University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—A Prison.
Fazio and Bianca.
Fazio.
Let's talk of joy, Bianca: we'll deceive
This present and this future, whose grim faces
Stare at us with such deep and hideous blackness:
We'll fly to the past. Dost thou remember, love,
Those gentle moonlights, when my fond guitar
Was regular, as convent vesper hymn,
Beneath thy lattice, sometimes the light dawn
Came stealing on our voiceless intercourse,
Soft in its grey and filmy atmosphere?

Bianca.
Oh yes, oh yes!—There'll be a dawn to-morrow
Will steal upon us.—Then, oh then—

Fazio.
Oh, think not on't!—
And thou remember'st too that beauteous evening
Upon the Arno; how we sail'd along,
And laugh'd to see the stately towers of Florence
Waver and dance in the blue depth beneath us.
How carelessly thy loose and swelling hand
Abandon'd its soft whiteness to my pressure?

Bianca.
Oh yes!—To-morrow evening, if thou close
Thy clasping hand, mine will not meet it then—
Thou'lt only grasp the chill and senseless earth.

Fazio.
Thou busy, sad remembrancer of evil!—
How exquisitely happy have we two
Sate in the dusky and discolour'd light,
That flicker'd through our shaking lattice bars!
Our children at our feet, or on our laps,
Warm in their breathing slumbers, or at play
With rosy laughter on their cheeks!—Oh God!—
Bianca, such a flash of thought crost o'er me,
I dare not speak it.

Bianca.
Quick, my Fazio!
Quick, let me have't!—to-morrow thou'lt not speak it.

Fazio.
Oh, what a life must theirs be, those poor innocents!
When they have grown up to a sense of sorrow—
Oh, what a feast will they be for rude misery!
Honest men's boys and girls, whene'er they mingle,
Will spurn them with the black and branded title,
“The murderer's children.” Infamy will pin
That pestilent label on their backs; the plague spot
Will bloat and blister on them till their death-beds;
And if they beg—for beggars they must be—
They'll drive them from their doors with cruel jeers
Upon my riches, villainously style them
“The children of Lord Fazio, the philosopher.”

Bianca.
To-morrow will the cry begin, to-morrow.—
It must not be, and I sit idle here.
Fazio, there must be in this wide wide city
Piercing and penetrating eyes for truth,
Souls not too proud, too cold, too stern for mercy.
I'll hunt them out, and swear them to our service.
I'll raise up something—oh, I know not what—
Shall boldly startle the rank air of Florence
With proclamation of thy innocence.
I'll raise the dead! I'll conjure up the ghost
Of that old rotten thing, Bartolo; make it
Cry out i' the market-place, “Thou didst not slay him!”
Farewell, farewell! If in the walls of Florence
Be anything like hope or comfort, Fazio,
I'll clasp it with such strong and stedfast arms,
I'll drag it to thy dungeon, and make laugh
This silence with strange uncouth sounds of joy.

Scene II.

—A Street.
Falsetto, Dandolo, Philario.
Falsetto.
Good Signior Dandolo, here's a prodigal waste
Of my fair speeches to the sage philosopher.
I counted on at least a two months diet,
Besides stray boons of horses, rings, and jewels.

Dandolo.
Oh my Falsetto, a coat of my fashion
Come to the wheel!—it wrings my very heart,
To fancy how the seams will crack, or haply
The hangman will be seen in't!—That I should live
To be purveyor of the modes to a hangman!
Enter Bianca.
They pass me by on the other side of the street;
They spurn me from their doors; they load the air
With curses that are flung on me: the Palace,
The Ducal Palace, that should aye be open
To voice of the distress'd, as is God's heaven,
Is ring'd around with grim and iron savages,
That with their angry weapons smite me back,
As though I came with fire in my hand, to burn
The royal walls: the children in the streets
Break off their noisy games to hoot at me;
And the dogs from the porches howl me on.
But here's a succour.— (To Falsetto.)
Oh, good sir, thy friend,
The man thou feastedst with but yesterday,
He to whose motion thou wast a true shadow,
Whose hand rain'd gifts upon thee—he I mean,
Fazio, the bounteous, free, and liberal Fazio—
He's wrongfully accused, wrongfully doom'd:
I swear to thee 'tis wrongfully.—Oh, sir,
An eloquent honey-dropping tongue like thine,
How would it garnish up his innocence,
Till Justice would grow amorous and embrace it!

Falsetto.
Sweet lady, thou o'ervaluest my poor powers:—
Anything in reason to win so much loveliness
To smile on me.—But this were wild and futile.

