University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

—A Room in Prince Diodati's House.
Enter Algarves and Costanza.
Al.
Be mine! Costanza!—speak the blessed word!—
This exigence admits not of delay!—
The secret of thy Soul is in my keeping!—
I know thou lov'st me—as thou know'st I love thee!—
If not for thine own sake, for mine, consent!—
For utter wretchedness and recklessness
Will take possession of me, if thou leav'st me!—
Thou hast no right to play thus with my doom—
To kindle hopes of blessedness unbounded—
Then snatch away what seemed mine own—for ever!—
Wilt thou be mine?—all mine?—

Cos.
Oh! talk not thus!—
Yet—let my blushes answer—speak they not?—

Al.
They speak!—indeed they speak! in heavenly language!—
In lovely fulness of all love's expression!—
In beautiful confirmation of consent!—
Add blessedness to blessedness, and say,
This very evening, I may claim thy hand!—
Nay! speak not! let these blushes still speak for thee!
While all thy countenance of beauty glows
With their divine suffusions, all thine aspect
Is made one universal, rosy “Yes!”—
Yet say this evening!—

Cos.
Yet show mercy thou!—
Nor urge me—for all urges me—my fears—
My heart—my hopes—my loathing—and my love—
All urge me—and with dangerous eloquence—
And all the tortures of this inner conflict—
The harrowing horrors of this sore suspense!—
Urge me not—since all urges me!—at least,
Keep silence thou, while loudly talk my thoughts—
Keep silence still, since these too clamourous counsellors—
(Clamourous though tongueless,)—have ta'en up thy strain—
Have all ta'en up thy strain, too wilderingly—
Too eloquently well!—

Al.
The love I thought
Beyond all possibility of increase—
Grows at thy words—ev'n measurelessly mightier—
My true dear Love!—my faithful one!—mine own one!—
Thou wilt be mine!—this evening at the altar
Our vows shall join us in eternal bonds—
This evening meet me in the chapel, Sweet!—
Hard by the Baptistery—Oh! give consent!—

Cos.
Oh! Heavens!—I cannot—I cannot resist—
I have tried—struggled—battled all my best—
But not one moment could believe or hope
In mine own final victory!—but enough!—
I cannot—'tis in vain!—I cannot—no!—
I cannot try ev'n more to thus resist thee!—
I will agree—I will obey thy wish!—
I will be there—I cannot help myself!—
My power, is very vanity—my strength,
'Tis very weakness—let the rush—the reed—
Stand up and challenge all the hurricane winds—
The clouds refuse to melt before the sun—
The snows to vanish at his bright approach—
The shades to flee before his glowing face—
The rivers to flow on towards the main—
Teach these—teach all—to break from trammels free—
But not my Woman's Heart to stand 'gainst thee!—

[She rushes out.
Al.
Oh! Happiness! too deep to be sustained!—
Can this be life?—I never felt before
This bounding of the pulses!—high as Heaven
They seem to play, then trembling, sink again
Deep in my Heart's joy-burthened kindling core!
My dreams smile out emparadised with Hope!—
Costanza, beautiful as Heaven art thou!—
Thine eyes and lips and gracious brows have all
A Lightning-loveliness that plays and moves
In ever-altering variousness—methinks,
Angels hang hovering near thee, to convey
Thy smiles of glory from this lower world,
To brighten all their heavenly homes above—
So suddenly they're visioned and are vanished!—
But everlastingly do others take
Their place, and never lives without its stars
Thine all-celestial Firmament of Face—
For if not smiles indeed be glowing there—
That sweetness—(which the soul of smiles appears!)—
There beautifully buoyant stirs and lives!—
Thy very sorrow smiles—one saintly Patience!—

Enter Fiorilina.
Fio.
All, Count Algarves, hath my friend revealed,
And trusted to my truth and confidence!—
With all my Soul I do approve the plan!—
And purpose thus to aid it and advance—
My Brother shall assemble this same night
The great and gay of Florence in this Palace—
My Father's kind consent we well can gain;—
Amid the glad confusion and the stir—
Costanza better may effect escape,
Than from the Lambertazzi's doors—thyself
Wilt join the revelry—then steal away,
Waiting her Presence with the attending Priest—
Whom thou wilt bring t' officiate on the occasion!—

Al.
Thanks! gentle Lady!—I at once take leave
To make due preparations—

Fio.
Oh! be cautious!—
I tremble lest some chance all unforeseen—
Should dash to earth this joy's untasted cup—
Be speedy, and be secret!—fare thee well!—
[Exit Algarves.
For me, what fate is yet reserved?—Lorenzo!—
I scarcely dare let thought approach that theme—
Lest Hope should spring too brightly into birth—
And then—the murderous disappointment come,
To cloud me with a yet undreamed-of Darkness!—

