University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Apartment of the Duchess.
Duke, Isidora.
Duke.
Sweet, talk no more of this. Sorrow has past
Over us like a storm:—my heart is stilled;
And, though more lonely than I thought to live,
We'll make the best of life. *Poor policy
It is to shun the few bright hours that come,
'Cause more are absent from us. Let us be
Happy, love, if not gay.† Come; sit beside me.
Why do you stand, dear Isidora?

Isid.
I—
[Aside]
The hour is past: he must be waiting. Now
Excuse me.

Duke.
Presently. Come sit by me;
And let me tell you once more how I love you,
How utterly and self-abandoned I
Gave my whole soul to you. Oh! pardon, then,
(Pardon for this devotion's sake,) that I
Ever pronounced a word that look'd like anger,
Fear, or a false mistrust. I gave up all:
Could I ask less than all? Why, what is't moves you?

Isid.
[aside.]
How shall I pass?—I will return.

Duke.
How's this? have you lost aught?

Isid.
Yes, my lord, yes. I—I shall not be long
Ere I return.

Duke.
Well; go then, if it must
Be so: but take heed, dearest; do not walk
Abroad so late again. I would not have
Evil to meet you for—for the wide world.
Quickly return.

Isid.
I will, my lord, I will.
[Exit Isidora.

Duke.
The calm I feel upon me is more like
A leaden grief than joy,—and yet 'tis joy:
Not the high buoyant spirit which lit up
Mine eye this morning: 'tis a sullen light,
But it has full possession. Every nerve
Is laden with a strange and lulling charm,
As tho' I had drank of poppies, yet alive
To the least touch. A sound would startle me.
Hark!—no.—What could my Isidora mean?
She trembled, yet she is not wont to tremble for
A trifling loss. 'Twas odd.—Again! Who's there?

Isabella
[without.]
Brother!

Duke.
Come in, come in.
Isabella enters.
Why, what is this?
Are you not well?

Isab.
Not quite. Dear brother, where—
Where is the Duchess?

Duke.
Gone. She will return
Quickly: till then, remain.

Isab.
Did she go out
Lately?

Duke.
But now unto her chamber.

Isab.
Then
It could not be; and yet—no, 'tcould not be.

Duke.
What could not be?

Isab.
Dear brother!

Duke.
What is this?
Speak, Isabella.—By the gods, you seem
Born to perplex me. Speak out.

Isab.
It is nothing.

Duke.
Nothing?

Isab.
Perhaps 'tis nothing.

Duke.
I shall be
Vexed beyond all my reason. *I thank the stars
I am not of that humour which delights
In fretting this and that man,—thus and thus,
With question and no answer,—flat denial,
And then “perhaps,” and “it may not be so;”—
I hate it all. By Jupiter, if I
Had now a secret (good or ill no matter)
Which it became a friend to know—

Isab.
What then?

Duke.
I'd speak it boldly.†

Isab.
Then—why then—I cannot.

Duke.
Gods! give me patience.—Isabella, if
You cannot speak, leave me; (I am not used
To talk thus, but you fret me.) Secret!—what?
What secret can it be? Ha!—no, no, no.
You asked me of the Duchess?

Isab.
Did she go
Unto her chamber?

Duke.
Yes.

Isab.
You're sure of that?

Duke.
Sure? yes; where else? sure! sure!

Isab.
Then I am wrong.

Duke.
Darkness and death! speak out—what is it?

Isab.
Nay,
Be calm.

Duke.
As the loud thunder:—Well; I'm calm.

Isab.
I thought I saw
Beneath the moonlight—

Duke.
Yes; go on, go on.

Isab.
I would not tell you, but I cannot live
And see you wronged.

Duke.
Go on.

Isab.
I thought I saw
Guido, and—

Duke.
Hell!—but no, it cannot be.

Isab.
And yet, my servant, Pesaro—

Duke.
Drag him in.

Isab.
I'll bring him to you.

[Exit.
Duke.
Haste: make haste.—Oh, shame!
My son!—If it be so?—If it be—Why then
Come forth, thou power of Darkness! Come abroad
And shroud the world! No;—rather let there be
Earthquake, and tumbling towns, and fiery rain,
Vapours, and spotted fever,—thick disease—
Isabella re-enters.
Ah! sister—Well; where is he?

