 | Fazio |  |
88
ACT V.
Scene I.
—A Street—Morning twilight.Bianca.
Where have I been?—I have not been at rest—
There's yet the stir of motion in my limbs.
Oh, I remember—'twas a hideous strife
Within my brain: I felt that all was hopeless,
Yet would not credit it; and I set forth
To tell my Fazio so, and dared not front him
With such cold comfort. Then a mist came o'er me,
And something drove me on, and on, and on,
Street after street, each blacker than the other,
And a blue axe did skimmer through the gloom—
Its fiery edge did waver to and fro—
And there were infants' voices, faint and failing,
That panted after me. I knew I fled them;
Yet could not choose but fly. And then, oh then,
I gazed and gazed upon the starless darkness,
And blest it in my soul, for it was deeply
And beautifully black—no speck of light;
89
That it would last for ever, nor give place
To th' horrible to-morrow.—Ha, 'tis there!—
'Tis the grey morning light aches in mine eyes—
It is that morrow!—Ho!—Look out, look out!
With what a hateful and unwonted swiftness
It scares my comfortable darkness from me!—
Fool that I am!—I've lost the few brief hours
Yet left me of my Fazio!—Oh, away,
Away to him!—away!
[Exit.
Scene II.
—The Prison—totally dark, except a lamp.Fazio and Philario.
Fazio.
I thank thee: 'twas a melancholy hymn;
But soft and soothing as the gale of eve,
The gale, whose flower-sweet breath no more shall pass o'er me.
Oh, what a gentle ministrant is music
To piety—to mild, to penitent piety!
Oh, it gives plumage to the tardy prayer,
That lingers in our lazy earthly air,
And melts with it to heaven.—To die, 'tis dreary;
90
But it must down: I have so steep'd my soul
In the bitter ashes of true penitence,
That they have put on a delicious savour,
And all is halcyon quiet, all within.
Bianca!—Where is she?—why comes she not?—
Yet I do almost wish her not to come,
Lest she again enamour me of life.
Philario.
Hast thou no charge to her, no fond bequest?—
It shall lose little by my bearing it.
Fazio.
Oh yes, oh yes!—I have her picture here:
That I had seen it in one hour of my life,
In Aldabella's arms had it look'd on me,
I should have had one sin less to repent of.
I'm loth the coarse and vulgar executioner
Should handle it with his foul gripe, or pass
His ribald jests upon it.—Give it her.
[With the picture he draws out some gold, on which he looks with great apparent melancholy.
Philario.
And this too, sir?
91
Oh, touch it not, Philario!
Oh, touch it not!—'tis venomous, 'tis viperous!
If there be bottomless sea, unfathom'd pit
In earth's black womb—oh, plunge it, plunge it deep,
Deep, dark! or if a devil be abroad,
Give it to him, to bear it whence it came,
To its own native Hell.—Oh no, no, no!—
He must not have it: for with it he'll betray
More men, more noble spirits than Lucifer
Drew down from heaven. This yellow pestilence
Laid waste my Eden; made a gaudy bird of me,
For soft Temptation's silken nets to snare.
It crept in to us—Sin came with it—Misery
Dogg'd its foul footsteps—ever-deepening Sin,
And ever-darkening Misery.—Philario,
Away with it!—away!— (Takes the picture)
Here's fairer gazing.
Thou would'st not think these smooth and smiling lips
Could speak away a life—a husband's life.
Yet ah! I led the way to sin—I wrong'd her:
Yet, Heaven be witness, though I wrong'd her, lov'd her,
E'en in my heart of heart.
(Enter Bianca.)
92
Who's that, Bianca,
That's loved so deeply?—Fazio, Fazio, Fazio—
It is that morrow!—
Fazio.
Nay, look cheeringly:
It may be God doth punish in this world
To spare hereafter.
Bianca.
Fazio, set me loose!—
Thou clasp'st thy murderess.
Fazio.
No, it is my love,
My wife, my children's mother!—Pardon me,
Bianca; but thy children—I'll not see them:
For on the wax of a soft infant's memory
Things horrible sink deep and sternly settle.
I would not have them, in their after-days,
Cherish the image of their wretched father
In the cold darkness of a prison-house.
Oh, if they ask thee of their father, tell them
That he is dead, but say not how.
93
No, no—
Not tell them, that their mother murder'd him.