Enter Costanza.
Cos.
And is he gone!—it is relief to me—
My thoughts' tempestuousness hath worn me out—
Such workings of the mind—such inward wrestlings!—
Oh! gentle Fiorilina!—what is rest?—
I have forgotten all its balmy blessings!—

Fio.
The sweeter will they seem when found once more!—
Controul this agitation I implore thee!—
Thy frame can scarce endure such restless trouble!—
Thou wilt be ill, and all left still unfinished!—
Now listen—I have settled with Algarves—
(Who much approves the scheme,) that here to-night—
A Gala should be given,—from hence 'twere best
You made your sure escape—'tis all contrived!—
Look up!—be happy!—

Cos.
I am happy!—yes!—
'Midst many griefs stands one exceeding joy—
The luminous and the all-illuminating!—
My Life!—my Love—my heart is full of thee!—
All—all the affluence of my thoughts is thine—
Stamped with thine Image—like a Sovereign's treasure!—
(To Fio.)
And, Sweetest! thou shalt yet be happy too!—
When I am wedded to my own Algarves—
Thou wilt become, I feel it, and foresee it,
Lorenzo's happy consort—doubt it not!—
Yes!—he will woo thee—win thee—wed thee—wear thee
The nearer to his heart, for that so long
It did mistake its lovely destiny!—
I am about to take a fateful step!—
Forgive her—Heaven!—who hath forgiven herself!—
Who dares herself forgive, and clear her Soul!—
I cannot feel this as a sin!—yet—yet—
Shower mercy on me, if 'tis such, indeed!—
But Oh! I shudder—though without retracting—
The while I dwell upon the coming deed!—
'Tis an unmaidenly and desperate act!—
I die away in thoughts of it—until
My Soul sets all in blushes like the Sun!—
Heaven!—Heaven!—forgive her, who herself forgiveth!—
Wilt come with me, my kind one! to thy chamber!?—

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—A Room in Algarves' House.
Algarves alone.
Al.
All things are well in train! and on the morrow,
Costanza shall be hailed my wedded wife!—
Beat, beat! my Heart! to the triumphant sound!—
The exultant noise of those deep thrilling words!—
Now momently I look for thee, my Friend!—
My faithful Guicciardini—thou so blest—
Yet sharing still with generous sympathy,
The changeful movements of my march of fate!—
This letter from my Mother is most strange—
To her at length I have confided all!—
[Takes out letter, and reads.
Strange!—strange!—“Wed fearlessly the fair Costanza;
I have such influence o'er the Guardian Uncle,
That he shall greet ye both with open arms,
Soon as the marriage hath been solemnized,
Yet ere that influence is exerted—know!—
I would,—clandestinely, these rites should bind ye!”

Enter Guicciardini.
Gui.
Hast thou received communications private,
Algarves! from His Highness?—

Al.
Aye! indeed!—
But other thoughts and things absorbed my mind,
And rendered me forgetful of their import—
Thou on thy side hast had my last despatch,
Containing tidings of my Happiness'?

Gui.
'Twas given me as I left the Palace;—joy!—
A thousand times I wish thee joy—best joy!—
To thee I owe mine own exceeding bliss—
The crowning of my deep and fervent love—
The hand of Beatrice!—but—to business!—
The appointment which the Duke bestows on thee—
A most important confidential one—
Thou art well aware, perchance, was asked in form,
As lately as last month, by Lambertazzi!—

Al.
I knew it not!—

Gui.
'Twill fire his jealousy
To very madness!—nay! 'tis phrenzy now!
(Ambition's jealousies are fierce as Love's!)—
'Twill sure be Death!—I almost feel for him!—

Al.
And I—and gladly would avoid acceptance—

Gui.
(interrupting.)
Impracticable that—I would the fact
Had been awhile concealed—till all is fixed—
But this is now impossible!—alas!—
The Duke himself declared it in full court!—

Al.
Shalt thou return unto the Palace?—

Gui.
Yes!—

Al.
Bear thou my duteous service to the Prince!—
Express the depth of gratitude I feel—
And make apologies as best shall serve
For absence unavoidable at present!—

Gui.
Content!—but yet it seems incumbent sure,
On thee on such occasion to appear!—

Al.
Say in one hour then, I will crave an audience!—

Gui.
'Tis well! and there we two shall meet again!—
[Exit Guicciardini.