Isab.
Come in!

Pesaro enters.
Duke.
Now,—

Isab.
Be calm. Speak, Pesaro.

Pes.
My lord!—If I—

Duke.
Plagues blister you. Villain, speak on.
Whom have you seen? seen what?

Pes.
Lord Guido.

Duke.
That
Is false: he has left the city.

Pes.
Yes, my lord:
But he returned. I saw him near the barrier,
(Wrapped in his cloak) not half an hour ago:
And now—

Duke.
I dream.

Isab.
Well, well; you saw—?

Pes.
Just now
I saw him in the garden.

Isab.
And alone?

Pes.
I think I saw the Duchess.

Isab.
Now leave us.
Brother!

[Exit Pesaro.
Duke.
Look down, look down!

Isab.
I should have thought
Less of this strange return, had I not seen him
(Yet why should that have struck me?) smile upon
That ring.

Duke.
Ha!

Isab.
When he parted with you—yes:
And then—how can I bear to name it? Yet,
Your court all smile and talk of this—their past
Love, and their—meeting in her chamber.

Duke.
Ring! Chamber! I loiter:—I will have
Such—such revenge. Where is my dagger—where?
I cannot find't; 'tis better. I will have
Vengeance in open day.

Isab.
Nay,— [Interposing.]


Duke.
Death and shame!
Away, away!

[Rushes out.
Isab.
He's gone.—I almost tremble.
And yet I will not. I, who never yet
Knew what it was to fear,—shall I shrink now?
He's gone, and they—no, no; he will not find
My victims soon.—My son shall be a prince.
A prince!—a noble sound.—I tremble still.
Who's there?—What noise is that?

Casti comes in suddenly with papers, followed by Gheraldi.
Casti.
Where is the Duke?

Gher.
Thank God! he is not here.

Isab.
What means this tumult, Sir?

Casti.
Oh! lady you—
Are you there? Shame! where is the Duke?

[Enters an apartment.
Gher.
He has
Discovered all.—What shall be done?

Isab.
Hush! I
Must think.—Meantime call you the guard.
Quick, quick! Ha! I must stop this choleric sir.

[Gheraldi exit.
Casti.
[returning.]
He is not there; Madam! Nay,
I must pass.

Isab.
Ha!—ha! what is this outrage? Guards!

Casti.
By Heaven!

[attempts to pass her.
Isab.
Within there—Guards, I say!
Gheraldi, Pesaro and Soldiers enter.
Count Casti has
Forgot himself, and me. You will take care
The Count does not escape. Confine him, Sir,
Until my brother is at leisure. I
Will answer this: he has done outrage here.

Casti.
I have some news, good Lucio,—news to tell
The Duke; so give me way.

[Thrusts the papers in his bosom.
Isab.
Sir, take him hence.

Casti.
Madam—

Isab.
Away!

[Exeunt soldiers, &c. with Casti.
Gher.
Madam, you are a quick contriver.

Isab.
Now,
Let us go hence: no talk.—There is a thing
That now will soon be done; and then our cares
(My cares) are over. If I die, my son
Reigns in Mirandola. And yet, take care
The Count is safe.—I have a task elsewhere.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

A Garden.—Clouded Moonlight.
Guido, Isidora.
Isid.
When I wrote to you I knew not
That ye were reconciled. Oh! had I known
That you had left Mirandola, for the world
I'd not have put you in this peril: but
That ring—it seemed to me honor and life.

Guido.
Not life.

Isid.
Oh! yes, to me: his violent spirit would
Soon have destroyed me. Even now, should he learn
Of this our meeting—Oh! I fear, I fear—
Nay, give it to me.

Guido.
My pretty ring! must you then have it?

Isid.
Yes.
And 'tis not well indeed, my lord, that you
Should wear my favors now. Some busy tongues
May talk.

Guido.
Oh! Isidora, is it come
To this? Must innocence so scant her looks,
Or modesty be dumb, lest the base crowd
Abuse her? *Oh! fair Heaven, they're bitter times
And doubtful when a breath of air may blow
Our names away.† But take it. [Gives the ring.]
See—
I part with my last good, but 'tis to thee.
When I am gone—Shame on this blinding tear!
One drop, and yet how bitter!

