University of Virginia Library

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!