Al.
My Prince! my Patron! thou deserv'st my thoughts,
But little am I master of my Soul!—
This blessed twilight whose soft shadows 'gin
To curtain earth—What sound is that!—methought
The clang of weapons clashed upon mine ear!—
Re-enter Guicciardini slightly wounded, but dragging in Diego masked and cloaked in disguise.
What means this?—speak!—

Gui.
Help!—hold the villain fast!—
His vile associates have escaped!—

Al.
Thou art hurt?—

Gui.
But slightly—hold the miscreant, while I strive
To staunch the wound one moment!—good! unmask him!—

Al.
(struggling with him.)
Thou wretch—confess!—nay doff thy vain disguises!—
Who art thou?—

Diego.
Ask the Incarnate Fiend!—

Al.
By Heaven!—
I doubt that thou art himself!—such thews of iron
Had never mortal man!—back!—yield!—

Gui.
Disarm him!—
Pluck from his grasp that poniard!—

Diego.
Ho! unhand me!—

Al.
First I'd unheart thee!—leave thee empty breasted!—

[Algarves seizes the poniard; Diego bursts away, and escapes.
Gui.
Nay!—after him!—he sought to bear me off!—
I guess the assault was meant against thyself!—
Some villainous scheme!—On! On! Algarves!—haste!—

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—A Room in Count Lambertazzi's House.
Count Lambertazzi alone.
Lam.
This scroll from Millaflores stings indeed
My heart as it had ne'er been stung before!—
The appointment that I stooped to ask for—sought
With pertinent diligence, and zeal persistent,
Given to my mortal Enemy!—I choke!—
I die with rage!—but he shall suffer yet!—

Enter Millaflores.
Milla.
I lost no time in sending thee the tidings!—

Lam.
No!—seldom is time lost in giving torture!—
'Tis not the World's way!—

Milla.
Nay!—but be more just!—
Thou didst desire me—

Lam.
(fiercely.)
Silence on the subject!—
I must forget or madden!—Hath the Duke
Discovered yet thy dark insidious plot?—
Thy foul cabal?—

Milla.
Mine?—

Lam.
Thine!—

Milla.
Now, by the Gods!
This passes Patience!—wouldst palm off on me
The wild creations of thine own dark fancy?—
I have repented and reformed—nor would
Even in such show and seeming wrong a Prince!—

Lam.
Be still!—I charge thee, say no more!—Be still!—
'Twas thou conceived'st it all!—the Plot was thine!—
Mine was pretence, till thou didst make it real!—
Thou didst not know it, but thy brilliant converse
First made me dream of such a glorious change!—
(Aside.)
Now will I make him think 'twas all his deed—
If the Duke will not trust, nor think me innocent—
At least the worst guilt shall his shoulders bear!—
(Aloud.)
We failed, and all that was sublime indeed,
Became at once most vile and dark and loathsome!—
So it is still on earth!—but if this wretch
Escapes my summary vengeance, let us yet
Contrive and plan and execute what may—
All swallow up in one enormous ruin!—
(Aside.)
Oh! I am mad to bare my Soul to him—
Yet silence is intolerable torture!—

Milla.
I did not know that I had so inspired thee!—
I felt I was most eloquent!—but yet—
I fear, if we once more should fail—'twill be
A ruin for ourselves indeed enormous!—

Lam.
Here and hereafter!—that I doubt not!—yes!—
I do believe the Powers that rule the World,
Themselves are influenced by success or failure!—
'Twould prove most likely to your loss of Soul!—

Milla.
My Soul, indeed!—my Soul!—deuce take my Soul!—
It is my title I am thinking of!—
My title and my office!—Oh! my office!—
Think!—Lord High Treasurer!—No! I will not join thee!—

Lam.
Though Fiorilina's hand be thy reward?—

Milla.
Ah! sweetest Fiorilina!—could she see
The forty Volumes—and the Funeral Vault!—
But by the way! I heard to-day such tidings
As shake me in my wish to marry her—
'Tis said the family place of sepulture
Is strangely shabby—scarce three ells of velvet
On all the coffins there—the plates too—paltry!—

Lam.
(laughing.)
Away! I jeer myself with maniac mockery!—
A hissing Devil laughs in my despair—
But now that mood is past, and it is well!—
Come!—deathly Vengeance! sweep into my Soul
With all your brooding shadows of the grave!—

Milla.
(aside.)
'Twere best I left him—he is raving, raving!—
I never fancied much the talk of madmen—
My ancestors like me were sane and sage!—
[Exit Millaflores.

Lam.
What ho! who waits?—what, Nicolo!—

Enter Nicolo.
Nico.
My Lord!—

Lam.
This instant seek the notary—send him here
Without delay!—

Nico.
I will not spare my speed.
[Exit Nicolo.