Isid.
Talk not thus:
You may return.

Guido.
Oh! never shall that be.
*There is a period in the days of men,
Beyond which they never thrive. I have seen mine:
Now, all is darkness and decay.†

Isid.
Alas!

Guido.
Oh! weep not, weep not, Isidora. You
Had once a braver spirit.

Isid.
I will try
To say farewell calmly.

Guido.
Sweet blessings rest
Upon your head for ever!—I shall go
Afar; yet do not thou forget me. We
Have known each other long. Fortune has been
Our foe. Our very youth is gone before
It's time, and we must part.—*Oh! Isidora,
Think of me sometimes: amidst crowds and revels
You'll be a queen: pomp and admiring eyes
Will follow you, and delicate music, like
Incense from Heav'n, will haunt around your rooms.
Yet, in the midst of all do not forget
The mountain song we used to sing together:
'Tis long ago; but 'twas a pleasant strain.
I love it still; better methinks than ever.

Isid.
Do not talk thus. I cannot bear it.

Guido.
Nay,
Weep not. Poor Isidora!

Isid.
Poor, indeed.

Guido.
Give me your hand, once more.†

Isid.
Oh! Guido! Guido!

Guido.
We must part, dear friend.
And I must say—what must at last be said;
Tis only—this:—I cannot, by the light
Of Heaven, I cannot say it. What! Farewell
To thee, whom I have loved—Oh! loved beyond
All words, all parallel, by day and night,
In health, in sickness, amidst toils and dangers—?
By heaven, I cannot do't.

Isid.
Hush! what is that?

Guido.
O Night!

Isid.
Hush!—no, 'twas nothing. Now—

Guido.
Farewell!
Must it be so, indeed?

Isid.
It must.

Guido.
Why then
Farewell; and yet—there is a boon at parting
Which mere acquaintance to each other give:
Shall it be less with us? Oh! we have loved
Dearly and long.

Isid.
That's past.

Duke rushes in, and stops suddenly.
Duke.
I've sought 'em—Ha!

Guido.
Nay, Isidora!—

Duke.
Ha! ha! ha!—Oh! Devils.
Winter, and blight, and famine strike ye down:
And fires, broad as the deluge, rain, 'till they
Scorch all the land up,—all.

Guido.
Shun not my last
Request; it is my last.—*Tho' dark fortune puts
Her arm between us, every gentle proof
Of what has been, we need not cast aside.
Oh! weep not. †Let me take one kiss away
In memory of thee—one: it will be
The saddest, yet the sweetest,—and the last.

Isid.
No, Guido

Guido.
Then farewell: shrink not.

Isid.
I faint. Your father— [Sinks against Guido.


Guido.
Tremble not. Where is he?

Duke rushes forward.
Duke.
Here!—
Here, serpents!—Now the everlasting curse
Cling to ye both and wither. May ye both
Wander about—

Guido.
I—

Duke.
Wretch!—wander about
The world,—the wide world, hopeless, vile, abhorred.
But no; for you—(will my head burst?) for you,
Delicate Sin, begone—yet stay: if e'er
You shall repent—repent of what? ha, ha!
Who's the accuser? none: who will believe
That I'm abused, abused? who'll swear? none, none.
Ha, ha!—O Death and Night!

Guido.
Will you not hear?

Duke.
Ay, when you die I'll listen,—I'll rejoice.
Will you have trial? never: there are crimes
Which the law touches not; but I'll have blood
Red as the Arab gulph: not your's, but you—
You with the curse of Cain—worse, worse—with all
The blight of parricide upon you—Son!
(No son of mine!)—Ah!—how my tongue is parched—
Dry as a withered scroll.—I will have such
Vengeance—such mighty vengeance.

Guido.
Once more—nay—

Duke.
Parricide!

Guido.
'Tis in vain.

Isid.
Alas! Alas!

Duke.
What! do you weep and cheat me of all tears?
But I'll have justice.

Guido.
Yet hear!