Bianca.
In reason?—'Tis to save a human life—
Is not that in the spacious realm of reason?—
Kind sir, there's not a prayer will mount hereafter
Heavenward from us or our poor children's lips,
But in it thy dear name will rise embalm'd:
And prayers have power to cancel many a sin,
That clogs and flaws our coarse and corrupt nature.

Falsetto.
Methinks, good Dandolo, 'tis the hour we owe
Attendance at the Lady Portia's toilette.—
Any commission in our way, fair lady?

Dandolo.
Oh yes! I'm ever indispensable there
As is her looking glass.—

Bianca.
Riotous madness!
To waste a breath (Detaining them)
upon such thin-blown bubbles!
Why thou didst cling to him but yesterday,
As 'twere a danger of thy life to part from him;
Didst swear it was a sin in Providence
He was not born a prince.— (To Dandolo)
And thou, sir, thou—
Chains, sir, in May—it is a heavy wear;
Hard and unseemly, a rude weight of iron.—
Faugh! cast ye off this shape and skin of men;
Ye stain it, ye pollute it: be the reptiles
Ye are.— (To Philario)
And thou, sir—I know in whose porch,
He hired thee to troll out thy fulsome ditties:
I know whose dainty ears were last night banqueted
With the false harlotry of thy rich airs.

Philario.
I do beseech thee, lady, judge me not
So harshly. In the state, Heaven knows, I'm powerless:
I could remove yon palace walls, as soon
As alter his sad doom. But if to visit him,
To tend him with a soft officious zeal,
Waft the mild magic of mine art around him,
Making the chill and lazy dungeon air
More smooth, more gentle to the trammell'd breathing:—
All that I can I will, to make his misery
Slide from him light and airily.

Bianca.
Wilt thou?
Why then there's hope the Devil hath not all Florence.
Go—go!—I cannot point thee out the way:
Mine eyes are cloudy; it is the first rain
Hath dewed them, since—since when I cannot tell thee.—
Go—go!— (Exit.)
—One effort more; and if I fail—
But by the inbred and instinctive tenderness
That mingles with the life of womanhood,
I cannot fail: and then, thou grim to-morrow,
I'll meet thee with a bold and unblench'd front.

Scene III.

—Palace of Aldabella.
Aldabella.
Fazio in prison! Fazio doom'd to die!—
I was too hasty; should have fled, and bashfully
Beckon'd him after; lured him, not seized on him.
Proud Aldabella a poor robber's paramour!
Oh it sounds dismal! Florence must not hear it:—
And sooth his time is brief to descant on it.—
(To Bianca, who enters.)
And who art thou thus usherless and unbidden
Scarest my privacy?

Bianca
(aside).
I must not speak yet;
For if I do, a curse will clog my utterance.

Aldabella.
Nay, stand not with thy pale lips quivering nothings—
Speak out, and freely.

Bianca.
Lady, there is one—
Fie, fie upon this choking in my throat—
One thou didst love, Giraldi Fazio;
One who loved thee, Giraldi Fazio.—
He's doom'd to die, to die to-morrow morning;
And lo 'tis eve already!—

Aldabella.
He is doom'd?—
Why then the man must die.—

Bianca.
Nay, gentle lady,
Thou'rt high-born, rich, and beautiful: the princes,
The prime of Florence wait upon thy smiles,
Like sunflowers on the golden light they love.
Thy lips have such sweet melody, 'tis hung upon
Till silence is an agony. Did it plead
For one condemn'd, but oh most innocent,
'Twould be a music th' air would fall in love with,
And never let it die, till it had won
Its honest purpose.

Aldabella.
What a wanton waste
Of idle praise is here!

Bianca.
Nay think, oh think,
What 'tis to give again a forfeit life:
Aye, such a life as Fazio's!—Frown not on me:
Thou think'st that he's a murderer—'tis all false;
A trick of Fortune, fancifully cruel,
To cheat the world of such a life as Fazio's.

Aldabella.
Frivolous and weak: I could not if I would.

Bianca.
Nay, but I'll lure thee with so rich a boon—
Hear—hear, and thou art won. If thou dost save him,
It is but just he should be saved for thee.
I give him thee—Bianca—I his wife:—
I pardon all that has been, all that may be—
Oh I will be the handmaid to thy pleasures;
Trim up the pillow for ye; be so patient—
Calmly, contentedly, and sadly patient—
And if ye see a pale or envious motion
Upon my cheek, a quivering on my lips,
Like to complaint—then strike him dead before me.
Thou shalt enjoy all—all that I enjoy'd:—
His love, his life, his sense, his soul be thine;
And I will bless thee, in my misery bless thee.