Lam.
I have resolved, my whole of worldly wealth,
(Save a most humble sum reserved,) at once
To yield up to Lorenzo—to my Nephew—
For such he shall be—let who will oppose it!—
Henceforth I feel my life will darkly be,
A chaos of all strifes, and stratagems!—
The doom is on me—and it must be so!—
My punishments shall never fall on thee,
Costanza!—never!—and the boundless wealth
To which—thy Brother lost—myself succeeded—
And which when I am gone, shall come to thee—
Transferred for my Life's length unto thy Lord—
Shall be preserved from fine or confiscation!—
Henceforth I feel I am a dark adventurer—
A masked intriguer—visionary schemer!—
The game I only played at—I will act—
Act in right earnest, bearded thus and braved!—
Look to it!—look!—my Prince!—for thou—thou hast made
Thy faithful subject—thy determined foe!—
Unchanged—irreconcileable—and desperate!—
My hate for him—this smooth-cheeked stripling—soon
(When he has gained his portion and deserts,)
Shall be transferred to thee—thou service-scorner!—
Thou trampler of these hairs of grey! thou tyrant!—
Thou who thus think'st it rests with thee alone,
To be the setter-up and taker-down
Of men whose minds are 'stablished, and assured—
Once great and ever great!—once trusted, honoured,
To be for ever honoured—ever trusted!—
Enter Visconti.
This is most kind, my Friend!—my little leisure
Prevented me from seeking thee to-day—
Thou mightst well think I should be glad to see thee!—

Vis.
I fear my presence will be deemed less welcome,
When I confess to thee I come to plead
For thy poor ward, thy sweet adopted child.

Lam.
What mean'st thou?—

Vis.
This! there can be little doubt
The bright Costanza loves not young Lorenzo—
And thou wouldst wed her 'gainst her gentle will
To him—who never can receive her Heart!—
Choice should be left her in such heart-dear matter!—

Lam.
Thou know'st she fancies—the object of this choice
Is this pernicious meddler—this Algarves—
Even he, the unknown and the unsuspected Brother!—
For such I feel convinced he is in truth!—
When he is lost to sight, as he shall be—
Conveyed from Florence, as he needs must be—
And I have trumped some story up, shall serve
To lull suspicion 'gainst myself, and rouse
Suspicions dark and mystical 'gainst him!—
Her dream-born love will gradually give way,
And she will yet be happy with Lorenzo!—

Vis.
At least coerce her not, nor yet speed on
The ceremonial of her dreaded marriage!—
No! by thy love for her!—

Lam.
And by that love
I feel I must speed on that wished conclusion—
Henceforth my Life is hurry—fury—trouble—
She must be sheltered under roof more sure!—
My love for her!—aye! 'tis a love that mocketh
The petty passion of the puling Lover—
A rooted, holy, high, paternal love—
And more than that, a gratitude profound—
Long years of gladness and of healthful interests
I owe to her—since she became my child—
Herself was made, by her exalting influence,
As 'twere the Maiden-Mother of my Soul!—
In her perpetual presence sweet and sacred—
It sprang into a better, loftier life—
A higher state!—

Vis.
Ah! sacrifice her not!—

Lam.
Myself far sooner!—but thou much mistakest!—
To change the theme, hast thou yet learned, my Friend,
Algarves' new appointment?—

Vis.
Yes!—I have heard it,
But scarcely credited the tale—is't true?—

Lam.
As true as hell, if that at least may be
True in all ruinous realities!—

Vis.
Thou bear'st it nobly!—

Lam.
Do I so?—I did—
By dedicating at the time when first
I heard it—the ignominious infamy!—
His blood and mine, to all the Infernal Gods!—

Vis.
Nay! nay!—thou rav'st—spare speech!—thy niece approaches!—
Enter Costanza.
Save thee, sweet Lady!—in thy looks I read
That thou hast communications for the Count,
Of nature confidential and peculiar—
I haste to rid thee of my needless presence!—
[Exit Visconti.

Lam.
Hast thou heard too, my child—hast thou yet heard,
How this vile plotter—this pestiferous minion—
This base intriguer—and this servile place-man—
The worm that calls himself Algarves—speeds?—
Hast heard that the office I myself demanded—
(Demanded too with instance and entreaty,
Because I felt peculiarly 'twas suited
To what I dared deem mine especial talent,)
Is given unto that beardless boy?—

Cos.
Alas!—

Lam.
Alas!—is that thy sole remark!—Speak!—say!—
Canst feel no sacred fire glow in thy breast
At this recital of my mortal wrong?—
(Passionately.)
Curse him! Costanza!—let me hear thee curse him!—

Cos.
Oh! but forgive him!—

Lam.
Yes! when earth no more
Shall be encumbered with his hateful life!—

Cos.
His life! touch not his life!—

Lam.
Ha! shall I not!—
Whose life then?—prithee! listen!—doom for doom!—
What is the dark price of the Soul's own blood?—
That price must yet be paid—the fate fulfilled!—
I am made Bankrupt of the Soul for ever!—
Who, 'midst his new friends—flatterers—followers—fools,
Will take his place and suffer in his stead—
Who will groan out their souls for his remorse,
Who bear disgrace for him—die for him?—