Fazio.
But are they well, my love?
Bianca.
What, had I freed them
From this drear villains' earth, sent them before us,
Lest we should miss them in another world,
And so be fetter'd by a cold regret
Of this sad sunshine?
Fazio.
Oh, thou hast not been
So wild a rebel to the will of God!—
If that thou hast, 'twill make my passionate arms,
That ring thee round so fondly, drop off from thee,
Like sere and wither'd ivy; make my farewel
Spoken in such suffocate and distemper'd tone,
'Twill sound more like—
Bianca.
They live! thank God, they live!
I should not rack thee with such fantasies:
But there have been such hideous things around me,
94
Not half a moment's calm since last we parted,
So exquisite, so gentle, as this now—
I could sleep on thy bosom, Fazio.
Enter Antonio.
Prisoner,
Thine hour is come.
Bianca.
It is not morning yet—
Where is the twilight that should usher it?
Where is the sun, that should come golden on?
Ill-favour'd liar, to come prate of morning,
With torchlight in thy hand to scare the darkness.
Antonio.
Thou dost forget; day's light ne'er pierceth here:
The sun hath kindled up the open air.
Bianca.
I say, 'tis but an hour since it was evening,
A dreary, measureless, and mournful hour,
Yet but an hour.
Fazio.
I will obey thee, officer!
Yet but a word—Bianca, 'tis a strange one—
95
Bianca.
Curse her!
Fazio.
Peace, peace!—'tis dangerous: sinners' curses
Pluck them down tenfold from the angry heavens
Upon the curser's head—Beseech thee, peace!—
Forgive her—for thy Fazio's sake, forgive her.
Bianca.
Anything not to think on her—Not yet—
They shall not kill thee—by my faith they shall not!
I'll clasp mine arms so closely round thy neck,
That the red axe shall hew them off, ere shred
A hair of thee: I will so mingle with thee,
That they shall strike at random, and perchance
Set me free first—
[The bell sounds, her grasp relaxes, and she stands torpid.
Fazio
(kissing her, which she does not seem to be conscious of).
Farewel, farewel, farewel!—
She does not feel, she does not feel!—Thank Heaven,
She does not feel her Fazio's last, last kiss!—
One other!—Cold as stone—sweet, sweet as roses.
[Exit.
96
(slowly recovering).
Gone, gone!—he is not air yet, not thin spirit!—
He should not glide away—he is not guilty—
Ye murder and not execute—Not guilty.
[Exit, followed by Philario.
Scene III.
—A magnificent Apartment in the Palace of Aldabella —Every appearance of a ball prolonged till morning—Duke, Lords, Falsetto, Dandolo, and Aldabella.Duke.
'Tis late, 'tis late; the yellow morning light
Streams in upon our sick and waning lamps.
It was a jocund night: but good my friends,
The sun reproves our lingering revelry;
And, angry at our scorning of his state,
Will shine the slumber from our heavy eyes.
Gonsalvo.
There's one, my liege, will sleep more calm than we:
But now I heard the bell with iron tongue
Speak out unto the still and solemn air
The death-stroke of the murderer Fazio.
97
So, lady, fare thee well: our gentlest thanks
For thy fair entertaining.—Ha! what's here?
Enter Bianca, followed by Philario.
Bianca.
Ha! ye've been dancing, dancing—so have I:
But mine was heavy music, slow and solemn—
A bell, a bell: my thick blood roll'd to it,
My heart swung to and fro, a dull deep motion.
(Seeing Aldabella.)
'Tis thou, 'tis thou!—I came to tell thee something.
Aldabella
(alarmed and shrieking).
Aye me! aye me!
Bianca.
Nay, shrink not—I'll not kill thee:
For if I do, I know, in the other world,
Thou'lt shoot between me and my richest joys.—
Thou shalt stay here—I'll have him there—all—all of him.
Duke.
What means the wild-hair'd maniac?
Bianca
(moving him aside).
Bye and bye—
98
I tell thee, that warm cheek thy lips did stray on
But yesternight, 'tis cold and colourless:
The breath, that stirr'd among thy golden locks,
That was such incense to thee—it is fled:
The voice, that call'd thee then, his soul of soul—
I know it—'twas his favourite phrase of love—
I've heard it many a time myself—'twas luscious;
That mild, that musical voice is dumb and frozen:
The neck whereon thine arms did hang so tenderly,
There's blood upon it, blood—I tell thee, blood.