Aldabella.
What mist is on thy wild and wandering eyes?
Know'st thou to whom and where thou play'st the raver?
I, Aldabella, whom the amorous homage
Of rival lords and princes stirs no more,
Than the light passing of the common air—
I, Aldabella, when my voice might make
Thrones render up their stateliest to my service—
Stoop to the sordid sweepings of a prison?
I—

Bianca.
Proud-lipp'd woman, earth's most gorgeous sovereigns
Were worthless of my Fazio! Foolish woman,
Thou cast'st a jewel off! The proudest lord
That ever revell'd in thy unchaste arms,
Was a swarth galley-slave to Fazio.
Ah me! me! me! e'en I his lawful wife
Know't not more truly, certainly than thou.—
Hadst thou lov'd him, I had pardon'd, pitied thee:
We two had sate, all coldly, palely sad;
Dropping, like statues on a fountain side,
A pure, a silent, and eternal dew.
Hadst thou outwept me, I had loved thee for't—
And that were easy, for I'm stony here. (Putting her hand to her eyes.)


Aldabella.
Ho there! to th' hospital for the lunatics
Fetch succour for this poor distrest—

Bianca.
What said I?
Oh pardon me, I came not to upbraid thee.—
Think, think—I'll whisper it, I'll not betray thee;
The air's a tell-tale, and the walls are listeners:—
Think what a change! Last night within thy chamber;
(I'll not say in thy arms; for that displeases thee,
And sickens me to utter,) and to night
Upon a prison pallet, straw, hard straw;
For eastern perfumes, the rank noisome air;
For gentle harpings, shrilly clanking chains:—
Nay, turn not off: the worst is yet to come.
To-morrow at his waking, for thy face
Languidly, lovingly down drooping o'er him,
The scarr'd and haggard executioner.

Aldabella
(turning away).
There is a dizzy trembling in mine eye;
But I must dry the foolish dew for shame.
Well, what is it to me? I slew him not;
Nay, nor denounced him to the judgment seat.
I but debase myself to lend free hearing
To such coarse fancies.—I must hence: to-night
I feast the lords of Florence.

[Exit.
Bianca.
They're all lies:
Things done within some far and distant planet,
Or offscum of some dreamy poet's brain,
All tales of human goodness. Or they're legends
Left us of some good old forgotten time,
Ere harlotry became a queenly sin,
And housed in palaces. Oh, earth's so crowded
With Vice, that if strange Virtue stray abroad,
They hoot it from them like a thing accurst.
Fazio, my Fazio!—but we'll laugh at them:
We will not stay upon their wicked soil,
E'en though they sue us, not to die and leave them.

Scene IV.

—Fazio's House.
Bianca.
Aye, what a fierce and frantic coil is here,
Because the sun must shine on one man less!
I'm sick and weary—my feet drag along.
Why must I trail, like a scotch'd serpent, hither?
Here, to this house, where all things breathe of Fazio?
The air tastes of him—the walls whisper of him.—
Oh, I'll to bed! to bed!—What find I there?
Fazio, my fond, my gentle, fervent Fazio?—
No!—Cold stones are his couch, harsh iron bars
Curtain his slumbers.—Oh, no, no—I have it—
He is in Aldabella's arms.—Out on't!
Fie, fie!—that's rank, that's noisome!—I remember—
Our children—aye, my children—Fazio's children.
'Twas my thoughts' burthen as I came along,
Were it not wise to bear them off with us
Away from this cold world?—Why should we breed up
More sinners for the Devil to prey upon?
There's one a boy—some strumpet will enlace him,
And make him wear her loathsome livery.
The other a girl: if she be ill, she'll sink
Spotted to death—she'll be an Aldabella:
If she be chaste, she'll be a wretch like me,
A jealous wretch, a frantic guilty wretch.—
No, no: they must not live, they must not live!
[Exit into a chamber.
After a pause she returns.
It will not be, it will not be—they woke
As though e'en in their sleep they felt my presence;
And then they smiled upon me fondly, playfully,
And stretch'd their rosy fingers to sport with me:
The boy did arch his eyebrows so like Fazio,
Though my soul wish'd that God would take them to him,
That they were scaped this miserable world,
I could but kiss them; and, when I had kiss'd them,
I could as soon have leap'd up to the moon
As speck'd or soil'd their alabaster skins.—
Wild that I am!—Take them t' another world!—
As though I, I my husband's murderess,
In the dread separation of the dead,
Should meet again those spotless innocents!—
Oh, happy they!—they will but know to-morrow
By the renewal of the soft warm daylight.

[Exit.