Cos.
I!—

Lam.
Thou!—thou'rt disgraced, enough, by even that thought!—
Die for him?—Hark!—I tell thee—and 'tis true—
As he and hell are false—if in exchange—
If in his stead, ten thousand tens of thousands
Offered themselves, I would not yield my victim!—

Cos.
(weeping.)
Thy victim! but thou mean'st it not!—
Oh! no!—
Thou art too good, too kind, too just!—

Lam.
Too just!—
And too unjustly used!—yes! yes!—thou'rt right!—
Thou'rt right!—I am too just, and will be so—
And he shall feel the justice I will deal him!—
Nothing and none shall save him from my hate!—

Cos.
Suffer me leave thee, for I scarce can stand!—
My limbs seem melting with unwonted tremours—
Mine eyes seem darkening with unnatural films—
My brain grows blind with unaccustomed mists!—

Lam.
Begone then!—and forget to say forgive!—
[Exit Costanza.
Nothing and none shall save him!—I will go
And challenge him this night—this very night—
Though he were fifty times my Brother's Son—
And thine, Luigia—saint and sufferer! thine!—
'Tis strange that melts me not!—but true, in him
Is nought that mindeth in the least of her!—
His eye—a deep dark fire!—his brow—a throne
Of haughty thoughts and wild ambitious dreams—
His proud curved lip—no! nothing there is thine—
And nothing in the Soul!—my lost Luigia!—
My mighty—melancholy love for thee
Is all Costanza's!—she is indeed thy child!—
Thou wert the mother of her heart and aspect!—
Now Vengeance!—Vengeance!—lead me where thou wilt—
I follow! to the Heart of Hell would follow!—
[Exit Lambertazzi.

Scene IV.

—A Street in Florence near the Baptistery; a small Chapel near.
Enter Algarves.
Al.
My Mother and the Priest are not yet come—
Here let me wait for my adored Costanza.
How like is love to fear!—or how much fear
Doth still remain with true and fervent Love!—
Hist! steps!—'twere best I did conceal myself,
Till sweet Costanza steals from forth the festa—

Enter Lambertazzi.
Lam.
Come forth, thou shrinking skulker!—crouching there,
By ev'ry fear oppressed!—come forth, thou villain!—
Thy coward conscience well may hold thee back—
But I will have thee forward!—Forth!—I say!—

Al.
What mean'st thou, Lambertazzi?—know'st me not?—

Lam.
Because I know thee thus, I name thee, thus—
I strive to name thee, but 'tis vain—in sooth,
Man never yet found name for such a wretch!—

Al.
My whole Soul soars above thy petty insults!—

Lam.
Above them! aye! I cannot coin such terms
For hate and horror and reproach and scorn,
But that thy Soul will soar above them all
In unapproachable, unfancied vileness!—
Invader of my rights!—come on!—come on!—
Thou treacherous, viperous wretch!—

Al.
(aside.)
At such an hour!—
Oh! Heaven!—

Lam.
Come on!—defend thyself!—

Al.
Pass!—pass!—
Old man! grey hairs defend thee!—

Lam.
Worm! thou dar'st not!—

Al.
No!—no! I dare not!—reverend age hath traced
A holy circle round thee, and I see
The shadow of Great Death already there,
And dare not hasten it—by human means—
Dare not anticipate the dread decree—
Which seems already half pronounced against thee!—
The finger of thy God is on thee!—yea!—
I dare not lay mine there—too visibly
That awful finger's trace on age is seen!—
If I could so forget myself indeed,
My changed pale hours should start like phantoms up,
And fling back Parthian darts of doom for ever!—

Lam.
Thou'rt a rank coward!—

Al.
I am a coward there!—
I tremble in the Presence of the Power
Who made me!—

Lam.
Draw! I say!—

Al.
Put up, I bid thee
Put up, put up—I tell thee, and then hear!—

Lam.
No!—I hear nothing!—dar'st thou love Costanza?—

Al.
Yes! to the roots and reaches of my Soul!—

Lam.
Most wretched boy!—

Al.
No!—happier, happier far,
In that dear Love's despair, (if 'twas despair,)
Than all delights could make me!—

Lam.
No! thou'rt wrong!—
Thou wrongly lov'st, and still thou art wrong to love—
I tell thee—beardless stripling!—that thou'rt wrong!—

Al.
Then the Universe is so!—for that is Love!—
Then the Universe is so!—whose Harmony,
Whose Beauty, Truth, and Power, are born of Love—
Are born of the all-enduring Love!—for ever!—
Go to!—old man!—Thy words are weak—Peace!—Peace!—