Dost thou hear that? is thy brain fire to hear it?
Mine is, mine is, mine is.
Duke.
'Tis Fazio's wife.
Bianca.
It is not Fazio's wife.—Have the dead wives?
Aye, aye, my liege, and I know thee, and well—
Thou art the rich-robed minister of the laws.
Fine laws! rare laws! most equitable laws!
Who robs his neighbour of his yellow dust,
Or his bright sparkling stones, or such gay trash—
99
And if one steal a husband from his wife,
Do dive into her heart for its best treasure,
Do rend asunder whom Heaven link'd in one—
Oh, they are meek, and merciful, and milky—
'Tis a trick of human frailty—Oh, fine laws!
Rare laws! most equitable laws!
Duke.
Poor wretch,
Who is it thus hath wrong'd thee?
Bianca
(to the Duke).
Come thou here.
The others crowd around her—she says to Falsetto,
Get back, get back: the god that thou adoredst,
Thy god is dead, thou pitiful idolater.
To Dandolo (shewing her Dress).
I know they're coarse and tatter'd—Get thee back.
To the Duke.
I tell thee, that rich woman—she—My liege,
I'll speak anon—my lips do cling together—
There's dust about my tongue—I cannot move it.
Duke.
Ho, there!—some wine!
100
Thank thee, 'tis moist—I thank thee!
(As she raises the goblet to her lips, she sees Aldabella, and dashes it away.)
Her lips have been upon it—I'll have none on't.
Aldabella.
My liege, thou wilt not hearken to the tale
Of a mad woman, venting her sick fancies
Upon a lady of my state and honour!
Duke.
Lady, there is one state alone, that holds
Above the range of plumed and restless Justice
Her throned majesty—the state of Virtue.—
Poor sad distraught, speak on.
Bianca.
I am not mad,
Thou smooth-lipp'd slanderer!—I have been mad,
And then my words came vague, and loose, and broken;
But now, there's mode and measure in my speech.
I'll hold my brain; and then I'll tell my tale
Simply and clearly.—Fazio, my poor Fazio—
He murder'd not—he found Bartolo dead.
The wealth did shine in his eyes, and he was dazzled.
101
She, she, I say, (nay, keep away from her,
For she hath witchcraft all around her,) she
Did take him to her chamber—Fie, my liege!
What should my husband in her chamber?—Then,
Aye then, I madden'd.—Hark! hark! hark!—the bell,
The bell that I set knolling—hark!—Here, here,
Massy and cold it strikes—Here, here.
(Clasping her forehead.)
Gonsalvo.
Sad woman!
Tear not so piteously thy disorder'd hair!
Bianca.
I do not tear my hair: there should be pain
If that I did; but all my pain's within (with her hand to her bosom)
.
It will not break, it will not break—'tis iron.
Duke.
If this be true—
Philario.
My liege, it is the tale
That Fazio told me ere he died.
Bianca.
Aye, sir,
102
Lied not—and I, a dying woman, lie not:
For I shall die, spite of this iron here.
Duke
to Aldabella.
There is confession in thy guilty cheeks.
Thou high-born baseness! beautiful deformity!
Dishonour'd honour!—How hast thou discredited
All that doth fetter admiration's eye,
And made us out of love with loveliness!
I do condemn thee, woman, by the warrant
Of this my ducal diadem, to put on thee
The rigid convent vows: there bleach anew
Thy sullied breast; there temper thy rank blood;
Lay ashes to thy soul; swathe thy hot skin
In sackcloth; and God give thee length of days,
T' atone, by this world's misery, this world's sin.
[Exit Aldabella.
Bianca.
Bless thee, Heaven bless thee!—Yet it must not be.
My Fazio said we must forgive her—Fazio
Said so; and all he said is best and wisest.
Duke.
She shall have her desert: ought more to ask of us?
103
My children—thou'lt protect them—Oh, my liege,
Make them not rich: let them be poor and honest.
Duke.
I will, I will.
Bianca.
Why then 'tis time, 'tis time.
And thou believ'st he is no murderer?
(Duke bows assent.)
Thou'lt lay me near him, and keep her away from us.
It breaks, it breaks, it breaks—it is not iron.
[Dies.
| Fazio | |