Duke.
Not a word:
No, not a word. I listened once, and died.
Ho, ho!—the world's abroad: lights! torches! so—
Come on, come on.

Guido.
Spare her. For me—

Duke.
For you
There is a something yet. Come in, I say.
My soul is white.—How my head throbs! Stir not.
Where am I?

Curio, Piero, Guards and Attendants enter.
Curio.
Stay! What tumult is there here?
Your highness?

Duke.
Where? The Duke is dead—is dead.
He died, Sir, when his wife and son forsook him:
But I am here to represent his state,
And it shall find full justice. Where's the throne?
Vanish'd, alas!—no matter. I will sit
Beneath the stars. (sits)
—Roll back those curtains, which
Hide the pale visage of the moon. And now,
I call upon the assembled lights of Heaven;
And on the immortality of Truth,
Upon white Chastity, and crown'd Revenge,
To attest what here I do. Traitors! draw near.
What have ye—(Mark! the huge and ponderous sky
Hangs right above your heads,)—to say? Speak forth!

Guido.
Father!

Duke.
I'll not admit that voice; 'tis perjured. Hark!
Did it not thunder then? no: all is still—
Calm as despair.

Isid.
*My lord!

Duke.
Hush! Music.—Hush!
[Isid. comes forward.
Ah! is it you?†

Isid.
Spare him, O spare him!

Duke.
Never.

Piero.
If—

Duke.
If a word is spoken, but a word,—

Guido.
Nay, hear me.
That ring, that ring—

Duke.
Ha! do you taunt me, villain?
Blights wither you!

Isid.
Alas!

Duke.
Come hither, slave!
You, sirrah! what's your name? no matter. Take
Yon man into the palace-court, and there—
Come nearer—near.
[Whispers officer.
Remember!

Isid.
(Shrieks.)
Ha!—What's that?
Oh! mercy, mercy. Spare him—spare us both.
My lord!—O husband!

Guido.
Sweet, implore no more.
My fate is come. I'll meet it as a man.
Of thee I dare not think: but thou—

Duke.
Speak on.
You shall have licence,—once—but once. Speak on.

Guido.
Thou hast abused
Thy trusts of father, husband, prince.

Isid.
No, no.

Guido.
Thou hast, to glut a base and bitter hate,
Destroyed thine only son. Angels now look
Upon us, and before their homes I swear
That I am innocent. Remember this.
For her who stands palely beside you there,
(A star amidst this darkness,) she is pure
As Heaven. I speak this with a dying tongue.
I loved her—

Duke.
Ha! shall this be said? Away,
Away, I say! If once I swear—

[Rises.
Guido.
One word,—

Isid.
One word.

Guido.
Poor Isidora!

Isid.
One—

Guido.
One word's enough. My lord, when I depart,
To where—no matter, mark me. I shall tread
With the same step,—the same bold, faithful step,
Which bore me on, 'midst fire and carnage, when
I saved your life at Mantua.—Now, lead on.

[Guido exit with officers.
Duke.
[Sinks down.]
He's gone.

Isid.
A moment stop. My lord! my lord!
Spare him. I'll kneel to you, and wet the dust
With tears. Oh! husband, my dear husband! speak!
I,—Isidora—Isidora, whom
You loved so once, am here—here on my knees,
Before the world,—in the broad light. My lord!
Give him but time,—a word—(do you hear that?)
A word will clear him. Will you not listen? Oh!—
Cruel, oh! cruel! Mercy, yet;—oh, God!

[Isidora falls before him.
Piero.
[after a pause.]
Shall we not help the Duchess?

Curio.
Stay, stay: he
Begins to move.

Piero.
He looks like marble with those fixed eyes.

Curio.
Ha! those are heavy tears.

Officer.
Hark!

Duke.
Mercy!—
No more of that. I am a desolate man:
Much injured; almost mad. I want—I'll have
Vengeance—tremendous vengeance. Ha! pale thing;
I will not tread upon her. Tears? what, tears?
Take her away.
Isidora is taken out.
My heart is cold as lead.
I should have had a cloak to cover me—
A tomb, a tomb, to keep the wind out. Ha!
I love this lonely pomp. My lamps are hung
All round a mighty dome; and music, like
The noises bursting from Æolian caves,
Come round me like a charm. Oh! I have been
Betrayed; ay, and revenged.—All silent? How!
Come, talk, Sirs, talk.