Lam.
No! war with thee!—strife!—war!—ev'n to the death—
Thy death of body, and thy death of Soul!—
Thy Love's a love accursed!—

Al.
Ha! dar'st thou say it!—
My love's a love angelic!—

Lam.
I could tell thee,
That which would make thee shrink in shuddering horror
From her thou lov'st!—

Al.
'Tis not in Nature—NO!—

Lam.
I tell thee—yes!—

Al.
(aside.)
It hisses to my Soul!—
It chills my heart—away!—But thou canst not!—

Lam.
I can!—

Al.
Thou do not or thou diest!—

Lam.
'Tis well!—
What! have I warmed thee—Petrifaction?—heigh!—
What! have I thawed the dull blood in thy veins?—

Al.
No! frozen it to fate!—

Lam.
Come! come then, draw!—
One moment pause to thank my mild forbearance—
I will not wound with breath, as I might do—
But mercifully use the sword instead!—
Not kill thy Soul ere from the body driven—
(As fiends shall do in their appointed season)—
Words I will spare, such words as I could use—
Words that would wound thy spirit unto death!—
Thou'lt brook cold iron better!—now stand forth!—
Come!—To your guard—a host of Hate stands 'gainst thee!—

[They fight; after a few passes Alphonzo falls mortally wounded.
Al.
Costanza! oh! my Love!—'tis done! I die!—
Costanza!—oh! my Bride!—

Lam.
(starting.)
Thy Bride!—worse horror!—
Retract thy words!—

Al.
She would have been this night!—

Lam.
Thank Heaven! that spared you both!—

Al.
That spared!—oh! mercy!—
No! I am sped!—'tis wonderful! 'tis strange!—
Ev'n as I faint in death I feel—I feel—
A deep flow in of tenderness towards thee,
My enemy, my ruthless foe, my slayer!—
Reach me thy hand a moment here, I pray thee!—
Give me thy prayers and blessings ere I go!—

Lam.
My blessing!—I have given it thee in blood!—
My prayers!—could they in sooth ascend to Heaven
With the foul reekings of this sacrifice!—
My hand,—'tis dripping with thy heart's best drops!—

Al.
Reach me thy hand, and give thy blessing!—

Lam.
Nay!—
My lips refuse to send it—yet oh! yet
I may not—must not—cannot dare refuse!—
Bless thee, unhappy boy!—

Al.
I die in peace!—
But yet one form seems beckoning from the grave—
How can I die and go from thee—Costanza!—
'Tis vain to struggle—vain!—

[Dies.
Lam.
My soul is changed!—
The hate hath died from it, ev'n with his death!—
But Oh! I am all horror!—can it be?—
Am I indeed a murtherer?—is it blood—
Blood shed by me that crimsons thus the ground?—
Are these grey hairs all desecrated now
With crime so fiend-like?—I so near the grave—
Dared I send one all promise—in his prime—
To be my herald to the mould'ring mansions?—
Remorse is gnawing me—despair o'ertakes me!—

Enter Costanza.
Cos.
I tremble strangely!—ha! my fear is fate!—
A cold unconscious corse upon the ground—
'Tis him—my Husband—murdered!—

Lam.
I can give
But one most hideous consolation—hark!
And bless the pitying Heavens these rites were stopped!—
Thy chosen Husband—he who lieth there—
Dust of the dust in death—he was thy Brother!—

Cos.
My Brother! worse than misery!—have we been
Unconsciously such deadly, deadly sinners!—
Such criminals of the heart! Algarves! Brother!—
I know not whether to rejoice or weep—
But either way must madden—'tis all madness!—
I am thrice stabbed—and yet 'tis not enough—
I cannot die, though I am three times stabbed—
In thee—and him—and in myself!—Oh! share,
Beloved! that blood-red steel with me, at least,
For all my thoughts are murders!—Death is dead!—

[She swoons.
Enter Inez veiled.
Inez.
What sight is this?—why—what hath happened here?—
Who lieth on the ground, hurt, bleeding, dead?—
Heaven! Heaven! is't thou?—oh! thou! mine own?—'tis thou!—
[Flinging herself on the ground.
Wake!—smile on me!—look up!—speak—stand!—thou liv'st!—
I say thou liv'st!—I will not let thee die!—

Lam.
Are the graves opening to disgorge their dead!—
What spectre stands before me?—

Inez.
Thou art there—
Thou! Lambertazzi!—wert too late to save him?—
Oh! seek for help!—Alas! 'twere vain!—'tis death!—
(Starts up.)
Why! who hath done this savage horror?—say—
Not that pale thing all swooned away in anguish!—
What midnight murtherer hath been here at work?—
Pursue him!—grind him into gory dust!—
Who? who?—alas! most wretched Parents!—

Lam.
Parents?—
Whose Son is he?—say! know'st thou?—

Inez.
Mine!—

Lam.
Whose?

