blackening in the heaven.
Come with me, come!

Pulci.
Some friends we have without
Already, more will join us as we go.

Luigi.
On to the palace! on! And let me die!