[Isabella enters.
Officer.
Will not your highness go?

Duke.
Go? where? where? Ah! the light comes. I have been
Long wandering. Misery! oh, misery!
But justice shall be done; and vengeance.

[leans back.
Gheraldi and Pesaro enter.
Isab.
Ha!

Gher.
Madam, he has escaped.

Isab.
Be still, Sir. Who?

Pes.
Count Casti.

Isab.
Ha! go seek him, and confine him:
Do this, and you shall thrive. This is unlucky.

Gher.
'Tis death.

Isab.
Not quite so bad. Guido is gone
To rest.

Gher.
How the Duke sits!

Isab.
We'll lead him in. My lord!

Duke.
Ah! Sister. Well; justice is done.

Casti.
[without.]
The Duke!

Duke.
What voice is that?

[Casti enters quickly.
Casti.
The Duke—where is the Duke?

Duke.
Here,—on his seat of judgement.

Casti.
Seize the Monk.
My lord, pray pardon me, but—O my heart!
Madam, you must not go.

Isab.
Slave! dare you think
To daunt the sister of Mirandola?

Duke.
What's this?

Casti.
You are abused.

Duke.
I know it. Wretch!
Will you bring back my terrors? Silence him.

Casti.
You and your son are both abused,—betrayed.
You and your innocent wife. Look on the Monk.
Your son's as fair as Heaven. Mark the Monk,
I say. Here, my lord, here are letters,—scrawls
Fashioned in hell, too black for such a place.
Here are the letters which you sent to Naples.
Look! these your son writ; these—your sister sent.
I took them from the Monk: he bribed, and prayed,
Nay, wept and tore my cloak to get them, but
I have them here,—read, read!

Duke.
Letters? my son!—

Casti.
He met the Duchess here by my entreaty:
Against his wish he met her: nay—

Duke.
Ah, sister! [reads.]


Casti.
Read, Sir!

Isab.
Slave! my son
Reigns in Mirandola. I am content.

Casti.
Lead out the lady.

[Isabella is taken out.
Duke.
Now, where is she?—gone!
'Tis better. Ah! thou cowled villain,—thou
Whom I have loved and trusted. I forget:
Where am I? I am wandering yet.

Casti.
My lord!
Where is your son?

Duke.
My son? Ha! death and haste.
Fly, fly and save him. Bring him hither. Drag
That villain to a dungeon. O, my heart!
Fly some one! fly again, and bring my son.
Oh! mercy, mercy!

Casti.
Where is he—his son?

Officer.
Led out to death.

Casti.
Ha! where?

Officer.
In the western court.

[Casti rushes out.
Duke.
My son! where is my son? Is no one gone
To stop my orders? Go—some more. I'll sit
Here, while the Heavens are trembling.
(A distant report of Musquetry is heard.)
Ha!

[Sinks down.
(After a short pause, Casti re-enters.)
Casti.
My lord!

Duke.
Ha! my good messenger, a word, a word;
But one: I'll give my Dukedom to you,—all.
Tell me he lives. Swear it. 'Tis my command.

Casti.
Alas! it was too late. We can but pray.

Duke.
Rain down your blights upon us!

Casti.
Sir, be calm.

Duke.
Sulphur and blistering fire. I want to die.
Unloose me here, here: I'm too tight.—Some one
Has tied my heart up; no, no; here, Sir, here.
All round my heart, and round my brain,—quick, quick—
I'm burning.—Hush! a drug—a—

Casti.
Hold him up.

Duke.
Some dull—some potent drink. I'll give—I'll give
The world away for peace. Oh! round my heart,
And—Ah! unloose this cord about my throat.
Has no one mercy here? I am the Duke,—
The Duke. Ha! I am—nothing.

Casti.
Raise his head.
Now, my dear lord,—

Duke.
O my poor son, my son!
Young victims—both so young,—so innocent.
But they are gone. I feel as I could sleep—
Sleep—hush! for ever. My poor son!—

[Dies.