Inez.
Ours!—

Lam.
(falling on the earth.)
Now swallow me, slow earth! and be one grave!—
(Starts up.)
What art thou—Phantom?—

Inez.
None!—I am thine Inez!—
Enough!—what matters aught save him!—avenge him!—
Must he lie weltering there and unavenged?—
Who did the hideous dread-outmonstering deed—
The impossible and nameless slaughter?—

Lam.
I!—

Inez.
Mock not a maddened miserable wretch!—
Who murdered—butchered him—stabbed—slew?—

Lam.
I!—I!—
His Father!—I! ev'n I, his Father!—I!—
Thou toldst me to avenge him—bad'st me smite
That desperate villain who had done the deed—
'Tis now my turn to speak,—my time to urge—
[Snatching the dagger and opening his vest.
Do thou!—

[She starts, snatches the dagger and points it at him: a pause; she tosses it from her.
Inez.
(laughing horribly.)
Aye do it! childless Mother! do it!—
No!—sounds shall be my swords!—behold thy Son!—
Aye! thy legitimate and noble Son!—
The marriage which thou deemedst a mockery—know!—
Through the compunction of the Priest was real!
This long I knew not,—and myself agreed,
As wished my Parents, thou shouldst think me dead.
This Priest o'erta'en by sickness, dreading death,—
Me summoned to his couch, his Soul disburthened!—
He died not—and hath sped to Florence now,
To clear all doubts away, and speak all truth!—
Enter Jeronymo.
Behold him!—

Jero.
Sacred Heaven! a scene of blood!—

Inez.
My Son's heart-blood, and shed too by his Father!—
Oh!—I have sunk—sunk to the earth's very centre!—

Jero.
So passions darken with the deepening Life—
And where was lawless love,—religion's mockery—
See!—start the rampant murther!—

Lam.
Say! oh! Priest!—
One wrong the less is on my ruined Soul—
This injured woman is my wife!—

Jero.
She is!—
Though I consented to your hateful scheme,
My conscience hindered me from the impious outrage,
While lacked I courage of a nobler virtue!—
Thou art most truly wedded unto her
Who stands before thee in a swoon of Soul!—

Lam.
How came Algarves to possess the picture
The heir of Andrea ever wore?—

Jero.
The nurse
Hath stated oft to me, the children playing,
Exchanged their dresses, and the treasured picture,
Representation of Luigia Cenci,
Hung round Algarves' neck at that sad hour,
By strange remissness never was restored
Unto the rightful infantine proprietor—
Later, he wore it by his Mother's wish.

Lam.
Oh! Heaven!—how blest I might have been!—and now
My Soul is scarlet with thy blood, poor boy!—
My Child!—my Son!—my found-lost—dead-alive!—
And loathed and murdered—to be loved too late!—
Thy blood—it rises in a reddening deluge,
Drowning all things—all thoughts!—It cannot be!—
I say 'tis not my Son!—'tis some wild error—
If this is he, then where is Andrea's heir?—

Jero.
Hush!—hark!—some reveller from Diodati's Palace!—

Lam.
I care not!—where's the Son of Andrea?—

Enter Lorenzo.
Inez.
(looking up.)
There!—

Loren.
Hath some sad chance befallen?—nay, how is this?—
Oh!—is't a chance, or some most dreadful sin?
Algarves!—drowned in blood!—what deed is this?

Lam.
I cannot tell thee, for it hath no name—
And if it had, I could not tell thee! no!—
The eternal Heavens would start from their foundations,
And fall in ruins o'er the ruined world,
If that was named—though they could bear to see—
And unremonstrant bear to see it done!—

Inez.
(starting up.)
But let me while I yet have breath to speak,
Sense to observe,—or strength to frame such words,
Do one plain act of justice to this youth,
Revealing truths which (Heaven forgive me for't!)
I meant to bury deep in long oblivion!—
But I am punished as ne'er mortal yet—
Know!—thou art the Son of Andrea Lambertazzi—
Heir to the enormous wealth he left behind him!—
The rest—if life yet lasts—will I reveal
Through certain papers of authentic worth!—

Loren.
One word!—by whom was I in childhood seized?—

Inez.
Count Sforza, deadly foe to all your house,
Who finally made you his fortune's master!—
My Son—discovered to be mine—was sent,
On promise given of secrecy, to Spain!—

Loren.
Yet one word more—how knew'st thou me?—declare!—

Inez.
The Spanish nurse who had my child in charge
Did recognize you by your right cheek's mark—
'Twas even she—(by chance you passed us by,)
Did point you out to me—besides, 'tis known
You were the adopted Son of Sforza—heir
To all his wealth, his houses, and his land!—
I guessed 'twas reparation and remorse,
And not gratuitous generosity!—
Embrace thy Sister—there she lies!—she wakes!—

Loren.
My Sister—thee! Costanza! sweetest Sister!—

Cos.
Where waits the Priest?—where stays the Bridegroom?—THERE!—
Oh! thou dear Death—I see thee!—still be mine!—
Yet wed us, Priest—the Dead unto the Dead!—
For all my Soul is frozen like his frame!—

Jero.
Behold thy Brother!—Andrea's long-lost heir!—
Embrace him in Lorenzo!—

Cos.
(very faintly.)
Is it so?—
Lorenzo! dear Lorenzo! there is one
Who loves thee better far than life, and that—
Is Fiorilina di Diodati!—yet—
Let there be something like a shadowy dream
Of Happiness on Earth!—may I yet find it—
Far, far away in Heaven!—but what! there comes
A maddening memory creeping o'er my brain!—
'Twas not so then!—it is not so!—no! no!—
Algarves was not then my Brother!—

Jero.
Nay!—
Thy Cousin, Lady!—

Cos.
Heaven be praised for that!—
And yet I feel his death the deeper!—his!—
Mine own! I feel too! creeping coldly on!—
Oh! blessed thought! to join us two once more!—
Death!—thou'rt a dazzling angel in mine eyes!—
E'en in the sky, the glad and deathless Heaven
Beyond that sun—now blackening—blackening—

[She dies.
Jero.
Peace!—
All Peace be with thee—blessed parted spirit!—
Thou hast been sorely tried!—Sleep! wounded Dove!—
Fold up the tender whiteness of thy wings!—
Forget the storm—the arrow and the night—
The clouds,—the gloom,—the wild of desolation!—
Heaven that hath faded from thy longing sight,
Hath surely opened on thy blameless Soul—
All blessings on thy slumbers virginal—
Thy slumbers of the Spring's own days of flowering!—
Bright smiled the blossom, but no fruit was destined!—
The Dove and Lily are thy sweetest emblems—
Oh! young and gentle daughter, sleep in peace!—

[Thunder is heard.
Inez.
(starts up wildly.)
Ho! hark!—the chariots of the angels rolling!—
The avenging angels terrible in glory!
Right o'er our heads!—'tis sultry! sultry!—stifling!—
Prepare the funeral—there is Death beside you!—
What! do you leave your corses in the streets,
And trample on their ashes?—Shame! shame! shame!—
Nay! hold me not!—I am not mad!—not mad!—
But thou art surely!—thou old hoary man!—
That dost so glare on me!—Now take thy child!—
Thou never didst! thou know'st!—Hush! wake him not!—
What! thou'st baptized him in his own young blood!
Poor Innocent!—Hippolito!—our Son!—
He called himself Alphonzo to mislead thee!—
'Twas but by my command, so be not angry!—
Oh! be not angry with thy blameless child!—
And I was called Estrella di Monaco,
That none might guess at the Estremaduran Inez—
'Twas my Friend's name—that sweet Friend died—alas!—
Methinks all Friends are dead,—dead, cold, and silent!—
And be ye very sure—and ye—and ye—
I dared not take it till my fame was cleared—
My murdered fame!—for he who slew that boy,
My best and beauteous one, destroyed me once—
By clouding o'er my name and fame in darkness—
So that I was a loathing to myself—
So that I felt a sinner who was none!—
So that to others I became a shame!—
[Thunder.
Again! we are summoned!—who shall first be judged?
Again!—the hour is come!—who stands for sentence?—
Blood-guiltiness is not upon my Soul!—

Lam.
Murdered thy fame!—indeed!—I did, poor victim!—
And now thy mind is murdered!—still by me!—
For this is phrenzy!—Spare! spare me a part!—
Oh! to see darkly, what to clearly see
Is agony that crushes down the Soul
Into the tainted clay—the corse-like clay
Of this corruption, whence true life departs,
And leaves one mingling corse of mould and soul!—
Inez!—the Unhappiest!—this is well for thee!—

Inez.
Peace! heard ye not the thunder—judgment!—judgment!—
Here am I, and my Murdered!—Oh! I fall!—
What! Raphael Lambertazzi!—hast slain me too?—
Yes! thou hast ploughed my heart up!—Hasten! Death!—
My child awaits me in the graves below!—
Come quicker, Death!—cold pang by pang needs patience!—
Come, thou sweet angel—in my child's dear form!—
[Snatches up Lambertazzi's dagger.
Oh! 'tis my blood upon it—thine—mine—OURS!—
My Son's and thy Son's!—I will drink it now!—
Aye! drink it with my bursting, burning Heart!—

[She stabs herself, and dies.
Lam.
(throwing himself upon their bodies.)
And can this stubborn age refuse to die!